
One fall semester many moons ago, I read Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee. I got pretty angry about the lies and omissions I had been fed for years about America’s treatment of the natives, and especially about the Thanksgiving myths I’d been taught since Kindergarten. That year I protested the celebration of Thanksgiving by refusing to take part in my family’s holiday traditions. Eventually I came to terms with this ugly part of our past and made the holiday my own with a more personal take on giving thanks. But I still like to take the time to reflect on the kindness and unflagging trust that the Native Americans showed to those who arrived on their shores, and to give special thanks for those people who extend a hand of kindness to me each and every day. Despite its historic roots, the idea of a holiday to give thanks is a wonderful thing, something I’d like to celebrate every day.
				

