Remember when you were a kid and every year on Thanksgiving your family would …

And on every July 4th you would …

Can you fill in the blanks?

I’m sure if you can’t for those holidays, there are others where you had a standing family tradition. You looked forward to it, and the holiday was not complete without it. Then you went through a stage in your teens where you rolled your eyes at this tradition.

As you look back on your childhood, it’s those traditions you remember. It’s those traditions that make you smile and form the picture in your mind when the holiday comes up. It’s those traditions you talk about with anyone who will listen.

There’s no secret formula to forming those traditions – at least none I’m aware of. Sure, repetition seems like a needed ingredient. Sprinkle in some loved ones and fun. And well, I think you have a tradition.

I believe our Thanksgiving tradition will remain memorable for my children. My wife has made dinner for her family ever since her father’s last Thanksgiving, and he passed away nearly 30 years ago. It’s the one holiday that we know where we’ll be and who we will be spending it with.

The family has another Thanksgiving tradition: naming the turkey. That’s right: while eating the bird, everyone is given a slip of paper and a pen. They write a name on the paper, fold it up, and drop it into a hat (when someone has not been able to make Thanksgiving dinner, they’ve texted). The names are read aloud, and a winner is selected based on crowd reaction. Last year’s winner was Num Num, named by our great niece (those were her only words at the time).

My wife spends Thanksgiving morning cooking and watching March of the Wooden Soldiers, and the boys and I go to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. This will be my oldest son’s seventh year of attendance and his brother’s third. We’ll point out our favorite floats, complain about the cold, and wish we were taller to get a better view.

But they love being in New York City.

They love taking the bus and train.

They love the snacks.

One day, my boys will be getting ready for Thanksgiving. Maybe they’ll be getting together for the holiday, like their mom and her sister. Maybe they’ll just be calling each other sometime during the day and sharing memories of naming the turkey, or trip to New York City. Either way, I’m happy and proud that we gave them this Thanksgiving tradition.

A version of this first appeared on Me, Myself and Kids. Photo: mgstanton via Foter.com / CC BY-NC-ND

I’ll be spending this Thanksgiving alone this year. I just got my first full-time job in four years. And unfortunately, I have to work on Thanksgiving this year while my wife is going to see her family in Minnesota. Yes, it sucks for all of the obvious reasons. But it’s also something I’m secretly looking forward to (well, not so secretly since this is on the internet).

Why Thanksgiving alone sucks

No family. I won’t be around the people I’m thankful for. I can’t relive my favorite memories with relatives and create new ones. I won’t be able to meet new relatives. And I won’t be able to gossip about my least favorite relatives with my most favorite ones.

No coma-inducing amount of food. This is the worst part. No sweet potato pie. No stuffing. No mac and cheese.

Why I’m looking forward to it

No family. As in no family drama. Bummer.

No traveling. Usually, the holiday season for my family includes at least 12 hours or more of travel for us. We’re either driving 12 hours one way to North Carolina or six hours one way to Minnesota. Then once we get to our destination we’re driving at least another four or five hours to see more friends and family around the state. This holiday season, I’m pumped to be stationary.

I’m excited about eating less food. I usually end Thanksgiving weekend looking more like a stuffed turkey than the one I ate. There’s so much food, and it usually all looks and tastes amazing. And because I’m not particularly eager to waste food I end up eating way more than I should. So this Thanksgiving alone, I’ll probably cook one of my favorite meals (pretty much anything deep-fried) and be content without the extra calories and leftovers.

Quiet time. It will definitely suck to be home alone on a holiday. But as active dads, alone time is something that we rarely see. And when we do, it’s usually while we’re cleaning, cutting the grass, or fixing something around the house. Even after the kids go to sleep we’re usually exhausted and only have a couple of hours before it’s time for bed. So what I’m looking forward to more than anything is the day or two that I’ll have some quiet free time to myself. It’s really hard to see the picture from inside the frame. So instead of getting annoyed with my wife and son after 12 hours of being in the car with them, I’ll be at home reflecting on how much I’m grateful to have them in my life.

