
It's almost like a scene from a movie—as each family member walks through the door, you're met with a very distinct energy. You can practically predict who's arriving based on the sound of boots stomping snow on the porch or the breeze of cold air that rushes in because someone refuses to wear a coat. From the person who critiques each dish to the mischievous cousin camaraderie, Thanksgiving in Michigan is one of the annual get-togethers that functions as a personality showcase. And honestly? We wouldn't have it any other way. After all, it's the entertainment and gathering of information that fuels our conversations for the rest of the year.
It was made very apparent in the family group chat to arrive by 2:00pm for dinner. But this person makes sure to arrive over an hour beforehand. They’re the first to show up. And because of this, they either get looped into helping with the food prep or they sit at the counter and chat while watching someone else make the food. There’s just no in between. And as other members arrive on-time, this person silently judges them for “being late.”
This person might be the most spontaneous of the group (definitely not a planner by any means). They’ll likely remember that the holiday is a day away and sprint to Meijer to grab something to contribute to the family meal. And because all the turkeys are probably taken, they’ll settle for a bag of Hawaiian rolls.
This person (likely an over-the-top aunt) will arrive with: three pies, homemade whipped cream, “just a little cheesecake I threw together,” and pumpkin cookies because she had extra time. She’ll claim she wasn’t sure what people liked, so she made everything. And will at some point dramatically announce that she “ruined the crust” and everyone will assure her she did not.
Let’s set the scene: it’s 28 degrees outside. Someone (usually the pessimistic uncle) will show up in a flannel shirt, slide-on mules, maybe socks, and no coat. He’ll state, “It’s not that bad,” and visibly shiver. He still refuses a jacket. And later will suggest a group walk to “get some fresh air” to prove his passivity (and will regret it immediately).
This person is definitely the millennial of the family. They watched one tutorial on the Food Network and instantly considered themselves a poultry engineer. They have strong opinions about brining, deep frying, baste frequency, resting time, and the correct internal temperature “recommended by real chefs.” (They definitely will overcook the turkey).
For this person, Thanksgiving isn’t about family. It’s about the Detroit Lions. In the span of a few hours, they’ll experience the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and pie. They will yell at the television. They will shush people if they can’t hear a call. They will declare, “This is our year,” regardless of actual evidence. And usually another family member (who knows absolutely nothing about football) will sit there with them and suddenly become an expert analyst.
This person is constantly stressed, sweaty, and determined. They’ll say, “Don’t help, you’ll just get in my way,” but become furious that nobody is helping. They’ve been in the kitchen since 6am. Will not sit down until the meal actually begins. They’ll stand behind you as you cook something “wrong.”
This person brings the exact same dish every year. It is either beloved or feared. Specific dishes include green bean casserole, sweet potatoes with marshmallows, or that mysterious Jell-O creation with fruit and pretzels. They’ll claim the recipe has “been in the family for generations” and refuse to share it.
This person brings multiple crockpots with mystery foods “we just had to try this year,” requiring three outlets and a power strip.
This person is usually a grandkid who secretly gives the dog turkey under the table even after receiving very clear instructions not to. They’ll stay glued to the dog the entire evening, claiming, “We’re best friends now.” And when it’s time to leave, there will be a very heartfelt goodbye that includes hugging the dog (who has a very uncomfortable look on his face) and requesting to make frequent visits in the future to see it.
This person is not the grandkid mentioned earlier—it’s the teenager whose trendy idea falls onto the dog: dressing him up with a turkey hat. They’ll attempt to take aesthetic, funny photos as the dog suffers with a flimsy half turkey upon its head.
This person is just looking to brew up trouble. They’ll casually drop, “So what does everyone think about…” right as the turkey is being carved. Everyone will sit there, wide-eyed, unsure of what to say, as they stuff their mouths with pie.
This person isn’t looking to cook for at least another week. So they come prepared with old Cool Whip and butter containers to pack up five pounds of leftovers.
This person is likely on the younger side of the family (or is an avid “almond mom”) who ran the turkey trot bright and early on the day. After dinner, they’ll suggest a walk in the 32-degree weather because the “fresh air will help with digestion.” They’ll attempt to recruit family members to join them for this brisk walk around the block. And they even came prepared with their wrist and ankle weights and running shoes.
This is definitely a tween-aged grandkid who attempts to cook up a rebellion against the adults. They’ll attempt to form a “secret alliance” with the other cousins to spy on adults, plot a Nerf ambush, or steal desserts before dinner.
This person is almost always a grandparent who begins every conversation with, “Well back in my day…” They’ll share stories about relatives no one remembers, walking to school in treacherous conditions, or spreading hate for the relative who failed to show up to the family dinner. And after a series of diverse conversation, they’ll settle in an armchair to “rest my eyes.”
This person probably got upset over a conversation topic that fell back onto them and threatened to leave. They’ll announce it loudly, and then proceed to stay three more hours.
Despite the chaos that comes with lake-effect snow, the Lions-induced emotional trauma, the annual political prodding, and poor dressed-up dog, a Michigan Thanksgiving has more than enough entertainment to keep one occupied.
Sierra Ozolins is a West Michigan native, currently a student at Hope College. As an athlete, she is passionate about fitness—from running to weightlifting. With a interest for politics and lifestyle, she is intrigued how local culture, community, and everyday events shape the world around her—often with an iced coffee in hand and her dog by her side.