A Wiccan, an Indian Malaysian, a Korean and two Germans

Somewhere in North Carolina

This sounds like the beginning of a joke. Let me explain.

When I first moved to the US it was sometime in late summer. I had gotten a new job in the DC area, packed my stuff from London and was ready to start a new chapter of my life.

There were so many things that blew my mind, starting with trash shoots in apartment buildings and the sink garbage disposal. When I toured apartment buildings for my first rental, the sales associate showed us how to put half a lemon into the disposal and make your home smell fresh and my mind was blown. This memory makes me laugh because I was so naive and I’m sure the sales associate had a field trip with me, too. What an easy sell. Garbage disposal! Trash shoot! Wow, I’m sold. Where do I sign my lease?

Moving in late summer for me meant that I wasn’t going home for Christmas, and I honestly didn’t even think about Thanksgiving since I was pretty much unaware of this holiday. There is no equivalent to Thanksgiving in Germany. There is an autumn festival kind of thing in Korea. But for Koreans this is the day when the dead are honored. Not quite the same.

As November drew closer, a friend from London (who had lived in the US for a couple of years prior to that) was coming to visit me and my other German friend. We all knew each other from London where we had shared a flat together. I have very fond memories of that time, and that’s probably material for a whole different post.

My friend from London had a Indian Malaysian friend who had recently moved to the US and married an American. A Wiccan. They lived somewhere in the suburbs of Charlotte and we were on a road trip from DC to spend Thanksgiving together. It was a long drive down filled with girl chatter, rest stop pee breaks, stocking up on beef jerky and Mike and Ike and listening to more Carry Underwood than anyone should on a road trip. Randomly I remember having a tooth ache that day that I took a pain killer for. Nothing to do with the Mike and Ike or peanut butter M&Ms, I’m sure.

So that was my first ever Thanksgiving experience. A German Korean in her twenties tagging along with her two German friends from London visiting a Malay Indian and a Wiccan.

This Thanksgiving had everything you would (or wouldn’t) expect. A turkey, sweet potato casserole, several pies, green beans. We even got up at the crack of dawn in the morning to snatch the best deals in the mall. And, as an added bonus - it included home-made tomato sauce that had simmered for twenty-four hours. As it turns out their neighbors had a tradition of making tomato sauce, a handed down recipe from family in Italy. Their entire house smelled D-E-L-I-C-I-O-U-S.

That particular year is one of the most memorable Thanksgivings. Sure, partially it’s because it was my first. But also because was the perfect hotch potch Holiday, the kind I grew up with at home.

My parents didn’t have Christmas traditions or other traditions that they passed on (Christmas wasn’t celebrated like that in the Korea they grew up in). The only thing I will insist on is apple crumble for dessert on Christmas eve. It’s a tradition that my sister started when she learned to bake. It’s a recipe her English teacher shared with her class. Over the years we have had Christmas’s with turkey, or with a table full of Korean food. Some years the dinner table was smaller, some years it was larger. My parents always invited everyone around who didn’t have anywhere else to go. But no matter what, we always finished with apple crumble and vanilla ice-cream. Except of the one time when my sister dropped the hot casserole on the way from the kitchen to the dining table. Oh, the disappointment.

It has been many years since I spent Christmas at home, since my sister and parents and me all live in different parts of the world. I have never spend a Christmas alone, lucky enough I’ve always had friends around. I haven’t always insisted on apple crumble, but I’ll for sure make some leading up to the Holidays or on a quiet Sunday afternoon in winter.

I now realize that there is another holiday tradition. My parents started it and I have kept it up since moving abroad - the tradition to open my house to family and friends. The tradition to make everybody feel welcome and honor all our different traditions. Sweet potato pies, watching football, Dan’s smoked turkey and yes, apple crumble.

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