I’m blessed to come from a family with five brothers. We’re all physical and athletic and like to work out, like to be outside, like to throw the ball around. We spent our entire childhoods on some kind of corner or in a field. We still do a Turkey Bowl every Thanksgiving. It gets competitive, man. Bloody.
My birthday is always around Thanksgiving, and I always had to have turkey on my birthday. My mom was always, ‘Let’s celebrate your birthday on Thanksgiving.’ My other siblings got to have special dinners they liked. I resented turkey. For a long time, I hated turkey. I’ve kind of gotten over it.
Lets talk about the holidays, more specifically, consumption during the holidays. If it’s true that ‘We are what we eat,’ most of us would be unrecognizable during the period that ranges from the night before Thanksgiving through that day in early January when everyone decides to return to the gym.
Let’s say you go to a friend’s wedding, or Thanksgiving, or Halloween. It’d be great the next day to see what went on with your friends’ Thanksgiving weekend, or all the costumes they wore on Halloween, and be able to look back and see what they wore the year before, and the year before that.
I don’t think any other holiday embraces the food of the Midwest quite like Thanksgiving. There’s roasted meat and mashed potatoes. But being here is also about heritage. Cleveland is really a giant melting pot – not only is my family a melting pot, but so is the city.
I’ve seen terrorism close up, but I don’t live in a state of terror at all. I’m comfortable going to the Manhattan Thanksgiving Day Parade, the tree lighting at Rockefeller Center, Times Square on New Years Eve. For perspective, the world today is a safer place than it was during the Cuban Missile Crisis, the Berlin Airlift, World War II.
My restaurants are never opened on Thanksgiving; I want my staff to spend time with their family if they can. My feeling is, if I can’t figure out how to make money the rest of the year so that my workers can enjoy the holidays, then I don’t deserve to be an owner.
After church on the Sunday after Thanksgiving, my family would go chop down our Christmas tree. Once it was home and placed in its stand, Mom and I would painstakingly decorate our tree. It took hours to place the tinsel, string the lights, find the perfect spot for my favorite macaroni and felt ornaments from kindergarten.
Every year, I hear about Thanksgiving. Who do one give thanks to? … And who is giving thanks? What are they giving thanks for? For lots of poverty that’s on the earth and lots of war that is a-rumoring all over the earth? For lots of people who die daily and the crime that multiply?
From the beginning, the Continental Congress had official chaplains, prayers, and days of fasting and Thanksgiving. When sessions opened in 1774, fear was voiced that the religious diversity of the country would make it hard to choose a form of worship.
One of the best parts of Thanksgiving for me is re-watching some of the classic holiday blunders that have been depicted on television. I remember laughing uncontrollably on the set of ‘That Girl’ back in 1967 when we shot the episode, ‘Thanksgiving Comes But Once A Year, Hopefully’ during our second season.
Where I grew up, I could be a punk rocker and a jock. But in college, it became apparent that those two worlds didn’t mix. When I brought my guitar back to school after Thanksgiving break, a friend handed me his bass and said, ‘Listen to the Ramones.’
I started acting in second grade – my first role was in the Thanksgiving play. I was the Indian chasing the turkey. All the other mom’s encouraged my mom to get me into acting after that. Also, when I saw ‘The Sound of Music’ at Music Circus, I knew I wanted to act.
I like to decide the night before Thanksgiving that I’m gonna do it, and I’ll see what riff raff is around. Then I get that last-minute surge of energy. But if I had two weeks to plan, sometimes I wish I wasn’t doing it. But very seldom does that happen.
Something I didn’t even know was on my bucket list has been achieved. I have cooked Thanksgiving dinner with Martha Stewart. I vow to follow the gospel of her teachings and do my very best in the remarkably less glamorous kitchen of my own home… without the luxury of magically appearing prep bowls filled by a staff of sous chefs.
One of my most memorable Thanksgiving memories was probably the first year that me and my two brothers decided to start our annual eating contest. We ate throughout the whole day. We started that morning and weighed ourselves, and at the very end of the night, we weighed ourselves out. And all three of us equally gained five pounds.
When I was about nine years old, I announced to my mother that I was going to cook Thanksgiving dinner. And I went to the library and got this whole pile of books. I’d love to say it all turned out great. It didn’t. But, sort of, from that point on, whenever there was serious cooking at home, I was the one who did it.
When I first sat down with my oncologist the day before Thanksgiving, and she told me I would need 8 rounds of chemo, one of my first questions admittedly was: ‘Will I lose my hair?’ It sounds shallow, I know, but it was a very scary image to me.
I was 23 when I learned how to cook; I grew up around the same time. It was precisely then that Thanksgiving started to mean something more. Growing up, Christmas was always about me, and eventually you, when I finally started to enjoy the giving part. But Thanksgiving is always about us.
I really don’t do much on the night of Thanksgiving other than bring the wine and carve the turkey. My contribution comes the day after, in the form of breakfast. I usually just forage through the leftovers for things that will go well with eggs.
I loved my mom so much because she had to work on a penny just to put food on the table… During the Depression in the United States, everybody had a tough time. And I was so hurt because she was crying that she didn’t have any food for us for Thanksgiving.
I know, especially in my family, people’s feelings get hurt over the tiniest things. I’m sure that’s true in every family. But, for instance, one year, I came a little bit late to Thanksgiving, and I was supposed to bring a salad. And I just brought a bag of lettuce, and put it in a bowl. Five years later, I heard that my mom was incensed.
It’s part of the American experience: We deal with mosquitoes in August, airport delays around Thanksgiving, expensive health care and the potential of being shot, at any time, by a semiautomatic weapon as we try to go about the most boring, precious, asinine aspects of our daily lives.
My dad is a big Outlaw country guy – Johnny Cash, Johnny Horton, Waylon, Willie. He loves Elvis and turned me onto Elvis. He was always playing me stuff. He and I would sing and entertain the family. We’d have a little skit on Thanksgiving or whatever.
Once, at Thanksgiving, a neighbor wandered in while my cousin Lisa worked on a turkey, shearing meat off its frame and sliding the steaming slices onto a big flowered plate. ‘Hey, that’s the man’s job,’ she yelped, in between slurps of her Big Gulp. No one even paused to acknowledge the comment; everyone just laughed and laughed.
