I watched a sitcom once about Thanksgiving. One man walks into the room & his friends ask where his wife is. He responds, “Jane is Native American. Thanksgiving is not a happy time around our house.”

I am half Native American. Well, I’m Potowatomi and the preferred word is “Anishinaabe” which means Original People. (Pronounced Uh-nish-ih-nah-bay) When I lived on the Ojibwe reservation (or to be exactly accurate, just this side of the border to it), I heard a lot of the Ojibwe call themselves Indians. I have always used Indian because Native American seemed wrong.

I am Anishinaabe only by blood and not by culture or tradition. I was raised by my white mother and didn’t meet my birth father until I was 37. He is also not a traditional Indian. He assimilates. His (other) children consider themselves white and, for the most part, so does he.

At the same time, I was always aware of my difference growing up. I wanted to know more, but what we learned in school was revisionist and I was smart enough to know *that* even in elementary school. Being white, my mother never once thought about the fact that I had no racial identity. White people rarely have to consider their race and certainly not on a daily or even semi-regular basis.

I think I’ve written before that I grew up in a neighborhood that was predominantly black. So, I knew I wasn’t really white (by blood) and I know that I wasn’t really Indian (by culture). My parents didn’t actively discourage any Indian stuff but where was I going to get it? When I was 8 or so, I decided that if those things were true (not really white, not really Indian) then I’d just be black. I was sort of bitter to find out that race wasn’t really mutable and I’d have to be what I was: mixed race.

I was aware enough of Indian culture that Thanksgiving presented sort of a dilemma for me. On one hand, my family is Southern so the food was awesome! On the other hand, that welcoming of the Pilgrims was the beginning of the end for the traditional native way of life. While that wasn’t the actual beginning of what was to come, if those Indians had left the settlers to die, things may have been different. Oh, I suspect colonization was inevitable but it irks me that their kindness was ignored. Godless heathens, savages, etc but without those Indians teaching the Pilgrims to survive, more of them would have died.

When I say that school curriculums are revisionist, I mean that, among other things, they do not portray the nature of the natives. The Pilgrims were hypocrites. They came here to avoid religious persecution yet did the same thing to others the first chance they got. Religious and cultural persecution, I suppose. People think the Indians were so stupid. For example, selling the land for such cheap prices. The Indians didn’t believe a person could own land any more than they could own air. They thought white people were crazy. Own the land? Little did they know that if the settlers could have figured out a way to own the freaking air, they would have.

Whenever people talk about how violent we are as a society and act astounded by it, I ask this: “What do you expect from a country that was founded on genocide and built on slavery?” Makes me a popular addition to that conversation, as I’m sure you can imagine.

When The Ex and I were together, we talked about this. Because despite all of this, Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. She asked me how it could be, given all that I’ve just written.

My answer is this:

For better or worse, I am a mixed race woman. I cannot, and will not, ignore all the things I’ve told you in this post. At the same time, I cannot and will not ignore the fact that I am half white. Hell, my mom’s family is mostly Scottish and Highlanders at that, so they share some similarities with the natives here.

I’ve decided that, for me, Thanksgiving is about giving thanks for what I’ve been blessed with, for my family, my friends, the people who love me. On a lighter note, it’s all about food! And I don’t have to figure out what gifts to give someone.

There are two reasons why I might want to buy a house: 1) to have the kitchen exactly the way I want it and 2) to have a dining room big enough to have my entire family at my house for Thanksgiving so I can do it properly. I daydream about it sometimes. Cause, yeah, I’m like that.

I am not ignoring the history of the Anishinaabe. We taught the boys about our history. In most ways I am not culturally Anishinaabe, but in one way I am. In my prayers, I give thanks for all “the grandfathers and grandmothers” (as ancestors are called). I also tell people things they didn’t know and, maybe don’t want to hear. Like treaty violations were so common. That the government snatching Anishinaabe children and putting them in boarding schools to beat the Indian out of them isn’t ancient history. It happened to The Ex’s *mother.* In the 1940s. It’s NOT ancient history.

At the same time, we canNOT wallow in the past. It happened, we can’t undo it. Let’s not forget it or whitewash it (pun intended) but we can’t get mired in it. Perhaps if I weren’t mixed race and if I lived on the rez, I’d be more inclined to not celebrate Thanksgiving. But I am and I don’t.

So tomorrow I’ll be going to my stepbrothers to eat a great dinner and hang out with my family, some of whom I only see at holidays. I hope yours is lovely and filled with love, friends, family and, above all, excellent food!