In this time of heavy corporate marketing, we often lose track of the real meaning of Thanksgiving. This holiday is about more eating heavily processed foods, watching television, and shopping. Today we should take this opportunity to give thanks for what is most important in our lives.

This time of year, I often sit down my three illegitimate children. First, I must remind them who I am, since I only see them on holidays in November. Second, I turn to each of them, and tell them how much I love them. Thirdly, I ask them to remind me what their names are.

“Dad, why do we celebrate Thanksgiving?” asked Julio Menendez, my precocious youngest child. After berating him on not calling me sir, I sat him on my lap and began to tell him the story of the Pilgrims and the Indians, and the real meaning of Thanksgiving.

“You see, Julio, the Pilgrims came to America in a journey away from hard times in Europe and towards a better life here. This began the great tradition of our country accepting the rejects of the rest of the world. Just like the Mics, Krauts, Spics, Wops, Japs, Polocks and other lovable losers that came to America in search of liberty, justice, freedom, and the minimum wage.”

“When the Pilgrims arrived at the New World, there were already people there, the Indians. Now, the Indians thought they deserved the land, because they got there first. But the Indians forgot two things. Firstly, that they too were immigrants, who crossed the land bridge from India a couple of years before. And secondly, that they weren’t white. So instantly, the white people started shooting the Indians until they gave up their land.”

“But what does all this have to do with Thanksgiving?” asked my daughter Ashanti Ebony Jones.

“Well Thanksgiving is about the day they learned to live in harmony. You see, an attractive Amerindian named Pocahontas was being molested by a much older man named John Smith. One day, her dad, the Chief, found out and tried to kill him. But Pocahontas stopped the execution and said let’s have a feast instead.”

“So all the Pilgrims and Indians gathered for dinner. Pocahontas. Sacagawea. Columbus. And of course John Smith, the pederast. They sat down and had the first Thanksgiving meal.”

“And their Thanksgiving dinner was just like ours?” asked my oldest son, Vlad Sidorov.

“No Vlad. It was nothing like the Thanksgiving we are having today. It was nothing like the first Thanksgiving I had with your mom when I flew her over here. No, their Thanksgiving was very different than ours in that it was very awkward. You see, the Indians were a less developed people. They could not keep up intellectually with the Pilgrims’ advanced conversations on boats, pop culture, and buckles in hats. And in turn, the Pilgrims were awkward around the Indians because they wanted to kill them so much. So the dinner was uneasy, with everyone around the table making small talk and chit chat.”

“What was the food like?” asked Julio.

“How about you don’t fucking interrupt me, Julio? But it was nothing like ours. Sure, they had turkey, and mashed potatoes, and pumpkin pie, and whipped cream. But otherwise, anthropologists to this day are unsure what else they ate. There is no way of knowing. What probably occurred was the Indians brought some weird shit to the dinner, and the Pilgrim’s politely put a small portion on their plates, but mostly ate the turkey.”

“Then the Pilgrims went outside while the Indians stayed inside and washed the dishes. The Pilgrims watched games of sport all day. These sports included a Pilgrim’s game where you toss a pig’s skin around and an Indian’s game where you gut a buffalo to call forth earth spirits to destroy the white man.”

“After all that turkey, all the Pilgrims and Indians were tired and took a long nap. And some of them, in a sign of peace and togetherness, went to bed together. To have sex. You know how it’s polite to give gifts on Holidays? That tradition was started when the Pilgrims gave the Indians small pox!”

“And then what happened?” asked Julio.

“I swear to God! Shut the fuck up! Ashanti and Vlad are trying to hear a story, and you keep on interrupting, because you think every little thing is about you Julio! Get out! Get out of the room you bastard child! You don’t get to hear the meaning of Thanksgiving. I wish you were never born.”

Julio sulked out of the room.

“The Pilgrims and the Indians woke up early the next day for shopping at the market. Some stores opened at 4 a.m. and the Indians stood in line for big savings because they were poor.”

“After this first Thanksgiving, there was peace between the Pilgrims and the Indians forever. The Pilgrims gave the Indians the right to create casinos. And in return, the Indians promised to give up all of America and a great deal of their human rights for the upcoming centuries.”

Ashanti and Vlad looked up at me, wide eyed and in awe. Looking down at them, at my beautiful family, I realized something. The real meaning of Thanksgiving is more than Pilgrims killing Indians. It’s about family.

“Go get Julio from outside,” I told Vlad. “Bring him in here so we can be together. As a family. But tell him if he says one more Goddamn word I’ll beat his ass.”

This article is dedicated to my two favorite children. Ashanti and Vlad. I’ll love you forever!