Every November, like clockwork, it begins: the jingles infiltrate our airwaves, Santa sits for photos at the mall, and our neighbors hoist inflatable snowmen onto their lawns — all while the autumn leaves are still falling. It’s as if Thanksgiving, the noble holiday of gratitude and gravy, gets shoved into the shadows of a Christmas tree looming prematurely on the horizon.
Let’s be clear: this isn’t a war on Christmas. I adore the festive spirit as much as anyone, and if asked, Christmas is most definitely my favorite holiday. I’ll belt Justin Bieber’s “Mistletoe” without shame — in December.
Starting the holiday season before Thanksgiving isn’t just overkill; it’s a disservice to both holidays, and quite frankly, the sanctity of a leftover turkey sandwich. Thanksgiving is not just an appetizer for Christmas — it’s its own delicacy. Sure, you could argue that the primary goal of Thanksgiving is family bonding, but let’s be real. It’s about food. The turkey, the mashed potatoes, the cranberry sauce that nobody touches, the pies. Thanksgiving gives us the one time of year where we can indulge in a food coma without shame, where overeating is practically a spiritual experience.
Now, imagine if, right in the middle of this glorious food fest, you’re bombarded with the sounds of Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” No, I don’t want you, Mariah. I want my mashed potatoes drenched in butter, not snow. Thanksgiving, in my humble opinion, deserves to stand alone. It deserves its moment in the sun — or, since we are in the Northeast, under an overcast sky with the smell of wood smoke in the air.
I feel bad for Thanksgiving. It’s like the middle child of holidays: not as flashy as Christmas, not as wild as Halloween. Sandwiched awkwardly between skeletons and Santas, it gets the short end of the stick. And yet, Thanksgiving gives us so much: a week-long break from school, comforting food and the chance to gather with loved ones without the emotional financial anxiety of gift shopping. Jumping straight to Christmas before Thanksgiving cheapens the latter’s message of gratitude. Thanksgiving reminds us to pause, reflect and give thanks — not stress over finding the perfect gift for Uncle John or deciphering which Black Friday deal is worth trampling a stranger for. Let Thanksgiving do what it does best: give us a collective breather before the mania of December. Or in the case of my family, run a five mile Turkey Trot dressed like chefs.
Defenders of early Christmas celebrations often cite the weather as their excuse: “It’s cold and dark; we need the lights!” Sure, it’s tempting to brighten up November’s gray days with holiday cheer, especially here in upstate New York, but if we can’t endure a few dreary weeks without folding to Santa’s sleigh, perhaps the problem isn’t the calendar but our inability to embrace seasonal transitions. November’s gloom is part of its charm. It’s the perfect backdrop for cozying up with cider, savoring pumpkin pie and watching football. Let’s resist the urge to skip ahead to eggnog just because the sun sets at 4:30 p.m.
For those who simply can’t wait, I propose a compromise. Channel your enthusiasm into subtle, seasonally appropriate activities. Play non-denominational “winter” music. (My roommate actually just serenaded us with “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” in the car ride to class this morning). Start brainstorming your gift list, but leave the wrapping paper in the closet and the items in their shopping carts. And for the love of Frosty, keep the outdoor lights off until at least Black Friday — especially the inflatables. Let each celebration have its moment, instead of cramming them together. And if you’re still tempted to deck the halls before the turkey’s been carved, remember this: Christmas is a marathon, not a sprint. Pacing yourself is the key to keeping the holiday spirit alive.
This isn’t about policing joy — it’s about preserving it. Waiting until after Thanksgiving to dive into Christmas means you’ll actually enjoy the holiday instead of feeling like it’s been dragged out longer than a Hallmark movie marathon. (Sorry, Mom.) This year, I oblige you to put down the tinsel, step away from the tree and pick up a fork instead. Christmas will wait, and when it comes, it will feel all the more magical for it. Until then, let’s pass the stuffing.
