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Thanksgiving, in damn near everyone's mind, is synonymous with two things: food and family. Before my parents divorced, Thanksgiving was spent every year with my mother's side of the family, the formidable Attiyeh (that's Uh-TI-yuh) clan. Ever since I was a wee young lass I can remember copious amounts of turkey, stuffing, cranberries, and other good stuff being crammed into my face before I was tackled by my three younger cousins and turned into the Human Trampoline. Due to sizable age differences between my mother and her siblings, my younger cousins were three years my junior or more, and my older cousins were working on their college applications. Yet there was never any awkwardness. I could say what was on my mind and no one would judge me by it.

So when I found out this year that I would be spending Thanksgiving with my father's side of the family, the equally impressive O'Rourke clan, I was more than a little apprehensive. Despite being much closer in age to most of my cousins, I was also the youngest, which automatically made me the equivalent of 'noob' at every family gathering. At least in my mind. I was never as comfortable with the O'Rourkes as I was with my mother's family. I was always evaluating the sentences that I said, wracking my brain for anything funny or insightful that might let me into their circle. Every child of my father's brothers is a charismatic, witty, intelligent, atheletic specimen of homo sapien. I am the half-assed version of those adjectives. I just didn't fit in.

When I entered my Aunt Kathy's house, holding a large bowl full of a complex salad that my dad and I had slaved over for more than an hour, I accepted her cheek-kisses as cheerily as I could. I greeted Kyle, Ryan, and Kelly, three of my cousins, with a modest hug. Time wore on, more adults arrived, but no kids with which I could converse. I remained in the living room as long as I could, pretending to listen to the grown-ups talk to each other, avoiding the temptation of going into the basement; my sole reason for this was that Kyle, only a year older than me, had retreated to the basement to play Madden NFL. I was so nervous about speaking to my cousins that I was willing to chance falling asleep from sheer boredom. Finally, I decided that I wouldn't risk shaming my father as well as myself and crept down the stairs to the basement, hoping to make it to the couch without Kyle noticing that I was there. Unfortunately, I had not quite honed my ninja skills to that degree, and he started up the dreaded casual conversation. How was I doing? Was school going okay? What classes was I taking? I tried to answer truthfully, which earned me a couple of sympathetic nods while his fingers tapped madly on the game controller. Suddenly feeling bold, I cracked a joke about my Biology teacher.

A chuckle.

The words on the screen seem so insignificant. But I tell you, it was like Christmas, Valentine's Day, and my birthday all rolled into one. Maybe it was because I'd finally entered high school, maybe it was because I was finally exiting my ironclad turtle shell, but for some reason, I had been let into the circle. I was one of them.

More relatives arrived, this time second cousins, and I got giddily full when dinner at last commenced. After dinner, the youngest generation of the O'Rourke branch gathered around the small television for what was apparently an annual tradition that I had been missing out on all these years: movie night. This Thanksgiving featured The Break Up, a cute though hardly groundbreaking movie. It was rather nice. Large pillows had been imported from Kyle and Ryan's room, and I found myself drifting into unconsciousness as the movie ended. I woke two hours later to find that my father had curled up next to me. Since fathers and daughters are traditionally close among the O'Rourkes, no one batted an eyelash, and neither did I. I was full and happy and loved.

It was probably the first Thanksgiving that truly made me realize just how much I was thankful for.