Thanksgiving dates back roughly 1,989 years since Jesus went to college and the Three Wise Men realized that another holiday was required to bring Him home before His birthday. Today, undergrads all over the United States continue the tradition by returning home for the first time since September.
Of course, on the first Thanksgiving, Christ brought home 12 friends, thus inspiring the saying "home for the holidays" and the notion that college students are freeloaders.
But it was too late: The Three Wise Men had already started the tradition. And in keeping with that tradition this holiday season, millions of parents will fly their children home for a solid weekend of bingeing.
I haven't seen my own family since September. For that reason, I look forward to Thanksgiving not for the comfort of sleeping in an adult-sized bed, not to collect my winter wardrobe, not even for the food, but for the family bonding - the delicious, gravy-smothered family bonding.
Just because I show up with a fork and knife in hand doesn't mean my reasons for returning home are selfish. My parents enjoy feeding me and listening to me talk. Upon dropping me off for the year, they came upon a flier promoting Sexual Assault Awareness Day. Events like this help remind them that there was a time in their lives, decades ago, when they too were assured in the belief that not only would they Increase Awareness of Sexual Assault, but also End War and Eliminate Racism. On the other hand, my premature bitterness and life goal to Do Laundry reminds them to stay young and, as my father has taken to saying, "keep it real."
Additionally, my parents are extremely interested in my housing situation: the Mod that I share with five roommates and approximately 100 used and empty boxes of instant couscous. In particular, my parents are concerned with security in the Mods. In between bites of stuffing, I will assure them that should a burglar ever enter our couscous fort, he would trip over one of the completely legal, three-pronged extension cords connecting the charger to the phone held by the person permanently installed on our sofa. What I will not mention is that this young person is probably not one of my roommates, and for all I know, not even a student at Boston College. Nevertheless, she is stationed in the common room 24 hours a day, discussing over the phone How To End War.
Catching up aside, as my mother reminds me, Thanksgiving is a day of gratitude and togetherness. It's not a day that I should spend lamenting not attending a local school so I can make the 30-minute drive home with my laundry like my direct roommate.
But since we're on the topic, flying home is a pain, especially with all the luggage restrictions. My freshman year, I was a little overeager and packed in advance, which meant that I lived out of my suitcase for about three weeks before I went home.
I've come a long way since then. Now I shove everything within sight into a carry-on sized duffel bag a few hours before my flight. I do this mostly for the benefit of my mother, who receives pleasure from criticizing my clothing.
Like most families, we play traditional games after dinner. I'm not referring to the sweet-potato-high, post-meal, neighborhood game of touch football in which I remind Alex, the 26-year-old undergrad, "Put your shirt back on. Please. I have a very full stomach and a heart condition." Rather, I am talking about a family favorite: "Guess Which Part of the Meal Mom Didn't Outsource to Caterers."
This year, however, I predict things will be vastly different. This is because my father was recently put on a highly regimented diet for his cholesterol, which consists of the consumption of foods low in salt, fat, and flavor - or, as my father puts it, "dietary castration." See, according to my dad, male Thanksgiving gratification indicates food with skin, food advertised on the television, food with well wishes piped on in frosting, and most importantly, ignoring your significant other. You know, guy stuff.
So even from the lofty position as a College Senior, I can admit that I still take advice from my parents. When asked at the dinner table what I am most grateful for this Thanksgiving, with full credit to my father, I can proudly answer: "starch."
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