The following is from attorney, author and long time vegan Mark W. Reinhardt.
When I was a
child, Thanksgiving was turkey day. By the time we got to my grandparents’
house in the early afternoon, the smell of the roasting bird reached clear out
to the car. I’d run into the house, excited, and open the oven door to see it.
Despite the fact that it looked done to me, it would always take what seemed
like an eternity to get everything ready to eat. My job was mashing the
potatoes that would serve as the receptacle for turkey gravy. It was a simple
procedure, but one entirely dependent on adding just the right amount of milk.
A more complex task, left to my father and grandfather, was dissection of the
great bird. I was convinced that it was a job that required not only my
constant supervision, but also my occasional nibbling fingers to remove small
pieces that fell by the wayside and would otherwise go to waste. When we were
finally ready to eat, there would be the yearly battle between my
great-grandmother and me over the parts of the turkey we liked best. She always
let me win.
After the main
course, I have memories of multiple pieces of pie with whipped cream and card
playing on the big round table—once it was cleared. Then, later that night, and
for some days thereafter, there would be turkey sandwiches, always on white
bread with mayonnaise.
I look back on the
Thanksgivings of my youth with mixed feelings. I remember at times I would
think about the turkey as a real animal rather than just a meal. At those
times, I would feel bad, wondering why this bird had to give his or her life
for the sake of our supper. I would ease my conscience with the thought that
Thanksgiving and turkey were synonymous—you couldn’t have one without the
other. Not only was turkey the whole point of Thanksgiving, but it was
something that everyone, including my family, subscribed to—it must be right!
But even if it wasn’t, there was nothing a young boy could do about it.
I’ve learned a lot
since then. I know now that, while it can’t be denied that a certain amount of
tradition has evolved around eating a turkey as the main dinner course, and
while that tradition holds memories for lots of us, that doesn’t make it right.
Eating turkeys is not the whole point of Thanksgiving. The slaughter of
a bird is no closer to the meaning of the holiday than are the Macy’s parade or
the football games on the majority of our television sets. There are other
traditions to be had for the asking that can be just as enjoyable and even more
meaningful. I also know that what matters to me now about those Thanksgivings
long ago is not what we ate, but what we were—a family with an opportunity to
be together, to share our support and love for one another.
While many of the
family members I shared my early Thanksgivings with are now gone, in many ways
the holiday itself means more to me now than it ever has. Part of the reason is
that I no longer have to endure those tugs at my conscience—there is no turkey
on my table. While I once felt powerless to defy tradition and change that one
aspect of the holiday that bothered me, I now know that my Thanksgiving is
whatever I choose to make it.
This year at our
vegetarian Thanksgiving feasts we will all have a great deal to be thankful
for. We’ll have the opportunity to celebrate the fruits of the harvest, and to
revel in the bounty that the earth provides without the necessity of taking
life. There will be good food and good friends.
This year I’ll
have my eye on the children, and I’ll admire their parents for raising them as
vegetarians. Together with vegetarian families across the country they will be
creating new Thanksgiving Day traditions—traditions that carry with them a
message of reverence for life that can be passed from generation to generation.
Thanksgiving is a
special holiday for vegetarians. This is particularly true for vegetarian
children, as their Thanksgiving will have only the joy and the love—without the
killing, and without knowing the guilt. What a fine Thanksgiving that is!
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