Every year, it seems like the country divides into two camps: the folks who want the Christmas tree up the minute the Halloween candy bowl is empty, and the folks who believe the lights shouldn’t twinkle until well after the Thanksgiving leftovers have cooled. A recent article even showed how surprisingly passionate Americans are about exactly when the tree should go up.
But before we start the annual sprint toward December, I want to make a simple plea: let’s not rush past Thanksgiving.
Thanksgiving’s roots go back to the 1621 harvest celebration in Plymouth, where English colonists and members of the Wampanoag Nation shared a multi-day feast. It wasn’t the perfectly harmonious scene some remember from elementary-school plays — it involved complicated dynamics, politics, and survival. Still, that gathering became the symbolic cornerstone of a tradition centered on gratitude.
The holiday didn’t become national until much later. In 1863, Abraham Lincoln established a national day of Thanksgiving in the midst of the Civil War, asking Americans to pause and give thanks despite the turmoil around them. That call stuck, and over generations, Thanksgiving evolved into the uncomplicated, heartfelt celebration we know today.
That simplicity is exactly why Thanksgiving remains my favorite holiday. I won’t pretend it beat Christmas when I was a kid — Santa and presents are tough competition — but I absolutely loved Thanksgiving.
Growing up an only child surrounded by cornfields, it was rare for our house to be full of people. But Thanksgiving changed that. It was the holiday we hosted for my mom’s side of the family, and the day felt big in all the right ways.
Mom was a terrific cook. She handled the turkey, the dressing, and many of the sides. That Daughters of Isabella dressing recipe is still my all-time Thanksgiving favorite. Grandma always came early to help in the kitchen, and the aunts arrived carrying their own dishes.
Cousins and I filled our old farmhouse with noise — running around, playing. The men gathered in the living room, the women caught up in the dining room, and the noon meal was always the centerpiece of the day. And after that big meal came the sweets, the snacks, the lingering conversations. Some relatives stayed for hours, long enough for leftovers to become a second meal. I remember being so full I didn’t know how I’d ever eat again — and yet I always managed.
And when everyone finally left, I remember being a little sad. After a day full of voices and motion, the house got quiet again. But the warmth of those hours stuck with me. They still do.
That’s why, as an adult, Thanksgiving remains my favorite holiday. It’s not flashy. It’s not loud. It’s not built around decorations or a month of anticipation. It’s built around the table — around gratitude, familiarity, and the comfort of simply being together.
So here’s my gentle request: let’s give Thanksgiving its full moment. Christmas will still have an entire month to shine. The tree will get its time. The lights aren’t going anywhere.
But this week is about Thanksgiving. It deserves to be savored, appreciated, and enjoyed on its own, without being treated as just the warm-up act for what comes next.
Let’s not rush past it. Let’s enjoy it.