Being Thanksgiving, I thumbed my nose at the Kathleen Parker bot column
and went straight for the glory of Art Buchwald:

The Turkey Growers Association of America has approved this message.

"One of our most important holidays is Thanksgiving Day, known in
France as le Jour de Merci Donnant.

"Le Jour de Merci Donnant was first started by a group of Pilgrims (
Pelerins) who fled from l'Angleterre before the McCarran Act to found a
colony in the New World ( le Nouveau Monde) where they could shoot
Indians ( les Peaux-Rouges) and eat turkey ( dinde) to their hearts'
content.

"They landed at a place called Plymouth (later a famous voiture
Americaine) in a wooden sailing ship called the Mayflower (or Fleur de
Mai) in 1620. But while the Pelerins were killing the dindes, the
Peaux-Rouges were killing the Pelerins, and there were several hard
winters ahead for both of them. The only way the Peaux-Rouges helped
the Pelerins was when they taught them to grow corn ( mais). The reason
they did this was because they liked corn with their Pelerins.

"In 1623, after another harsh year, the Pelerins' crops were so good
that they decided to have a celebration and give thanks because more
mais was raised by the Pelerins than Pelerins were killed by
Peaux-Rouges.

"Every year on the Jour de Merci Donnant, parents tell their children
an amusing story about the first celebration.

"It concerns a brave capitaine named Miles Standish (known in France as
Kilometres Deboutish) and a young, shy lieutenant named Jean Alden.
Both of them were in love with a flower of Plymouth called Priscilla
Mullens (no translation). The vieux capitaine said to the jeune
lieutenant:

"Go to the damsel Priscilla ( allez tres vite chez Priscilla), the
loveliest maiden of Plymouth ( la plus jolie demoiselle de Plymouth).
Say that a blunt old captain, a man not of words but of action ( un
vieux Fanfan la Tulipe), offers his hand and his heart, the hand and
heart of a soldier. Not in these words, you know, but this, in short,
is my meaning.

"I am a maker of war ( je suis un fabricant de la guerre) and not a
maker of phrases. You, bred as a scholar ( vous, qui êtes pain comme
un étudiant), can say it in elegant language, such as you read in your
books of the pleadings and wooings of lovers, such as you think best
adapted to win the heart of the maiden."

"Although Jean was fit to be tied ( convenable á être emballe),
friendship prevailed over love and he went to his duty. But instead of
using elegant language, he blurted out his mission. Priscilla was muted
with amazement and sorrow ( rendue muette par l'étonnement et las
tristesse).

"At length she exclaimed, interrupting the ominous silence: "If the
great captain of Plymouth is so very eager to wed me, why does he not
come himself and take the trouble to woo me?" ( Ou est-il, le vieux
Kilometres? Pourquoi ne vient-il pas aupres de moi pour tenter sa
chance?)

"Jean said that Kilometres Deboutish was very busy and didn't have time
for those things. He staggered on, telling what a wonderful husband
Kilometres would make. Finally Priscilla arched her eyebrows and said
in a tremulous voice, "Why don't you speak for yourself, Jean?" (
Chacun a son gout.)

"And so, on the fourth Thursday in November, American families sit down
at a large table brimming with tasty dishes and, for the only time
during the year, eat better than the French do.

"No one can deny that le Jour de Merci Donnant is a grande fete and no
matter how well fed American families are, they never forget to give
thanks to Kilometres Deboutish, who made this great day possible.

2006Tribune Media Services