The Big Thanksgiving Letdown

One of the biggest problems with commercialized and secularized holidays is how easily they let you down.

I was reminded of this too seldom acknowledged truth when perusing the TV listings for an airing—any airing—of the formerly ubiquitous cartoon special A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving, which was first broadcast on CBS in 1973 and rerun, on CBS and other networks, for many decades thereafter.

Just think of how many generations of children were catechized in Thanksgiving by encountering, amid the amiable silliness of Snoopy and unremitting frustrations of Charlie Brown, the profound ministrations of Linus. Enjoined by Peppermint Patty to say a prayer before Thanksgiving dinner, Linus offers a crash course in the history of the American holiday.

“In the year 1621, the Pilgrims held their first Thanksgiving Feast,” Linus begins. “They invited the great Indian chief Massasoit, who brought 90 of his brave Indians and a great abundance of food. Governor William Bradford and Captain Myles Standish were honored guests. Elder William Brewster, who was a minister, said a prayer that went something like this: ‘We thank God for our homes and our food and our safety in a new land. We thank God for the opportunity to create a new world for freedom and justice.’”

To quote Peppermint Patty: Amen.

The experience of annually revisiting A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving is not merely an excuse to indulge in nostalgia for vanished childhood or wistfulness for hand-drawn animation but a chance to reacquaint oneself, amid striking purity and innocence, with the traditional understanding of Thanksgiving. After all, one is not likely to encounter references to Elder William Brewster while watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade or the postgame commentary accompanying the day’s three NFL games. 

Yet for the fifth consecutive Thanksgiving, A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving is not being presented on TV, as commonly defined, but streamed on the Apple TV+ service. According to USA Today, the show is accessible without charge, even for non-subscribers, this weekend. This sounds charitable but is, in truth, a shabby substitute for the original arrangement. 

After all, any child with access to a remote control could happen upon A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving were it on broadcast TV, but to log onto Apple TV+ requires effort, intention, and a functioning memory on the part of parents or relatives. Besides, to consign the program to streaming rather than to broadcast it from sea to shining sea suggests that it has become a niche item—something to seek out rather than part of our common culture. 

Here we come to the lesson of the day: Every example of the commercialization of Thanksgiving—even one as relatively noble in spirit as A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving—will end with inevitable disappointment. In other words, the meaning of Thanksgiving—that meek and sincere gratitude of which Linus speaks—is imperishable, but the human expressions of, or elaborations on, the holiday are highly fallible. 

Permit me to offer some examples from my own recent experience.

Throughout the 2010s, my family went to Thanksgiving dinner at the Smith & Wollensky restaurant then operating in my city. It might sound depressing, but it was actually thoroughly festive to be treated to an elaborate multi-course meal in a high-end steakhouse. I highly recommend the butternut squash bisque and root vegetables. We would see some of the same families year after year, but this was only an illusion of permanence. Not only did the restaurant suspend its Thanksgiving dine-in service around the time of COVID, but it closed this location altogether in early 2023. So much for Thanksgiving on the town.

Earlier this year, I noted in this space the closure of my local Brooks Brothers—the one retailer I dared patronize on Black Friday. This has not been my only retail disappointment in recent years. One of two Williams Sonomas near me closed some years ago, and its replacement—Sur La Table—moved from its previous location to a new but smaller space. So much for replacing the cutlery before this year’s feast. 

Even my Barnes & Noble seems strangely diminished: The annual November sale of Criterion Collection DVDs doesn’t have quite the same impact when the home media selection has been reduced from an entire section to a few lonely shelves. So much for stocking up on my collection of foreign film classics.

In short, my ability to participate meaningfully in the commercialization of November has been severely diminished. The world will always find ways to get cheaper, tawdrier, and more frustrating—and the entities that control A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving are not exempt from this. 

Yet, upon reflection, I fail to see how this supposed diminishment is anything but salutary: I should not be thinking about what to watch on Thanksgiving, let alone ways to spend money, but the abundance of God’s blessings.