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Thanksgiving is just a week away, so it's time to pull out the comfy pants with the stretchy elastic waistband and start preparing for the annual feast. Turkey day summons up delightful memories of festive tables spread with bounteous amounts of food and families gathering together for a life-affirming celebration of the joys of breaking bread in good company.
The intoxicating aroma of pumpkin pie wafts enticingly through the house, drawing everyone to the kitchen. It's a veritable Hallmark card in the making, and good cheer permeates the air along with the scents of cinnamon and nutmeg.
At least that's what Thanksgiving is like for most of us. The Advocate recently learned that a small but significant portion of the population has a radically different take on this beloved American holiday. There are people who are not only reluctant to celebrate the legacy of the Pilgrims' and the Native Americans' first communal meal, they are downright traumatized by it. The information on these unfortunate few comes from Dr. Freudenstein, a local psychotherapist working with UCD's health clinic. We recently attended one of his group therapy sessions held in the North Classroom building.
Dr. Freudenstein: Good afternoon, group. We have some special visitors today, but please speak freely. Why don't we start with you, Dan.
Dan (rocking back and forth): I've been having that recurring dream again. The entire family is gathered around the table but there's no turkey - instead there's a giant warthog on a silver platter. I pick up a knife to carve it when it comes to life and starts chasing me around the room. I trip over one of my mother's ceramic figurines, and it gains on me and gores me in the butt. Dr. Freudenstein, what does it mean?
Dr. Freudenstein (stroking his beard): This could mean many things. Perhaps you have anger toward your father for not holding you enough as a baby. Perhaps you have a deep-seated resentment toward your mother for showing more affection toward her figurine collection than to you. It could also be a form of projection. You believe that you have the qualities of a warthog, and that you should be made to suffer for these tendencies; thus the goring of your projected self. [The doctor leans toward Dan and raises one eyebrow.] So, Dan, do you think you are a warthog? Hmmm?
Dan: I, uh, I don't think so. Maybe you could prescribe me a little something; that might help. Some of those green ones, those are my favorites.
Dr. Freudenstein: You already have more prescriptions than Charlie Sheen. Let's just move on to Fred. Fred, how are you today?
Fred: Not so good, Doc. Every year around this time I get these…urges. I just have to dress up in women's clothing and stuff a turkey under my dress.
Dan: You are one sick freak.
Dr. Freudenstein: Now, now, Dan. Here we must show support for each other. Fred, please continue.
Fred: Well, I have to stuff the turkey under my dress. It has to be a cotton dress; no artificial fibers. My favorite is a flirty pink number by Armani with an empire waist and tiny polka dots. I put on a matching hat and gloves and I watch the Martha Stewart show. Am I insane?
Dr. Freudenstein: Well, your affection for Martha is very troubling but the rest of it sounds perfectly normal. Stick to natural fabrics and be sure the turkey has been thoroughly defrosted. Try watching something on CNN or the Discovery Channel and I'm sure you'll be just fine. All right, let's hear from Jack now.
Jack (blinking rapidly and twitching): I thought I had made progress, Doc, but it's happening again. I can't even go into a grocery store. I can hear them, Doc, I can hear them!
Dr. Freudenstein: Oh, no, not again. I thought we had settled this nonsense. The frozen turkeys are not talking to you, Jack.
Jack: They are, Doc, I swear. They're talking to everybody, but I'm the only one who can hear them.
Dan: Oh, for the love of God. I'm stuck in therapy with the Turkey Whisperer.
Dr. Freudenstein: Dan, I warned you. Behave or you won't get your Prozac lollipop. Now Jack, what are the turkeys saying?
Jack: Well, normally they just say helpful things like 'No waiting on register nine.' But lately they've been telling me to shave my head, move to Aurora and become a goatherder. Doc, what should I do?
Dr. Freudenstein: Hmmm, this is a problem. Zoning laws prohibit raising anything larger than chickens within city limits. Start getting your groceries delivered, or move out to the country. All right people, good work today. See you next week and don't forget your Prozac lollipops as you leave!
Happy Thanksgiving, from Dr. Freudenstein and the Advocate.
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