Thanksgiving is a complicated holiday. As a child, it was simple – a happy day of family and feasting. I would awake at dawn to help my mother stuff the turkey that would roast all day in the oven, and while she prepared all the rest of the meal, the younger of my brothers and I would head downtown with my nextdoor neighbor to delight in the Christmas displays in the department store windows. Our home would be filled – my older siblings returned from college and their adult lives, with a roommate, or girlfriend, and in later years, spouses and children. We would stuff ourselves with turkey, stuffing, and cranberry jelly, mashed potatoes and gravy, black cherry jello, squash with mini marshmallows, and as my mother would always say, “corn for the Indians.” That would be the only mention of Native Americans on this day celebrating what has become a romanticized version of a harvest feast, shared by a few of the Waumpanoag people and the English settlers who owed their survival to the Waumpanoag’s generosity.