On Being Invited to the Kiddie's Table

An analogy speaks a million words.

Thanksgiving, or the one that most closely resembles what we all think of as that first Thanksgiving, was August, 1621 in Plymouth, Massachusetts.

The Indians helped set the menu and, even, brought the Turkey.

Both the Pilgrims and the Indians sat side-by-side in celebration of a bountiful harvest.  It was the Pilgrims and the Indians' feast.  Side-by-side with equal seats at the table.

That feast gave way to decades of peace and many, many more bountiful harvests.

And there was, decidedly, no kiddie's table.

Imagine the first Thanksgiving Dinner if the invitation had gone down something like this instead:

We Pilgrims are planning a tremendous feast.  Though we've planned such feasts before and never been able to quite pull them off, we feel pretty good about this one.  We've asked the finest of our Pilgrim citizens what they think makes for a better feast and they've caused us to think we have this one thought out just right.

You don't need to bring anything to the table or, at least, anything that matters to the feast.  We don't actually know what you have, but we are sure its not enough to matter. 

We'd likely to be able to say that you came, but its perfectly fine if you say "no."  Even if just one of your tribe accepts our invitation, we'll announce to the World that your tribe is coming anyway.

After all, this is "our" region.

Why wouldn't you come to our feast? 

We've reserved a seat for you at the kiddie's table.