Photo: © WONG SZE FEI / Adobe Stock.

An old-fashioned family Thanksgiving, in all its festive splendor and pageantry, will soon be upon us as will all the relatives you have been blocking on Facebook since the 2020 presidential campaign. Thanks, vaccinations and unplanned natural immunity!

If there was ever a Thanksgiving to hide the silverware, this might be it. Oh, America – wondrous country of purple mountains majesty and amber traffic lights we routinely run – how could you be ingenious enough to invent pizza-stuffed pizza crusts yet be unable to guarantee us all a safe space around the family dining table every fourth Thursday in November?

So before we sit down to stuff ourselves silly on dead beast and bloated opinions about critical race theory, let’s set some ground rules for a less contentious family Thanksgiving:

• As previously mentioned, stow the silverware, preferably under lock and key. This includes all carving devices. No plastic cutlery or breakable ceramic dishware, either. Cook and slice everything before family arrives. Serve up nothing but the softest of finger foods on damp paper towels. Two words the kids will love to hear: dippin’ gravy.

• Glassware can shatter and create sharp edges, perfect for making a point about mask mandates. So lock them away for the day along with opinions on Marjorie Taylor Greene and Dr. Fauci.

• Don’t even think about serving alcohol. This year, it’s nothing but tap water in waxed paper cups. This will make our delicate ears less likely to endure unsavory conspiracy theory rants about space lasers and the antiviral powers of horse dewormer in humans.

• Place family members with opposing viewpoints on opposite ends of the table. As a buffer, seat the kids in the between. If you need even more buffer space, add inflatable yard decorations.

• Avoid holiday table decorations that may instigate heated historical discussions by referencing any of the following: pilgrims, indigenous peoples or the Dallas Cowboys.

• In addition to eschewing political and medical discussions, avoid the other usual topics that create divisive feelings among family members: religion, sex and the New England Patriots.

• Speaking of football, just avoid the day’s games lest a fight starts over players kneeling for the National Anthem.

• Skip the pre-meal blessing to avoid someone being tempted to take a knee during it.

• What to do for entertainment without football? Stick with the mind-numbing balloon banter and lip-synching banality of Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Chase with repeated viewings of The National Dog Show because who doesn’t love a prancing Lhasa Apso?

• If you pursue that last route, don’t invite over your third cousin, the crazy cat lady.

• Just skip the TV altogether. Take a long family walk to burn off those excess calories and pent-up rages about “patriotism versus insurrection.” Caution: Scour the course beforehand to make sure it doesn’t venture past any health clinics, gun shops or Chick-fil-A stores.

• In case none of these measures helped, conclude the gathering by setting a generous slice of pie in front of the most objectionable attendee. Top with a heaping amount of whipped cream. Then smash it directly into the idiot’s face.

Family Thanksgiving argument photo: ©Monkey Business / Adobe Stock.

As Thanksgiving approaches, the COVID-19 pandemic has changed the calculus of what families might be thankful for this year. Those of us lucky enough to remain healthy and employed can focus on those two facts during this year’s feasts. But for many, it’s easy to feel there is little to be thankful for this year, given all that continues to be infected, affected or simply canceled — including many of those traditional feasts. In other words, cultivating a grateful mindset during this traditional season of thanks requires many us to dig deeper this year. For me, digging deep into the history of today’s pediatric vaccines helps illuminate paths to gratitude.

The lack of a cure for the coronavirus has been humbling. It reminds us that even though modern medicine has achieved amazing feats, it is not able to solve all mysteries. Despite the pandemic, however, parents can feel thankful we live in this era by remembering how much child mortality has been impacted over the past few centuries by modern science — especially by global vaccines.

Pediatric vaccines vastly improve child mortality rates

In The Importance of Being Little, researcher Erika Christakis spells out the astounding numbers: “Child survival is one of humanity’s surprisingly recent success stories. Historically, many people didn’t experience something called childhood because … they were already dead. Today, in the industrialized world, mortality of children under age 5 hovers around five per 1,000. By contrast, in nineteenth-century Sweden, one third of young children died before age 5; in Germany, the child mortality rate was 500 per 1,000 children. And early childhood mortality among modern hunter-gatherers is 100 times more than in the United States today.”

