Colonization

arvan's picture

On Tim Tebow and the captive audience sales pitch

When I was a kid, our family would gather at my grandmother's house for Thanksgiving and Christmas.  All manner of cousins, aunts, uncles and sundry relatives would descend on a little house in Batavia, IL.  She had a bar in the basement with a pool table, a long dining room table made longer by adding some folding card tables and folding chairs.  In the living room, she had a big color TV - one of those tube jobs with the old remote that clicked loudly when you pressed a button.

The house and the day were a montage of running around, opening presents and eating tons of food including some questionable things made with Jello.  After a day of consumption and jubilation the adults were usually at the bar or playing pool downstairs.  Meanwhile, us kids would settle down in front of the TV to watch football.  We sprawled out across the floor, next to tables and a few choice seats in the big lounge chairs.  Late arrivals sat in the "bleacher seats" - a couch covered in plastic slip covers that stuck to skin in the summer and was slicker than ice in the winter.  Food coma and the chance to maybe see Gale Sayers break a long one.  This was the perfect ritual to mark the passing of another year and the bonds of family.

There was only one thing that could destroy this idyllic landscape: my great-uncle, the Priest.  He would come in when the game was on and we were all too tired or too full to move.  It was the kiss of death for fun.  It would usually go something like this:

great-uncle Priest: "What are you all doing in here?"

some kid: "um...watching the Bears lose"

great-uncle Priest: "Jesus never played football."

(fun dies)

Olga Wolstenholme's picture

Happy Thanksgiving: Or Why it’s Never Too Late to Brush Up on Your History

I like Thanksgiving. I like turkey, and mashed potatoes, and gravy. I like gathering around with my family and eating some sort of pie. What I don’t like however is what Thanksgiving actually celebrates. You know, the genocide of an entire people. Columbus day is on the 12th of October, and in Canada we always celebrate Thanksgiving on the second Monday of October. Thanksgiving. Columbus. Turkey. Mass murder. And colonisation. It’s all wrapped up into this one day where we give thanks to a people who helped our ancestors survive the winter here by showing us which foods to harvest and whatnot.

The part that is often left out of history books is that we then proceeded to rape, kill and otherwise physically  and emotionally maim the natives of this fine country we now call our own. Columbus set the whole thing in motion when he “discovered” the Americas, and yet we still celebrate the dude like a hero. Spurred on by the absurdity of it all a lot of people are supporting the Reconsider Columbus Day campaign for change. There’s even a video:


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