Thanksgiving is not a holiday we celebrated. We basically had more of a family gathering. But we ate turkey and all the sides as the rest of the Western world did. Our family gathered to share stories in Beclabito, New Mexico, where we resided underneath the beautiful Carrizo mountains. My dad would butcher lamb. My grandmother had a flock of sheep. They would pick the fattest sheep. My dad would put the head of the sheep (we ate the eye, the tongue, the brains. It was the best part in my elders’ opinion) in the wood stove along with the turkey. The elders would eat more of the sheep than the turkey. My mom made bread (yeast, tortillas, and frybread). My beautiful sisters and brother brought their families and along with them a side dish. I would gather the children and play with them; we shared school stories, made a softball team of them. The adults sat under the chaha’oh (shade structure made out of cottonwood tree branches) and laughed, and helped each other. My Grandma Julia, who lived next to us, would bring her best blue corn mush. It was a day to make memories. How I miss my mom, dad, and grandma so. I know that a lot of native people don’t eat that day. I am understanding of that. We are brought up differently, though. Although my in-laws were very resistant. They were more activists. We allowed them to breathe their own air and take care of their own spirituality. But I don’t have a problem with Thanksgiving. For me spiritually, I know that I have to walk in the Western culture and also keep my traditional ways…and somehow, I just weave those two together to make it more balanced for me.  – Sandra Lee