Look, I’m not saying this Thanksgiving is going to require more wine than usual, but I did notice Costco started stacking the bottles in a formation that resembles a fortified bunker. Plus, the turkey costs $40 and tastes like regret, but at least we’re not eating it in Pittsburgh.
Between grocery prices that make you wonder if eggs are now considered a luxury item and a Chiefs team that’s playing football like they’re being held hostage by the residents of Raytown, it would be easy to face this holiday season with all the enthusiasm of a dental appointment. Add in a political landscape that makes a Thanksgiving dinner argument look like a meditation retreat, and you’ve got yourself a recipe for hiding under the covers until January.
But here’s the thing about Kansas City—we’re stupidly, irrationally good at finding reasons to celebrate even when the universe is actively trying to ruin our mood.
Take our barbecue, for instance. Yes, a brisket now costs roughly the same as a used Honda Civic, but that smoky, perfect burnt end still has the power to make you forget you just spent your retirement fund at the grocery store. There’s something deeply comforting about knowing that no matter what chaos erupts in Washington or how many interceptions Patrick Mahomes throws, Bryant’s BBQ will still be there, sauce-stained and glorious.
And speaking of comfort, we’ve still got weather that can’t make up its mind, which is actually a blessing in disguise. Sure, it was 70 degrees last Tuesday and might snow on Thanksgiving, but that means we get to experience all four seasons in a single weekend. It’s like Mother Nature’s version of a variety pack. You can’t be bored when you literally don’t know if you’ll need shorts or a parka tomorrow.
The Plaza lights still work, despite everything. They’ve survived wars, recessions, and that one year everyone was convinced the world would end because of Y2K. Those lights don’t care about your 401k or your blood pressure. They’re going to sparkle anyway, like some kind of defiant middle finger to pessimism. You’ll still get a Z-list celebrity to turn them on, and we’ll all sing Joy To the World like we are our own little Clark Griswold.
We’ve also got Boulevard Beer, which has been getting Kansas Citians through hard times since before hard times were this fashionable. Tank 7 doesn’t judge you for drinking it at noon on a Wednesday. It understands.
In just a few weeks, I’ll start seeing a streetcar right outside my window in the River Market. That streetcar will early next year take you all the way from the Bond Bridge to downtown, to Union Station, through Westport, the Plaza and into UMKC. For free. In this economy? You betcha. Now, I only wish they’d hand out burnt ends. The only thing more fun to do as a Kansas Citian is dunk on Olathe.
Sure, the Chiefs are making us question every life choice that led to our emotional investment in professional football. But we’ve got the Royals, and Platinum Glove winner Bobby Witt Jr. who have already exceeded expectations by simply existing without causing us active pain. That’s growth. Let’s push aside for at least one more holiday where these two teams will actually call home in a few years.
Finally, we’ve still got each other—a city full of people who will complain about literally everything while simultaneously insisting this is the greatest place on Earth. We’re contradictory, stubborn, and probably drinking too much, but we show up. We tailgate in freezing rain. We argue about burnt ends with religious fervor. We are Kansas City.
So look around. Sure the world is on fire and everything hurts, but I am truly thankful that we live in this little pocket of the universe that still has a few things to be thankful for this holiday season. Even if, for the first time in a decade, one of them isn’t Patrick Mahomes.
