A Cuban Thanksgiving Memory

My earliest memory with Thanksgiving was getting together at my Tia Berta’s and Tio Alfredo’s house in Indianapolis with all my United States born cousins.  My Melendez cousins: Ronnie, Debbie, Karen, Kathy, Stevie, Bobby, Roger, Twyla, Nicky, Alicia, were mostly all blonde haired, blue eyed, and very much radiated the confidence of kids who knew what tribe they identify with.  I, newly arrived to this county, was a novelty to them and I was trying to identify myself with them, but I was different in many ways. I was born in a country that was repressed, I had learned early on to live in fear and mistrust of neighbor, I  didn’t know English, and I had not become yet too comfortable with the North American tradition of eating Turkey and stuffing and cranberry jelly.  My earliest memories of Thanksgiving are not about the food we shared though, it was the fun we had in getting together in my Tio’s basement around a very long make shift table and listening to our family stories being told by the adults. It was in those celebrations that I learned to figure out where I came from and who I was.

Having entered this country in December of 1966 after being “expatriated” by Cuba, my family were able to rely on my Tio's who had already settled here years prior.  We came with only the clothes we were wearing.  We were not allowed to take any personal belongings with us, it all belonged to Cuba.  My five year old mind was looking forward to seeing snow. I was not disappointed because as we got off our small plane at the Indianapolis airstrip, not only did I see snow, I smelled snow.  Ok, I know that sounds odd, but I so remember the crisp, cold, minty, smell of snowy air.  It hit my olfactory senses and registered in my mind, that to this day, that smell brings me back to that hour I landed in a new northern landscape that would become my home for the next 6 years of my life.  For me that distinct sweet aroma is how I would describe what freedom smells like; yes, freedom has a fragrance!

Looking back, I see how privileged I was to be taken in generously by our family and all my cousins. We were needy, but never hungry, never alone, never without a gathering to celebrate an occasion. My parents worked more than one job each; having had a profession in Cuba they had to turn to factory jobs here.  We were too proud to take handouts from the government, even though we probably qualified, and I remember my parents always sharing what we had with others who had just immigrated too, and not just from Cuba.  The first house my parents purchased was small but we had the largest parties!  Cubans are like that, we celebrate any small occasion. In fact, we will make up occasions just to get ready to celebrate an official occasion. For example, in December, we spend the entire month getting ready for Christmas Eve.   The day we shop for our food is an occasion to celebrate, the day we marinate the pork is a party, the day we decorate our tree is a bash, and there are usually friends or family in town, so reunion revelry is usually in the works. Then we celebrate Christmas Day, mom usually bakes a ham,  and then we have the next few weeks of get togethers and visiting friends houses until we get to Epiphany in January, which in the Cuban tradition, is when we celebrate "Three Kings Day".  So for us, the entire month of December into January was one big festival with my family and friends sharing time and meals together. How blessed was I as a kid? 

This same experience is repeated at Thanksgiving.  Just taking the turkey out of the freezer can be an occasion. We have a “marinate the turkey” night usually the night before Thanksgiving; my family traditionally bakes bread also (thanks to the electric Bread maker, no need to knead anymore) and we always love waking up on Thanksgiving morning to the smell of freshly baked bread.  After breakfast, we wrap up the bread loaves, place them in a basket, insert a few wine bottles we plan to share at our family dinner and take it with us to Mass that morning.  There is no better way to celebrate than being a part of a wider more diverse community, all who gather together to have their bread and wine blessed, so that we can share those blessings in our homes later.  I now realize that that is what makes Thanksgiving more than just about the food we will eat, it is about the gathering experiences and those traditions that bind us.  At Mass, we gather around our Lord’s Table and share a Eucharistic Meal, later that day we gather around our own family table and share again with those who are one with us. 
"Eucharist", a Greek word that means Thanksgiving; this is what it means to be Catholic and a Cuban living in this country- to be a thankful people, to be a celebratory people and though many and dispersed throughout the world, we are all One in the Lord!  Thanks to my parent's traditions and Catholic faith, our Cuban culture melded with the North American culture beautifully. I have not lost my Cuban culture, but it has been transformed. I know who I am today, because of my traditions; the traditions of my family and of my faith have shaped me.  Now 40 some years later, I can look back and see that what I was taught  in those gatherings through the years was to be generous, to be humble, to be accepting and welcomng, to be proud of our stories and to always take advantage of those invaluable moments when as a family we can give thanks for one another!