Granted, additional factors like higher safety standards and better sanitation practices helped pediatric vaccines achieve such improvements. But Christakis stresses “we need to wrap our heads around this: the crushing of child death in the developed world over the last one hundred years is something truly radical and unique in the history of our species.” In short, “the victory over childhood mortality … has not only changed childhood but even, fundamentally, enabled it.”

Thanks for a children’s book about chickenpox

I experienced the world-changing nature of pediatric vaccines while reading a bedtime story to my younger daughter when she was little. One of her favorite books was Itchy, Itchy Chicken Pox, written by Grace Maccarone and illustrated by Betsy Lewin. Originally published in 1992, the story features a little boy who wriggles around in his pajamas due to red spots all over his body: “Under my shirt. Under my socks. Itchy, itchy chicken pox.” My daughter’s favorite line was “itchy, itchy, I feel twitchy,” which always amused my wife and me because at that age my daughter mispronounced the “tw” sound as a “b” sound.

In the story, the boy gradually recovers from chickenpox on his own: “I rest. I read. I eat. I play. I feel better every day.” Usually, my daughter would just finish the book after that page, but one day she asked if I had chickenpox when I was a child. After I said “yes,” she asked if she and her sister would ever get it. “No,” I said, “because you were both vaccinated against it when you were babies.”

That’s when it hit me. As I tried to explain “vaccine” to my daughter in an age-appropriate way, I realized that because my daughters were born in the 2000s, they had benefited from the chickenpox vaccine, which became widely available in the late 1990s. Hence, the plot of Maccarone’s children’s book, published a few years before the vaccine became available, had in some ways become obsolete.

In that moment, I felt intense gratitude for all those shots my daughters received at the pediatrician’s office when they were babies. By extension, I was thankful for all the immunizations I had received when I was a child.

The race for COVID-19 vaccines will no doubt contain false starts, research detours and distribution challenges. But because vaccines have helped eradicate diseases and lengthen life expectancy in our era, we can all be thankful for the hope that medical research provides. May the coronavirus one day become associated with just another shot for babies alongside those for measles, diphtheria, and yes, chickenpox.

Pediatric vaccines photo: © angellodeco / Adobe Stock.

Thanksgiving dad jokes are among the lamest safest of holiday conversation topics for you and your family to engaging in at the annual holiday feast. So, as a service to you (and disservice to those within earshot of you), I have scoured the Internet for the best/worst Thanksgiving dad jokes and puns to help you talk turkey.

You’re welcome.

And I’m sorry.

At a minimum, it will help you escape from watching the gourd-awful musical numbers being lip-synced at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade for a few minutes.

Best / worst Thanksgiving dad jokes 

Q: What do you get when you cross a turkey with a centipede?
A: Drumsticks for everyone on Thanksgiving!

Q: Where do you find a turkey with no legs?
A: Exactly where you left it.

Q. What sound does a limping turkey make?
A. “Wobble, wobble!”

Q. Why didn’t the Thanksgiving turkey want dessert?
A. Because he was stuffed!

Q: What happened when the turkey got in a fight?
A: He got the stuffing knocked out of him.

+  +  +

A dad was picking through the frozen turkeys at the grocery store for Thanksgiving Day, but couldn’t find one big enough for his family. He asked a stock boy, “Do these turkeys get any bigger?”

“No, sir,” the stock boy replied. “They’re dead.”

+  +  +

Q. What did the mother turkey say to her naughty son?
A. If your father could see you now, he’d turn over in his gravy!

Q. If the first pilgrims were alive today, what would they be known for?
A: Their age.

Q. What do you get when you cross a turkey with a ghost?
A. A poultrygeist!

Q. Who is never hungry at Christmas?
A. The turkey — he’s always stuffed.

Q. How does a turkey drink wine?
A. From a gobble-let.

Q. Why didn’t the Thanksgiving turkey play in the marching band?
A. Because someone had taken his drumsticks.

Q. What are turkeys thankful for on Thanksgiving?
A. Vegetarians.

Mom: After you take the turkey out of the oven, how long do you let it rest?
Dad: Well, it depends on how tired it is.

