One of my sister’s texted back, “Happy Gratitude Day.”

I heard the true Thanksgiving Day story as told by an ancestor of the first people here on this continent. My inner Thanksgiving narrative from childhood deflated from balloon to Whoopee cushion. My high school history ensconced son verified the new narrative – a celebration of early European Americans after slaughtering and taking over land from those peoples of the Wampanoag tribe – eight years after the arrival of the pilgrims on the outer edge of the Cape. Someone later on pulled that rock over to the harbor and pronounced it ‘Plymouth Rock.’ I learned that I am not to confuse the Puritans with the Pilgrims. Puritans came here due to religious persecution – pilgrims came for economic promise.

There’s a reason why, for the past fifty years, folks have been gathering in Plymouth for a day of mourning on Thanksgiving Day. So I must mourn my childhood narrative and accept with humility a more true one (supported by my own responsible research). And so ‘Happy Gratitude Day’ begins to infiltrate Thanksgiving for me.

Let it be so.