Steven Adams has a strong take on an American holiday

Steven Adams is not originally from the United States of America. In fact, he’s from a different country altogether. There are at least five countries that I remember from my A.P. Honors Geography 2.0 class:

1. America
2. South America
3. East America
4. Soviet Siberian Republic
5. Canadia et al.

I always wondered how I only got 83.3% on my final exam.

So anyway, today I was researching Steven Adams’ past life, and I think I’ve finally solved that personal mystery. Steven is from Middle Earth which is a little regarded fictional part of the middle Pacific Lake and Wildlife Emporium.  Therefore, apart from being a tiny hobbit person, he might not understand the nuance and gravy of something as purely American as Thanksgiving.

Nope, he pretty much nailed it actually.

It kind of makes you think, you know? Perhaps there are things about Thanksgiving that can apply to everyone. For example, pretty much everyone I know eats food. Some people exist only on protein shakes while others only inject an organic kale-celery hybrid called “cale” directly into their bloodstream, but at its heart it’s the same. It’s food.

Maybe food exists in other countries as well.

Also, who doesn’t love not spending money on other people? The other day I didn’t spend money on anyone, and I used that spare cash to buy a tiny build-a-bear raincoat to put on my favorite Pokemon plush. It’s adorable, and now I’m happy.

Maybe people in other countries keep money for themselves as well.

The trouble with history is that I’m expected to learn things from it and I don’t like being confronted with the idea that I don’t already know everything. I know what Thanksgiving is to me now, and that’s enough. Thanksgiving gives us mashed potatoes and the chance to purely concern ourselves with ourselves alone. And there is a beauty in that, that I think we should all share equally. Or unequally if that’s what you prefer. It’s your choice, you.

Next Thanksgiving, let’s all remember to thank ourselves for all the stuff that no one else would think to do for us. Using that last little bit of hot water. Or eating the final fun-size Snickers bar from the six-pack in the communal drawer. And shrugging your shoulders when the question is asked “Who finished the milk?” while knowing all along you used it to drown tiny plastic army men in a bucket in the backyard.

That’s Thanksgiving to me, and Steven Adams gets it.