More than 40 million turkeys are slaughtered and sliced each year as we commemorate our forefathers' safe journey across the Atlantic Ocean, and those mothercluckers deserve it. (Hey, you try and think of a gobble-based pun.)
As a side note, more than 10 times that amount of potatoes are yanked from their families, savaged in boiling water and then crushed to death for the same occasion but receive much less sympathy. That is because potatoes are jerks.
Turkeys, on the other hand, are much more sinister. After all, everyone knows of the epic struggle between the turkeys and the pilgrims, which resulted when the former, originally aquatic creatures infamous for their gross religious intolerance, attacked the Mayflower on its famed 1620 voyage. It all might have ended there had those vicious cock-like gobblers (well, I tried) not clung to the hull to be dragged ashore, where their scrotum-faced ancestors would become the turkeys we know and love (to eat) today.
Peeved but hoping to have a fresh start in a fresh world, the pilgrims tried to make amends by hosting a party. Unfortunately, the celebrations got a bit out of hand when one turkey, completely plastered, thought it would be funny to strip off his feathers and run through the crowd only to trip and fall into someone's digestive tract. A big misunderstanding, but turkeys can hold a grudge and retaliated years later by framing the pilgrims... something to do with blankets. It was all very messy.
This pilgrim-turkey rivalry seemed a sort of never-ending feud for the ages, bad blood passed on through generations, but much like the legendary tale of Romeo and Juliet, also has a happy ending, as I recently discovered after being invited to co-host my fresher's Thursday radio show next week as his Thanksgiving-celebrating, gun-toting, yeehaw-shouting American friend.
With only a short and historically questionable list of Thanksgiving facts to share with his listeners (For instance, did you know pilgrims wear buckles on their hats to honor those who died at an unfortunate musical chairs incident at the second Thanksgiving? It's all fun and games until somebody gets sat on....), I decided to do some research (read Wikipedia) and discovered the White House's annual turkey pardoning.
I was glad to learn that after all these years we have finally taken the higher moral ground and forgiven those heathens for everything they've done.
According to Wikipedia: "Since 1947, or possibly earlier, the National Turkey Federation has presented the president of the United States with one live turkey and two dressed turkeys, in a ceremony known as the National Thanksgiving Turkey Presentation."
In classic Godfather-inspired form, we kill and cook the live turkey's family and friends to make sure he doesn't get any ideas and to ensure compliance.
"The live turkey is pardoned and lives out the rest of [his] days on a peaceful farm."
Very possibly the same farm my mother sent my first cat Mewmew to recover from that incident with the car. This theory is supported by the Wiki-fact that the tradition possibly dates back to Abraham Lincoln pardoning his son's pet turkey.
"Daddy, where's Gobbles?"
In more recent years, two turkeys have been pardoned "in case the original turkey becomes unavailable for presidential pardoning" (which begs the question: Which intern screwed up and cooked the first turkey?), and since 2003, the American public has been invited to vote for the two turkeys' names, demonstrating our pure class and unrivalled sensitivity with such choices as "Marshmallow and Yam" and "Biscuit and Gravy."
But the crème de la creamed spinach of this Wikipedia entry is an even more recent tweak to this tradition: "Since 2005, the two turkeys have been flown first class on United Airlines..."
A flight I'd love to be on.
"... from Washington, D.C. to the Los Angeles area where they become the Grand Marshals of Disneyland's annual Thanksgiving Day parade down Main Street. The two turkeys live out the rest of their relatively short lives in Disneyland's Frontierland ranch."
Why "relatively short" is specified is suspect but understandable. A few too many trips through the "It's a Small World" ride could make anyone want to end it.
Even so, the turkey pardoning tradition is a glowing example of what inter-cultural relations could and should be. Sure, we've slaughtered millions upon millions of our feathered friends. No biggie. A bit of land, a photo-op and a ticket to the happiest place on earth fix everything... right?
Lysa Chen is a Trinity junior. Her columns run every other Friday.
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