Good evening, everyone!

Thanksgiving was 2 days ago. I got to spend the entire day with my family: my mom, my dad, and my sister. (Normally, we spend Thanksgiving with my grandparents, but refrained from doing so this year due to Covid ramping up in my home state.)

We made our own Thanksgiving dinner, complete with pie.

As an American, I’ve grown up with the lie of the first Thanksgiving, believing it for far too long: Native Americans and whites gathered together for a shared meal. The first Thanksgiving actuality started during the Civil War. If this is true–which it is–then why do we tell children that Native Americans and white people got together? It’s a simple white lie, one that perpetuates the real suffering of Native Americans at the hands of white people.

If I have children one day, I will make sure to set them right about the history surrounding Thanksgiving. I cannot believe that I believed what should’ve been an obvious lie for so many years. I trusted my elementary school teachers; I trusted that I was being told the truth.

Today, as an adult, I recognize the importance of telling Black, Indigenous, and people of color’s stories. It’s important that people of color, and native peoples have voices, and that their voices be heard over the din of people like me, a white person.

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