Instead of just giving thanks this Thanksgiving, we should remember the plight of the Native Americans we displaced. We came in giant vessels, battling pirates, scurvy, and dementia. As we neared the shores of the New World, Indians scampered along the coastline observing our billowy sails. They took time out from their routines of cliff diving, corn picking, and war-making so that they could cautiously watch us.
Our camps were constructed hastily, often to a hearty tune, and we instantly set out in search of gold – sometimes digging in the very ground where we first set foot. We unabashedly pursued the precious metal before stocking our own food stores. Our tamed animals clashed with those of the strange land, but theirs would not be the harshest conflicts to come.
It was not long before both groups of people would meet; first came random rendezvous between individuals, and friendships blossomed. But these exchanges were frowned upon by respective societies, even if encouraged by willows and other natural beings. Eventually, a single tragic mistake – the taking of the life of a young warrior by a timid settler protecting his ally – led to disasterous consequences.
We took turn threatening each others’ lives until our finest pilgrim was set free, and that’s where the story of our founding ends. The harsh winters that were to follow are of little significance, as is the fate that eventually befell Pocahontas. You did know we were discussing Pocahontas, right?
Perhaps if I had included a few more musical numbers, the story would have been more drawn-out and fulfilling. Perhaps not.
(This is post #800….hooray!)