I Tip My Capotain to You

Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite holidays. I mean, I honestly love everything about this holiday. Particularly because the premise of the holiday revolves around one of America’s greatest vices, gluttony. Something tells me that if the pilgrims knew that thanking God for the harvest would yield a 30% obesity rate 400 years later, they might have decided to thank God for something else, such as gainful employment.

In my family, the holiday has always been remarkably equable. Ever since I can remember, my immediate family has traveled to Delaware to spend Thanksgiving Day with the rest of the Gavrons (no, Brenda – not the Garvons). And each year without fail, my grandmother, whom I love dearly, brings a newly discovered morsel apportioned to each family member in a zip lock bag. This year, along with our dinner, we each received a nibble of some Dutch fruitcake that was apparently “winning awards all across Europe.” We were all really lucky she got her hand on one of these winning fruity delights. Frankly, I think my immediate family was just thankful that the soupcon did not contain peanut butter.

My sister, Lisa, has a strong allergy to peanut products. And apparently just as strong as my sister’s allergy is my grandmother’s determination to induce an allergic reaction. One year, my grandmother was doling out chocolates.

-Grandma, does this contain peanuts?

-Oh, no. There aren’t any peanuts in it. Try it. It’s delicious.

I guess my grandmother was found not guilty, since the chocolate center was, in fact, peanut butter, not a peanut. Needless to say, that Thanksgiving ran over on the giving and fell short of the thanks.

In more recent years, my college friends and I have started and tradition that neither words nor phrases, limericks nor haikus can describe. The event has come to be known as Dranksgiving. It’s a very simple concept; a Thanksgiving tailored for college students (and those still wishing they were in college). The event started four years ago, impromptu, at a buddy’s apartment with a boxed wine hour followed by a potluck Dranksgiving feast. This year, the event expanded to 50 of our closest dranksters and featured what later became known as poor man’s sangria, a combination of JOOSE (a caffeinated malt beverage) mixed with cheap red wine. The night lived up to its hype, and was certainly the yang to my traditionally predictable yin of a Thanksgiving.