Thanksgiving is a peculiar American invention and even more peculiar since Indians had as much to do to do with losing America as Europeans had winning it.
A couple of colder winters, more cold hearted Indians, and the invasion would have been postponed but Medicine men knew invaders were going to keep coming and roll over them like a storm of locust.
You can’t hold back tides of people leaving lands where they are persecuted and coming to a place their dreams tell them will be a Heaven on Earth.
Landing in Salto, Uruguay, I do the best I can to honor Pilgrims and the first Thanksgiving where, according to legend, Pilgrims and Indians sat at the same table and had a fine meal.
My Thanksgiving meal is a small individual pizza, that really isn’t pizza, and a couple of beers.
If those first Pilgrims and Indians had known about pizza it might have become our traditional Thanksgiving fare instead of turkey.
What the Indians back then needed was a casino to capitalize on tourism.
Then odds would have been in their favor, without reservations.
This Thanksgiving I’m having to do without a wishbone.
The American Holiday of thankfulness passes quickly and Christmas is nipping at my heels by the time I finish my second beer.