A little African in Prospect, Ohio for Thanksgiving

December 6th, 2013 by Student Blogger
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By Sakhile Vanqa

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Emily and Grandma

When I was younger Thanksgiving was a holiday I knew nothing about beyond what I saw in movies, and how Lewis Black would describe it. I thought it was a few days before Christmas because, essentially, I saw the two as the same thing.

This Thanksgiving break has been the best I have ever had. Though I have only experienced two in my lifetime, I’m sticking to what I said. My friend Emily kidnapped me to spend the holiday with her and her family in Prospect, OH. It’s almost as small as it sounds. As we drove through the night, Ohio decided it would be great to come down with a couple inches of snow but it subsided as we got closer to Prospect. I laughed to myself, ‘the snow feels it’s too good for this small town.’

Thanksgiving prep.

Thanksgiving prep.

Her family reminded me of mine, in that the size was massive, and everyone had new stories to share with one another that were better than the ones that came before it. The only difference, when I later compared my family and hers, was that one uncle that decides to pull everyone in to hear his opinion on a subject. I wasn’t complaining, in fact the amount of food provided left me distracted and in such a comatose state that I think if a bear wandered in and started gnawing on my leg I would have let the guy have at it.

Thanksgiving breeds selflessness, I say.

The little time Emily and I had sober from food was used as a prelude to how the winter break would be spent: late nights fueled by Netflix, and visits to friends and family running on good conversation and music.

And this leads me to Saturday, another feast, and  Emily’s informal adoptive family. To make a long story short, she has another family that has taken her under their wing. They are a mighty awesome bunch, with Kim and Finch parenting the kids in what Kim has told me is a haunted house.

While we waited for the food to get ready, we played the guitar in the kitchen that was warmed by a wood stove, something I haven’t seen in use since I was a wee lad in my grandmother’s kitchen eavesdropping on the grown-ups and trying to understand things that were beyond my years.  I then instantly reverted back to my habit of the holiday, and ate until I couldn’t feel my face any longer.

Louis C.K. said ‘the meal isn’t over when I’m full…it’s over when I begin to hate myself.’

Here here, Louis. Here here!

Sakhile Vanqa is a junior majoring in Cinematic Arts who enjoys humor, cycling, and aspires to shoot for National Geographic.

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