Raiden’s
Mental Escapades:
Turkey
Day
There
are two major reasons to hate turkey day, as turkey day and not the day of
thanks which completely misconstrued and lost in today’s day and age.
~ Yes I
have a serious bent loathing on the subject, but follow me I actually have a
point! ~
1.
First and foremost is the
fact you are actually celebrating the day that signed the pact of complete annihilation
of a race, MY race, of people. American Indians. I am Cherokee. Our people
being of a natural giving nature, gave the alien pale forms food and skill of
growing upon this foreign soil for what? To be slaughtered in the billions and
prosecuted right up and into today.
Give that a second to
soak in.
Billions of Indians
slaughtered from the day of the pact blessed with shaking hands over a meal
shared between men, only to be flipped and turned into a hunted persecution,
domination, and intentional obliteration. From the start to modern day this act
has been sanctified and celebrated every year. Can you imagine doing such a
thing over Hitler’s wipeout of Jews? S. Africans? Congolese Nations? Tibetans?
Serbians? Latinos? Man the world would go insane with uproar if anyone even
thought of celebrating the start of those racial wars. Yet we have major
football events, parades, tv specials, and parties completely dedicated to this.
Sorry all I can think of
is how my grandma’s entire tribe was obliterated, literally. There are no full
blooded members, and only less than a handful of half bloods, two handfuls of
quarter bloods. By the time I and my siblings die there will be absolutely no
trace of this extinct line. NONE, like the freaking dinos it will be gone.
I think about how my
direct ancestors, the proud and peaceful Cherokee, were lethally collected and
then brutally driven from the southern shores across states and into Oklahoma
along the trail of tears. How many died from exhaustion, weather, sickness,
starvation, and so on.
How then the government
kept whittling or moving the reservations to suit their wants or mineral finds
so that the people lived on damn near inhabitable land. How they then country
wide gave them typhoid blankets, rat infested grains, and other infected things
in a solid and documented effort to take more land by annihilation. And when
that didn’t work, they took our children and stripped them of their culture,
language, and identity by forcing them in mandated boarding schools. Creating
generations who knew nothing of what they were or in some cases even where they
lived or came from due to the children being too young. Thus breaking the eternal
souls of the American Indian who mourned their children as if they were dead,
my grandfather was one.
They never found his
siblings and his name was changed to Bill. As a bonified American hero; rear admiral
in the Navy and one of the first SEALs buried with honor and presidential appearance
for his bravery and actions; he never forgot or forgave the day they came with
busses and dragged him from his home slapping a stringed cardboard sign on his
chest and shoes on his feet then cut his hair to a short crew cut. The bus was
as cold as the boarding school, the sign read his name was now Bill, and with
that he entered the white man’s world.
How today most of the
reservations cannot support themselves or people since the towns and jobs are
impossibly far and government checks barely cover cost or get spent on the
liquor stores or drugs peddled in and allowed licenses while other businesses are
not. How like many of todays poor get stamps or checks that barely cover fatty
based foods and not the healthy stuff like veggies, and how that brings mass
waves of diabetes effectively helping wipeout the minorities even more. Not
every res has casinos or cash markets. Not every res has good schools or
doctors. Nearly all reservations are located in remote rural places that make
it hard for the people to find work or go to a decent school, which leaves the
younger generations without solid education or college…. Which as we all know
creates a rut you cannot escape.
Very few recognize exactly
what they are celebrating on Thanksgiving Day.
Murder, slaughter,
suffering.
2.
Besides that horror,
there is the actual thankless part of THANKSgiving. It really should be called
PLASTICgiving or SLAVEgiving.
All you do is spend the
day either slaving in a kitchen over a meal that really truly isn’t worth it. –
my biased hate of most turkeyday gross food aside – You make a giant bird that
takes hrs and hrs cooking; then eventually after its torn apart u have to
debone it and package it; cook every dish known to man: Stuffing, corn, sweet
potato/yam something or other, cassaroles, pudding or fruit gobby whatevers,
bread, rolls, pies upon pies… yada yada. Then sit down for a whole 30 if your lucky
while yelling at kids to not gobble or throw junk, yell at husbands to use a
napkin or fork and quite waving the meat around while talk/arguing some point
or sport or whatever, catch food flying at your head from said kids, play nice
to some chick or dude that got invited that you really wish had read the
implied ‘do not respond to plastic invite’…
O’ and you got all your brood dressed nice and combed for this event, done up
the house, checked the animals for nonflea infested ready to bite and tear up
the place mode by kicking them out. –
Then clean it ALL up!
or
If you’re lucky enough to
GO and invade some other house: Then it’s
the get the brood fancy dressed and combed, smelling right even if the boys
always seem to have some wak smell lingering from foreign substances growing in
their closets or under the bed… arse crack?... and spend the entire drive
warning them with deep serious threats of bodily harm if they say… light nanny’s
hair on fire or decide to mud wrestle in the back yard or decide now is the time
to let every dark secret you’ve kept bottled up the entire year out in a wide
spread freak flag… so fun… then spend the entire time helping do food or
avoiding those people you secretly loath only to discover you apparently have ‘come torture me’ stamped on your head
or rump. ~ Again plastic smiles, plastic conversation, plastic ‘we are perfect’ all trampled over you.
And then it’s the plastic
prayed or toasted thanks circled around the table in all the usual forms, which
never really is the real deal ‘thanks’ you should be giving or any actual act
you’ve done besides herd in your brood and thanking god none of you died in the
process over the year.
Very few have actually
gotten off their butts and gave in the actual sense of the word or spirit of
what this holiday is suppose to be.
Giving food to those that do not have, giving items they need, giving time to
those that are basically ignored. I do not mean just dropping a turkey off or a
basket of food at your church or whatever. I mean seeking out the REAL needy
people and giving. The guy digging in your trash or living in a shack, the
woman who’s got 3 kids and no job, the elderly down at the home who would give
anything for attention or a surprise. – And not for just the day. Continuing as
you can all through the year.
Basically not be plastic.
If you’re going to
celebrate DO it knowing what and why and actually giving a damn outside your
little sheep bubble. See what is really going down in your hood and help out.
Give things people need: Jobs, Bills paid, Homes, Cars, Clothing and toys,
Education… so on. Even if it’s just a small amount, that small amount adds up. It
doesn’t have to be money or food, it could be anything. Even a smile and ear
makes a big difference.
SO, yah, Turkey day isn’t my holiday.
I get fed up with all the plastic judging people with fake attitudes and fake
style or airs. Money don’t mean a thing to me, I really truly hate pretty much
everything on the table, I don’t do fake… anyone who knows me would say
A-Fraking-Men to that, and for me it’s like dining over dead bodies…much like
giving me flowers, why would you hand me dead things and want a kiss or praise?
You misewell have handed me a severed hand or arm…. *shakes head* It makes no
sense to me.
At least I can use the arm to beat
you with.
I may not be the most sane being on
the planet, but I do have my priorities… and those with me either get off their
butts and DO or they don’t get fed…. When, if ever, they convince me to slave
on freaking Slaughterday.
This year they didn’t push.
This year I was pampered.
This year we had Ezmart chicken,
slurpy’s that last all day, oven baked cinnamon rolls dripping in cream.
This year I tried not to think too
hard.
… and this year Caveman took my sharp
shiny exploding toys away… so this year there was no ER or cops. *sighs hard*
SO SO SO wrong!
This year I missed my boys super for really
bad.