Q. What smells the best at a Thanksgiving dinner?
A. Your nose.

Q. What did pilgrims use to bake cookies?
A. May-flour.

+   +   +

And finally …

My family told me to stop telling Thanksgiving jokes, but I told them I couldn’t quit “cold turkey.”

Stay tuned for Christmas dad jokes!

“These Thanksgiving dad jokes are real turkeys” photo: © shishiga / Adobe Stock.

He wanted me to say it was OK. But I wouldn’t.

I could have insisted. But I didn’t.

It was just less than two weeks until Thanksgiving. I was driving the boys to school, and I broached the topic.

Since BR was 6 years old, we have had the tradition to go to Manhattan on Thanksgiving to see the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. His younger brother, SJ, had been an attendee of the parade since he was 7.

In 2016, when he turned 12, BR decided he was not interested in going to the parade. At the time, I was surprised. Disappointed. Hurt.

But a year had passed. And while I asked the question of “Do you want to go to the parade?,” I was sure I knew the answer. I just hoped that SJ would also not answer in the negative.

However, both boys said yes. And quickly. I was excited.

As Thanksgiving drew closer and plans for the holiday came up, I made sure to mention I would be going to the parade with both of my boys.

I was excited to share the news. My oldest boy’s returning to go the parade felt like a reprieve. Yeah, he’s growing up and needs his own space, but on Thanksgiving, he wanted to go to the parade with his dad.

The night before the parade I called the boys down to make a game plan for the next day: when we would leave, what food we would eat, etc.

BR’s only question was, “When are we going to get home?”

“What are you worried about that for?”

“I just want to know when we’ll be home.”

“I don’t know. Like 1 o’clock I guess.”

SJ chimed in, “We’re going to go Starbucks like we did last year – right?”

“Yup. If that’s what you want.”

BR said, “Well, you can drop me off before that. I don’t want to go to Starbucks. I’d rather just come home.”

“What are you in such a rush for?”

“You know I don’t really want to go – right?”

“No, I don’t know. When I asked, you said you wanted to go.”

“I was just trying to make you happy. I don’t really like the parade.”

“So, you don’t want to go?”

“Not really. No.”

“Oh.”

“You understand right. I don’t like the parade. It’s kind of boring. All you do is stand there and look at floats.”

“Well, I guess you won’t go then.”

“You understand right? You don’t mind if I don’t go?”

“If you don’t want to go, that’s your call.”

SJ said, “So, it will just be the two of us – right dad?”

“Yup, I guess it will.”

When my wife came down and learned about the change in plans, she was disappointed. She was looking forward to some alone time as she prepared for the holiday. She encouraged our eldest to go and wanted me to join in, but I didn’t. He wanted me to say that I was fine with his situation, but I wouldn’t.

I enjoy parades. The excitement of the crowd puts me in a festive mood.

But that’s not why I’ve been keeping this holiday tradition of taking my children to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade all these years.

When I was younger my father took me to parades. I remember going to the Mummers Parade, a New Year’s Day parade in Philadelphia. My brother says we went to the Thanksgiving Day Parade. Maybe, we went to both. I don’t know. I also have no idea how many times we went.

It’s not about how many times we went or even what parade. I know I went, and I had fun. I know I went with my father and other family members.

So, while my memories of the exact moments are hazy, I remember the feelings clearly. It was fun being with my family at the parade and feeling like part of the parade.

Yeah, I’m into traditions, and I’m obsessed with trying to make memories with my children.

However, by forcing my son to go to the parade, it would dampen his past memories of the times we had there. I would be making him go for myself and not for him.

