Why do we overeat and watch football on a Thursday?
Of course, it’s because that’s what the pilgrims
did. Right? This time next week all good Americans will follow the traditions
set forth by the early settlers. Well, not exactly. Only a scant record exists
of that first Thanksgiving in 1691. Clearer documentation shows the second
official day of giving thanks fell in July of 1693. For a time the various
colonies set aside official days, some on Monday, some on Wednesday. History
suggests it was Jonathan Belcher, governor of Massachusetts Bay Colony, and
later governor of New Jersey, who influenced congress and President Washington
to set the date on a Thursday in November. But the tradition of the fourth
Thursday came later.
Washington’s Thanksgiving fell out of style. Other
presidents set aside special days, but the day and even the month varied.
President Lincoln brought back the official day of the last Thursday in
November. But in 1939, that Thursday was the last day of the month. President
Roosevelt, fearing a shortened holiday shopping season at a time when economic
stimulation was vital, moved Thanksgiving to the third Thursday. For the next
two years, parts of the country held to the former tradition, while other parts
celebrated with the president on the new day. After much congressional
confusion (imagine that) the official day was set not as the last Thursday, but
as the fourth Thursday. This kept Thanksgiving from falling on the last day of
November. Congress must have been looking into the future. We wouldn’t want all
those Black Friday bargainers waiting until the first of December to get the
shopping season started.
Here in my house, we’re not much into football. We
are very much into deep-fried turkey, sweet potato casserole, any other
casserole with crunchy stuff on top, southern dressing, homemade cranberry
sauce, any kind of pie other than pumpkin (which is about as popular as
football), and Swiss-onion bread. If we visit another household of family or
friends, we might watch the game on TV for a while, and one or two among us
might eat a piece of pumpkin pie. I will bring along the Swiss-onion bread. Most
are unfamiliar with the custom of baking this special treat. The pilgrims
didn’t start it. Roosevelt never proclaimed it the official bread of the
holiday. I’m the one who made it a tradition. In 1991, I declared it to be
forever known as Thanksgiving Bread.
That year, the day before Mother’s Day, I was on my
way to my aunt’s house for a special family dinner. My husband was coming
later. My children were with me, along with a big pan of Swiss-onion bread,
when a speeding drunk driver hit us head on. I don’t remember the accident. I
don’t even remember baking the bread. A few days later, when my husband went to
see the totaled car at the salvage yard, he found raccoons eating the doughy
goodness in the backseat.
The months that followed were tumultuous, but filled
with dependence on God a new depth of prayer. My little boy’s lacerated liver
healed. My little girl’s concussion and broken leg mended. My recovery from
badly damaged knees, a fractured skull, and plastic surgery to repair my face
took a bit longer. Personality changes from the head injury left me confused at
first, and then unsure of myself. By November, I was grateful for the changes
inside me, for the scars that meant I had survived, and mostly for the spared
lives of my children.
It was while preparing for the day of thanks that I
thought to bake the bread again. I renamed it Thanksgiving Bread and I’ve
served it at every Thanksgiving dinner since. It helps me remember to be truly
grateful.
Tradition should always perpetuate a clear recollection
of importance and meaning. We can only imagine what customs those first brave
settlers and their new native friends shared with one another. For every
variation of Thanksgiving Day in the history of our country, a series of
traditions have been either established or forgotten. If no special day existed
at all, if no turkey found its way to the table, if no game was played, if no
Black Friday flyer came in the mail, if no bread was baked, would we remember
to be thankful? My answer is yes. Not to sound un-American, but nevermind the
colonial proclamations and the acts of Congress. I’d rather be grateful every
day, not just when I bake my special bread and recollect what it signifies. Though
I am most certainly thankful for that. My ultimate gratitude—daily and
eternally— is for the One who sustains me. He is the Bread of Life.
Next Thursday, put down the potato
peeler and the turkey baster for a moment. Turn off the game for a while. And
just be grateful. On Thanksgiving Day I’ll post a short devotional, along with
a prayer of thanksgiving.
Thanksgiving Bread
Ingredients:
A bag of frozen
Parker House rolls (the kind that rise)
2 cups shredded
Swiss cheese
1 cup chopped
scallions
½ cup of melted
margarine or butter
Thaw the rolls and allow them to double in size.
Drizzle a tablespoon of the margarine in the bottom of a large, deep baking pan
and drop in just a bit of cheese and scallions. Arrange half the rolls in the
pan in a single layer. Drizzle on some more margarine. Add about two-thirds of
the cheese and scallions. Add a second layer of rolls, placing them of slightly
askew on top of the first layer. Pour on the rest of the margarine, and then
layer on the cheese and scallions. Bake at 350⁰ for about half an hour or until
brown on top. Serve warm, give thanks, enjoy.
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