I am part of a very large, boisterous, loving, ridiculous family that comes with all the bells and whistles during the holiday season. Thanksgiving, which is hosted by my dad’s first wife (you didn’t read that wrong), has always meant getting all 40ish of us together and celebrating under one roof. If you know my family or have ever been to one of our functions, you know that it’s a big deal to make it out alive. It was a big enough deal for my best friend (my dad’s first wife’s daughter from her second marriage and the other half sister to my 3 older brothers, but somehow not blood related to me in any way) to commended my husband in her maid of honor speech at our wedding by saying that she knew he was “The One” when we were still going strong after he had been subjected to our family’s Thanksgiving only a month after we started dating. We are a lot. We are the original extra guac, but if guac was Jewish…and really loud.
When we were kids, we’d run straight upstairs to the big game room aptly named “The Big Room” and get lost in board games and Legos while the men would be in the family room switching back and forth between whatever college games were on TV and the women in the living room chatting away or helping in the kitchen. I don’t mean for this to sound as nuclear as it does, but it’s just the truth. The kids would sneak downstairs to scope out dessert before it was served and eventually, those big room games and the garage handball we’d play over the years would later evolve into beer pong and flip cup and someone needing a nap before dinner.
Thanksgiving was my dad’s favorite holiday. He took so much pride in feeling like everyone gathered at that house was all somehow because of him. It was the house that he and his first wife moved into in the 70’s when they were married and starting their family. Even though it had been over 25 years since it was his home, you could tell he still felt at home there, nonetheless. All at once, he’d get to see his first wife and their 3 boys all grown up and married and their own families beginning to form. He would get to see his second wife, my mother (oh yes, that’s right … she was there too…and her husband) and their two daughters (of which I am the youngest) and his third wife and their son. Then there was his sister and her son and husband, his mom who’d survived his dad, cousins and close family friends and pretty much anyone else was always welcome. It seemed that if you were ever a Schneiderman, married to a Schneiderman, married to someone who was married to a Schneiderman, the first wife of the second husband of someone who was married to a Schneiderman (true story), or even standing behind a Schneiderman in line at the grocery store, you were there eating turkey.
Sadly, my dad died in 2011 just two weeks after his very last Thanksgiving. I can tell you that nothing really great happens when a person like my dad dies in a family. The next year, tensions were higher than ever, emotions were raw and people didn’t want to gather. I remember calling my dad’s first wife and telling her all of the reasons why she still had to host Thanksgiving, which only now as an adult do I fully understand how enormous of an ask that was. I didn’t want the family tradition to die with my dad. Being who she is, someone who lives for her family and has an innate sense of duty beyond my comprehension when it comes to sticking together, she agreed and has hosted Thanksgiving ever since.
This year, after what has felt like an eternity in isolation because of Covid-19, our giant family made the unprecedented decision not to gather. I am proud to say that we all found our own, much smaller ways to celebrate that felt right to our individual households. For my husband Jack and me, that meant hosting my mom and my stepdad on our patio. We ate at separate tables spaced 15 feet apart in what us Californian’s consider to be the bitter cold. There was no hugging hello, kissing goodbye, or taking obligatory photos together, though we did try and squeeze into frame for a selfie while sitting at our respective tables. This Thanksgiving was different from any I had ever known.
While I did miss getting to see everyone and the feeling of knowing that if my dad were to be anywhere in the world he would be in that house tugged on my heart strings, I felt that the way that we celebrated was the right choice for us. I felt so fortunate to able to fully appreciate that my mom and step dad were not only alive and well, but laughing with us and enjoying themselves and the beautiful meal that Jack and I had cooked for them. I felt proud and appreciative that we were in the position to do so, and that I married a wonderful person who cares just as much as I do about finding the joy in difficult situations because life is full of them and he fills my heart to the brim with happiness. We were luckier than so many people who couldn’t do the same and the weight of that realization sat with me the entire night. I didn’t take this very different looking Thanksgiving for granted.
I thought about how important my family is to me, how I am so thankful for the lives of those I love and how many in my family including myself are in the “high risk” category. I thought about how if spending a few holidays apart could guarantee that we all might be able to get back to those Thanksgivings that I love so much, I’d gladly give them up for a while to know that everyone would have a fair shot at being there when we could be together again. I thought about my grandma who I’d called earlier that day to wish a Happy Thanksgiving and hoped that this, her 92nd Thanksgiving, wouldn’t be her last.
I won’t sit here and preach to people about the importance of safety and how, as is the case with so many important things in life, our actions affect so much more than we know. I simply want to share with those who have struggled with how different this year has looked for all of us. I am here standing (6ft away) in solidarity with you in the hopes that we might all be able to find comfort in our commiseration. This is a hard time and deciding what is right for you and those you love may look different from where you’re sitting, but please know that in making those tough choices, you’re not alone. While we didn’t get to keep our traditions going this year, we found ways to express our thanks, to appreciate one another and to hold on tightly to the memories that make this time so special. I loved our little patio Thanksgiving and even with all of the difficulties surrounding us, somehow, I am more thankful than ever.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone.
Lots of Love,
Suni
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