So, BR, my oldest, has moved on. He’s 13 and ready for a change. I get it. Hopefully, next year, we can find a new holiday tradition and create memories that he’ll fondly recall when he gets older.

A version of this first appeared on Me, Myself and Kids. Photo by Charley Lhasa on Foter.com / CC BY-SA. 

Thanksgiving can be a stressful holiday for many reasons, but the elections and politics of the past few years make it more taxing than usual. Keep your sanity intact this holiday by avoiding the following Thanksgiving conversations and topics:

Blue/red wave: Unless you are talking about your plans for a beach vacation.

“Make _____ Great Again” jokes: “Pass me the gravy so I can Make This Turkey Great Again!” We get it, Grandpa Republican, we get it.

Fight Club: IT’S THE FIRST RULE OF FIGHT CLUB! Don’t talk about Fight Club.

Safe spaces: Exception — You may say, just once, “No controversial topics while the football game is on. The TV area is a safe space.”

“Happy holidays” vs. “Merry Christmas”: This includes “season’s greetings,” too, smart guy.

Guns, gun safety, gun control: No one is going to change anyone’s mind on this issue in one afternoon. Not even if you threaten to withhold the pumpkin pie.

The safety of tackle football: This will be a difficult topic to avoid considering it will likely be the only distraction on TV all day, so see “safe spaces” above.

“Her emails”: Hillary’s or Ivanka’s.

Feeling the Bern: In the political sense. Also, “Feeling the Burn” in the STD sense.

Refugee caravan vs. invading foreign army: Don’t make my intern take the microphone from you.

Starbucks holiday cup design: They are paper cups, people. Paper. Cups. Drink your latte then toss ’em into the recycling.

Recycling: Dang it!

If retail stores should be open on Thanksgiving or wait until Black Friday: Because Friday, obviously.

Kneeling during the National Anthem: Seriously, dude! See “safe spaces” above.

Fake news: Some of those sites deemed fake may be the most Fair and Balanced news sources your relatives rely upon, so it’s probably best to avoid the topic altogether.

Weather: Because you KNOW it will immediately pivot into a conversation about Global Warming.

What Thanksgiving conversations can you have? The Red Sox winning the World Series seems like a potentially safe topic … even for Yankees and Dodgers fans, I suppose.

In all seriousness, if you’re still reading this, everyone’s best bet may just be to stick to talking about stuff you can control. Local stuff. Conversations about what your kids are up to, stories from grandparents about their lives growing up, and without a doubt, spend time talking about what you are thankful for, not all the BS listed above, but the stuff that makes you happy, and grateful in your life.

A version of Thanksgiving conversations first appeared on Indy’s Child, and was updated by Kevin McKeever. Photo by Alex Iby on Unsplash.

My father carries my son in front of the Brooklyn Bridge. Very much of the Earth has moved to make this photo possible. Very much. And almost everything leading up to taking it was near disastrous.

He’d called us from the airport, about an hour after he’d landed. Texts and calls weren’t working from my phone to his, or from his to mine before that moment. Perhaps it was because he was coming from Canada, perhaps it was because of atmospheric interference, perhaps it could have been anything. It was that kind of day. Everything was going wrong.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We’d been looking forward to hosting my father for some time. Events had conspired over the past few years to keep him in Nova Scotia and us in New York. There was a cancer scare for him. There was an early December move for us, canceling a holiday trip to see him.

We’d kept my father in my son’s life thanks to technology. Skype let Liam grow up with weekly chats from his smiling Papa. He and Nana were not strangers to my son. They’re part of our life in every way except for physically. But that was all about to change, they would finally be reunited for Thanksgiving.

And then we just couldn’t get to the damn airport.

Under the river and through the boroughs

Navigating the streets of New York in the best of times can be a tricky proposition but this night would prove to be a test of everyone’s patience. We’d managed to avoid the snarl of slow moving cars trying to get through the Lincoln Tunnel but had patted ourselves on the back too soon. Trying to get across town to the Midtown Tunnel proved to be maddening, and it was only after a close-to-an-hour wait in traffic that we were informed it was closed, and we’d need to take the 59th Street Bridge instead. We’d turned a 20-minute drive into an hour and a half.

