A wonderful essay by J. Bottum in First Things is called "Dakota Thanksgiving," but it's really about family, and growing up:

Thanksgiving was arguments and huffs and recriminations and doors slamming and one indistinguishable great-uncle or another rousing himself from his after-dinner torpor to growl, "Now, now," from an easy chair, puffing through his mustache like an irritated walrus as he loosened his belt another notch. Thanksgiving was my sisters crying, and my aunt rising like Athena in righteousness at the dining-room table to shout, "You wretched insect," and my father slipping off to the kitchen to sit at the counter and hold his head, muttering, "Every year. Every goddamn year."

It's worth reading just for Bottum's description of his appetite at age fourteen, when he would eat entire wax-paper packages of graham crackers and cover them with butter to make them more filling. Read it, and look forward to your own Thanksgiving.

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