Correction appended
Sister dearest and giving thanks
BY RAMI LEVI
For fifteen days I was living the life. After chilling together in our mother’s womb, riding next to her on the middle school bus, and attending the same small high school, my twin sister and I were finally going our separate ways. Honestly I had no idea where she was going to college. She hadn’t received her acceptance letter yet, but she had mentioned something that sounded like Bard‑I think it’s in Vermont. Good riddance. I, on the other hand, was just informed via email that I had been accepted to Columbia College. I was goin’ to the big city. Alone. A chance to spread these sexy bachelor wings and conquer New York. Alone. Fifteen days later, my sister received her acceptance letter‑Barnard. Boom. Here we go again.
But after a year and a half of causal run‑ins at Hewitt and ridiculously humiliating rendezvous at Campo, I realize that, dare I say it, I am thankful to go to college with my twin sister. There are a number of reasons why I am happy to be here with her. First and foremost, having a twin at Barnard is sweet when it comes to the ladies. No, I don’t need her to help me pick up girls‑I manage quite nicely on my own. However, those of you without a twin in school, never have the following conversation with the cute girl in your Intro to Lit class. “Hey, do you know my sister?” “No, why would I know your sister?” “Oh, no reason—I just thought you would, being that she’s our age and in Barnard and all…” “OMG! You have a twin at Barnard?! That is sooooo cuuute!” SUCCESS.
Recently, I have found myself texting my sister, wanting to hang out with her even when it doesn’t help me with my mac daddy activities. Going to school with my twin sister, contrary to what I expected, is truly something I am thankful for. Sometimes, you just need to get out of the house, and let your sibling relationship flourish outside of the place where you wanted to kill her for 18 years.
Yes, I am thankful for going to college with my twin sister, but we need to look at the bigger picture here. You want to know what I’m really thankful for? Thanksgiving. That’s right—I’m about to get “meta” on your ass.
It was late November of first grade. Between the high holidays and other fall holidays on the Jewish calendar, I had just logged nearly 10,000 hours of synagogue service. That’s a brutal amount of time wasting away in a stuffy room for anyone, let alone the average first grader. When my teacher mentioned to the class one Tuesday afternoon in November that school would only resume the following Monday, I feared the worst. “You have got to be kidding me,” I thought. I truly did not know if I could manage another 18 hours surrounded by goat‑skin parchment in synagogue. And so I sat, waiting to learn about the specific prayers for this so‑called “Thanksgiving,” waiting to learn other rules that would likely leave me sitting in the dark, prohibited from using electricity. And yet, they never came. Instead, my teacher whipped out some markers, a bunch of feathers and a stack of paper plates. “Ok, class,” she said, “Make a turkey.” No lessons on divine punishment. Just a turkey.
And so, a love affair began. Thanksgiving is, without a doubt, the single greatest holiday in this vast universe. For no reason, other than the sake of nostalgia, I enjoy the finest foods with my family. That was enough to send this little first grader home happy. To my surprise, my teacher continued. But wait‑there’s more! Call now, and you’ll receive not one, but TWO football games. And as part of this annual offer, we’ll even throw in a parade. All this for NOTHING. Absolutely, positively, nothing. No synagogue service, no need to atone for every little goddamn sin you may or may not have done in your life. To be fair, there is one obligation. At some point, a family member, possibly a cousin, likely a grandmother will suggest going around the table and saying what you’re thankful for. The joke is, you can say ANYTHING. I am thankful for this fork. Bam, over. If you want to get cute, throw out “family” or some crap like that, and you’re golden. As an Orthodox Jew, Thanksgiving was a breath of fresh air, a holiday with no obligations other than to have the single greatest day of your life. God, am I thankful for Thanksgiving…
Giving thanks for Thanksgiving
BY PIERRE GERGIS
Every year we are asked by our government to sit down and be thankful with whoever is willing to carve us up some turkey (or tofurkey.) This in itself is worthy of our thanks. Where else can we be granted this wonderful opportunity to celebrate Thanksgiving (besides Canada, the Netherlands, and Grenada)? And even if there were other generous nations that allowed their people to give thanks on a specific day of the year, it should make us no less thankful that others can partake in this objective good. Surely a gold nugget is no less shiny if everyone else has one, too.
It becomes too easy as the years cycle round and back again to feel entitled to what we have, perhaps because it seems sometimes that everyone around us has the same. And though many do indeed have friends, families, food, clothing, scotch, and finals on Christmas Eve‑and some may not‑it does not take away from the temporal happiness that these things can provide. Every new day I see is splendid, and much more so in that so many others I know are seeing the same splendid day. That is the beauty of Thanksgiving‑ we get an extra day off, and we’re forcibly reminded we don’t have to be so angsty.
There is power in the “thank you,” and even when we’re not sure where to direct it, the pure feeling of gratitude can change our lives for the better, from improving our personal relationships to earning us a better job. That is reason enough to be thankful.