It was an amateur mistake on our part and the cost was leaving my father and Nana waiting in the airport for over an hour after they’d landed.

Everything was fine once we got there, right? All was forgiven, we were together now, and that’s what was important, yes? Well, yeah, for a moment, that’s what the general feeling was.

Then Liam threw up all over my father.

He’d never done anything like that before. But then, we hadn’t left him strapped in a child safety seat for 90 minutes while we sat in traffic. A mad scramble led to an improvised garbage bag and about a pack and half of baby wipes later, the majority of the mess was cleaned up. You know, except for the smell.

Welcome to New York, Dad.

But things settled as things do. We had a laugh about it, told each other this would be a great story for later down the road, and things were only bound to get better from there. So naturally, that’s when we realized we’d made a wrong turn and were heading deeper into Queens instead of back to Manhattan.

To make a long story short, it took us another 90 minutes to get home. When traffic is snarled in New York, it stays snarled these days. Sixth Avenue was closed off for a street fair. Fifth Avenue was closed off because everybody hates Donald Trump.

There was nothing for it but to make small talk as we crawled across town. My father made pithy remarks about the woman who had kept pace with us, walking on the sidewalk from Madison to 10th Avenue.

Finally, we were at our building. I loaded all the luggage and Liam’s car seat while my father picked up my now sleeping son to carry him to our apartment. We were finally home, a family, three generations for the holidays, persevering through every test New York’s traffic could throw at us.

Which is when Liam peed all over my father.

You know, we say things like “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.” Or “I could have died of embarrassment.” Or “Fuck me gently with a rusty chainsaw.” But those platitudes don’t really cover the mortification and sense of failure that came over me at that moment. We’d been looking so forward to this. And while all we could do was laugh at how absurdly terrible my father’s welcome had been, that sense that I’d failed him was inescapable.

It did fade, of course. All embarrassments do. This wasn’t anyone’s fault, it was just, to borrow a famous children’s title, a series of unfortunate events. My father placed no blame, and repeatedly made it clear how happy he was to just be here.

Brooklyn Bridge crossing

The next morning was a whirlwind. My wife was running a race and it was going to be up to me to get my father, Nana, Liam and me, to Central Park first thing in the morning to see her cross the finish line. Then a trip to Chinatown for dim sum, and a walk across the Brooklyn Bridge.

But that sense of disappointment from the night before lingered. I rushed them out the door to the race, feeling like nothing more like a sled dog driver, whipping his charges to “Mush!” We stood around the Golden Unicorn waiting on a table for 45 minutes, desperately trying to keep the 3-year-old entertained, as it felt more to me like testing Nana and Papa’s patience rather than Liam’s.

By the time we crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, the cold and the wind had picked up. Instead of a scenic stroll, and enjoying a classic way to take in the Big Apple, we huddled against the sudden biting cold, practically sprinting our way to DUMBO.

I’d begun to panic. This was supposed to be a joyful reunion for my father and my son. Instead, this was a disaster. My stress level rose, my temper shortened, and even through the icy air, the inside of my head felt heated and scrambled. I felt myself spinning into a panic. This wasn’t perfect at all. This wasn’t going according to plan. This was an absolute fucking disaster.

That’s when my wife gently tapped my arm. I looked blearily up to see her smile and point.

“Get picture,” she said.

My father and my son had wandered off to see the East River. Liam loves boats and Dad was pointing out the big ship steaming toward the harbor, a red and white tanker called Alara. Liam squealed with delight and tore away off down the boardwalk toward it, my father gamely giving chase.

They played on the Brooklyn shore together for a long time. Nana, my wife, and I would intermittently join them, but this moment was all about my father and my son, together at last. They ran, they laughed, they played, and they were happy to be with each other.

Everything that had been bothering me melted away. This was the moment I’d been waiting for, and it came regardless of the traffic, the puke, the pee, or the cold weather. I wasn’t the only one who’d been looking forward to this moment, we all had. My father, my wife, Nana, and my son.

