It turns out a Puerto Rican Thanksgiving in America is no different from an American Thanksgiving in America.
The crazy family drama is played out subtly so that only those trained to notice it (meaning anyone in the family or anyone who has a family) can see it. The kids are indulged their hyper antics until they hurt someone/themselves and then they cry until they’re given ice cream. It’s a comfortable occasion filled with too much food and just enough laughter, and when you leave at the end, you’re very glad to have experienced it but also happy to go home to a silent apartment.
And also, it makes you realize you’re definitely not ready to have kids anytime soon–if ever.
So though I didn’t spend Thanksgiving with my own family, it felt similar. Except for the drinks. My family isn’t Puerto Rican, and they don’t serve alcohol at family gatherings.