Thanksgiving Day 2003

2003 was an odd year for me. I didn’t eat any ice cream that year (anyone who knows me well knows just how shocking that statement is). I temporarily left my job at De Anza that year to start a PhD at UC Berkeley (anyone who knows me even not so well knows that PhD never came to be). I went from living in a decent-sized apartment in Cupertino, down the road from the Apple headquarters, to a studio on the Oakland-Berkeley border.

Thanksgiving Day of 2003 was the second oddest day in an odd year for me.

I woke that morning, 27th November, 2003, knowing I would be driving down to almost the exact neighbourhood I had just moved from, on the Cupertino-San Jose border, to have a Thanksgiving meal at a house I’d never been to, hosted by a person I’d never met who, I think, was related (I honestly don’t remember how) to my aunt. My uncle and aunt were visiting my cousin, who went to UC Santa Cruz at the time, for the weekend, and were going to this woman’s house for Thanksgiving. I said I would make zucchini bread (because that’s what I do) and drive down there for the afternoon and evening.

In the late morning, I went to a pick-up football (soccer) game I’d never been to before. I didn’t score (I never seemed to score in pick-up games), had a decent time, and thought I’d go back at some point (I never did), then came home to get ready to go to this woman’s house.

I had to really prepare to go to this woman’s house. She had some sort of smell-sensitivity disorder. I was not allowed to have any artificial scent on me when I arrived at her house. I had to take a shower with unscented soap, not put on any deodorant, get in my car, close the windows, not stop to buy gas, or go anywhere else where I might run into anyone wearing cologne, or deodorant, or smoking. I got ready, I got in my car, closed the windows on a day that was a little warm for November, in a car that had a busted air conditioner, and drove the hour to San Jose.

The dinner was nice. I remember little of the food. There were her two, very well-trained, white fluffy dogs, that could walk on their hind legs. There were her small group of scent-sensitive friends, who told us how they became to be scent-sensitive. There was my uncle, aunt, and cousin. Then there was the odd conversation. I remember that more than anything else on Thanksgiving Day, 2003.

Before I go on, I should mention that this woman was Jewish, only because that comes into play shortly. I should also mention that I’m not Jewish.

This woman had a niece who was at The University of Oregon. She thought her niece and I would make a nice couple. I have no idea why she would think that, but she did, and I appreciated the thought. She mentioned that her niece would be coming down to visit her at some point soon and she could introduce us. She thought the distance between Berkeley and Eugene, Oregon (430 miles) would not be a problem. She then asked if I was Jewish. I said I was not. She said it wouldn’t be a problem as long as I would ‘be willing to convert’. Because, you know, that’s the sort of thing you should be willing to commit to doing when you are being asked to possibly date someone who lives 430 miles away from you and the only things you know about this person is that they are are female, go to the University of Oregon, and are Jewish.

That moment goes down as one of the most memorable of my life. I half thought she was joking but didn’t want to offend her by laughing, or even chuckling, if she wasn’t. She was not joking, and I’m glad I didn’t laugh it off.

To avoid responding to the possibility of religious conversion, I simply said that I was meeting someone the next day and wanted to see how that panned out before committing to meet her niece. This was actually the truth. I had made tentative plans to meet someone the next day. Plans I wasn’t sure I wanted to really go through with (because that’s the kind of person I am), but thought it would be a good idea, at least a better one than being hooked up with someone who would expect me to convert.

The evening went on and I drove home that evening, knowing more about scent-sensitivity than I had 6 hours earlier.

A few weeks later, I got an email from the woman. She asked if I was interested in meeting her niece, who would be in town soon. I said no. I told her that the person I had met the day after Thanksgiving and I were dating and things were going pretty well, so I’d pass. I was glad I didn't have to lie to the woman about not meeting her niece; I would have felt terrible doing that to her.

Every Thanksgiving since then I think about that woman, and her niece, and wonder if her niece found a nice Jewish boy (or a non-Jewish boy who was willing to convert). Every Thanksgiving since then I'm thankful I met that woman and I'm thankful for the awkward moment she and I shared.

Thanksgiving Day was the second oddest day for me in 2003. The day after Thanksgiving in 2003 beat that day in oddness by a mile. 

On that day, the day after what I thought would be the oddest day of the year, I ended up meeting that person I was tentative about meeting; the person that I'm not sure I would have gone through meeting without the conversion comment the day before; the person I told that woman about in an email a few weeks later. The person who is now in the room next to the one I’m in as I write this, 13 years later. We’re not in California anymore and I can hear our kid sleeping soundly, on this not-so-odd November evening, in 2016.

I’m not sure I even know when Thanksgiving is this year, but every Thanksgiving season I am thankful my aunt invited me to that dinner. Every Thanksgiving season I think about that woman and I’m glad I met her. I’m not sure I’d be where I am now if I hadn’t.

My aunt toasting us at our wedding reception