My father carries my son in front of the Brooklyn Bridge. Very much of the Earth had moved to make this picture possible. Very much. And no, not all of it was perfect.

Everything with his visit was going to be fine. Everything always was going to be. The picture with the Brooklyn Bridge was proof of this. It will stay in my mind forever.

Editor’s Note: The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade is a tradition that is best experienced live on the streets of Manhattan. Maybe. Mike Julianelle writes about his trip this past Turkey Day to see the balloons and floats with his kids.

My Thanksgivings don’t usually start with 5:45 wake-up calls. But my Thanksgivings also don’t usually include a visit to the most celebrated parade in the world.

And my Thanksgivings NEVER feature an appearance from KISS. Which is usually the thing I’m most thankful for.

But last year I got all of those things, for better or worse, because, thanks to the good people at Macy’s and my wife’s bizarre obsession with this event, I’d secured tickets to the 88th Annual Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Let me assure you attending parades is not something I would do if I didn’t have a kid. That being said, if you hate parades but have to attend one? The Macy’s Thanksgiving parade is probably as good as it gets.

The getting up early part wasn’t so good. When your 4-year-old is astonished that you’re getting out of bed when “it’s still nighttime!” you’re probably up too early. But tickets to the Thanksgiving parade come with rules, and one of them is that if you don’t get there – and get in line – before 8 a.m., you’re not guaranteed a seat. And when you live in Brooklyn and have to take the subway to Central Park, that means you have to get up before the sun does. Hooray!

When we finally arrived, we were granted admission to the bleacher section alongside the bottom of Central Park, and about 30 to 45 minutes into the parade route. This means we got there before 8 a.m. and sat on cold aluminum bleachers for about 90 minutes and waited for the parade to get to us. My son was not exactly loving the wait, and neither were his toes, and neither were my arms because strollers weren’t allowed, and he was in mine basically the whole time. Or on my shoulders. Does anyone know a masseuse I think I’m dying.

Bring on the Thanksgiving Day Parade: balloons and all

Thankfully, once the balloons started flowing, his spirits perked up, because let’s face it: who doesn’t love a parade? (I’ll give you one guess.)

My son’s favorite balloons were Spider-Man, Paddington Bear, the Pillsbury Doughboy (whom he disgustingly, but not inaccurately, referred to as “Goo Boy”), Snoopy and Thomas the Train (the very first balloon). In addition, as is customary at this parade, there was a bunch of floats, on which a wide variety of “celebrities” and bands I’ve never heard of stood and waved, including the Sesame Street gang, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and one of the Jonas brothers, who looked about as miserable as you’d expect someone famous for being a Jonas brother to be. At least PRETEND you want to be here, kid!

Also making an appearance at the Thanksgiving day parade? The aforementioned KISS, whose presence made about as much sense as getting up at 5:45 to watch a lot of people walk past me. At least I could be secure in the fact that I wasn’t going to be the only person pounding beers as soon as I got off the parade route. Although my wife was probably still going to be the only person pounding a split of champagne.

Thanksgiving is a day on which we’re supposed to be thankful for stuff, so despite the early morning and the cold weather and the disturbing appearance of a 60-year-old’s disconcertingly long tongue, I’ll join in. I’m thankful to the people at Macy’s for providing me with the opportunity to take my son to this iconic parade. I’m thankful my son reserved his meltdowns for before and after the parade because I didn’t need 40,000 strangers to see me call my son an asshole on Thanksgiving Day. I’m also thankful that when Megan Trainor’s float went by, I couldn’t hear her speakers blasting “All About That Bass” song because A) I didn’t need that stuck in my head at Thanksgiving dinner and B) we all know “Shake It Off” is the ear-worm of the year!

Finally, I’m thankful Sixpoint Brewery makes a 24-ounce can that I was able to take on the train to Grandma’s because if you expect me to be thankful for anything after being awake since 5:45 in the morning, you’d better get me drunk.

A version of this first appeared on Dad and Buried.