The author is a Columbia College sophomore.
Cold turkey
BY JULIANNA STORCH
Irving Berlin and I shared a dream of a white Christmas, but at least for me, the dream was to no avail. I grew up in Phoenix, Ariz., where Christmas was mildly chilly at best. Ice skating rinks were only indoors. We anxiously awaited snow days, but they were strictly preschool events. Our snow days entailed playing on a mound of snow dropped on the playground by a dump truck, an annual taste of the cold weather we lacked.
There are those who slip into deep hibernation during the cold winter months here in New York, but not me. I am thankful for the cold. I love to slip into boots, tie a scarf around my neck, and wrap myself in a big wool coat. Once I open the door to the cold outside, I embrace the friendly welcome from a gust of cool air swirling about my feet. The cold accompanies me on a winter stroll and paints the apples of my cheeks a rosy pink.
At the day’s end, when the cold and I part ways, our goodbye lingers for a while. The tips of my ears and nose still tingle as I lose my thoughts in a deep mug of hot chocolate. I peer out the window at the glittering flakes falling from the sky and dream of the white Christmas that the cold is creating just for me.
The author is a Barnard College sophomore.
No chickens allowed
BY BENNETT HONG
Besides family and friends, health and photography, I’m thankful for Triceratops. I don’t know what was on God’s mind when He created this massive bull-like, three-horned reptile that could only swagger from side to side as it was chased by the Tyrannosaurs 65 million years ago, but this creature helped me identify myself at an early age (which was 15 years ago, mind you). Back in the days when even toddlers could remember all 151 Pokémon, everyone adored the T. rex—it was big, mean, clawed, and dominating. I, however, championed the Triceratops. Why, you might ask? Well, for one thing, I didn’t want my dinosaur to taste like chicken (referencing the T. rex—bird evolution theory here). But more importantly, it was the anti-T. rex dinosaur, the only one to challenge its rule (in picture books anyway). I have never liked walking on common trails, and would rather use my own ability to carve out my own path. My homemade dinosaur encyclopedia that I made in kindergarten, my science fiction “novels” of 8th grade, my reconciliation of Confucian values, Christian ideals, and scientific theories in high school, and my decision to study two completely different subjects (economics and pre-med)—all were ways in which I strove to do or make something different. So thank you, Triceratops, for showing me that there are other dinosaurs besides the T. rex.
The author is a Columbia College junior majoring in economics
Thank you, Columbia
BY AMIN GHADIMI
What am I thankful for? So much. I am thankful for the talented opinion and design staffers who put this spread together. I am thankful for my sister, my brother, my parents, my grandparents, and my extended family.
But I’d also like to thank someone, or something, to whom I don’t express my gratitude enough. I am thankful for Columbia University. With every step on this beautiful campus, with every test I take, every paper I write, every assignment I complete, it’s always in the back of my mind—I am privileged to be here.
I am just a geeky, precocious kid from the opposite side of the world. Columbia took a chance on me and invited me to this campus, this city, and this country. But it didn’t just invite me. It welcomed me with open arms. It understood when I said I couldn’t afford college. And it is giving me the best education in the world.
So I’d just like to say thank you, Columbia. Have a happy Thanksgiving.
The author is a Columbia College sophomore. He is the Spectator editorial page editor.
Confessions of a Skype addict
BY VICTORIA FOX
As a second year, I’d be lying if I said symptoms of sophomore slump haven’t started taking root, but at least it has made me realize I have something new to be thankful for this year‑ Skype.
Yeah, yeah, I know I’m a little late in the game on this one. But somehow, in a fit of irrational technophobia last year, I was able to resist the draw of Skype all of first semester. I’d convinced myself that the artificiality of bad audio and pixelated images of friends and family members served only as a reminder of how much distance separated us—inadvertently widening the gap instead of bridging it. Certain it would only mock me in moments of homesickness, I managed to avoid Skype until second semester when a friend pressured me into setting up an account.
But now that all the exciting and confusing distractions of being a first year are behind me, I’ve had time to realize what I was missing out on. As a native North Carolinian, with a sister in Philadelphia and high school friends spread across the south, it took a year apart to make me desperate enough to give Skype a fighting chance.
And I’ve slowly become an addict. How else could I have given my sister a virtual tour of my dorm room when “undetermined flu‑like symptoms” ruined her plans to visit over Election Day break? Or let my family and high school friends meet the college friends I told them about ad nauseam over the summer? And though I’m a little ashamed to admit it, I’m glad to finally have a way I can at least pretend to talk to my dog.
As my life keeps spreading across the East Coast, if virtual togetherness is the best we can do, I’m glad I at least have that.
The author is a Columbia College sophomore.
An earlier version of this entry included a formatting error that resulted in the incorrect attribution of Pierre Gergis's piece to Rami Levi. We regret the error.
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