A Thanksgiving Story to Share With the Young People in Your Life
By sayra pinto
Nov 26, 2025
As we approach Thanksgiving, I’ve been thinking about the children in our lives —
children who live in a world changing faster than adults can interpret,
children who ask brave questions,
children with lineages the world does not always know how to hold.
I wrote the story below for them.
As many of you know, I am a Terrenal immigrant — a person of Afro-Indigenous lineage from the Américas whose identity has never fit the narrow racial categories in this country. For most of my life, there wasn’t language to describe who I was.
So I created it.
I created the word Terrenal to name a people whose histories, lineages, and embodied truths were not being held.
From that naming, I developed Love Politics — a relational, care-centered way of shaping public life —
and Poetic Futurism — a future-building methodology rooted in meaning, emotional integrity, and cultural truth.
This story is offered in that spirit.
It is a Thanksgiving story told from the perspective of an 11-year-old, written for young people across all communities.
It invites them to imagine a Thanksgiving rooted in truth, belonging, and love.
My invitation to you is simple:
Please share this story with the children in your life.
Read it at your table, in your classroom, or in the quiet places where children listen with their whole hearts.
“Elena’s Thanksgiving”
Hi. My name is Elena, and I’m eleven.
I want to tell you what happened at Thanksgiving this year, because it wasn’t like any Thanksgiving I’ve ever had. It wasn’t pretend. It wasn’t the turkey-and-pilgrims story from school.
It felt like… truth.
But let me start at the beginning.
1. I Was Confused About Thanksgiving
At school, we colored turkeys and talked about “the first Thanksgiving.”
But the story felt too simple.
Too neat.
Too… wrong.
My family is Terrenal — which means we come from both Black and Indigenous peoples of the Américas.
But the school stories never talked about people like us.
Sometimes I didn’t know where I fit.
I thought maybe Thanksgiving wasn’t meant for kids like me.
Then something happened that changed everything.
2. My Mom Took Me to the Community Center
On the night before Thanksgiving, my mom said:
“Come with me tonight.
We’re going somewhere different.”
We walked to the community center — the one with blue doors and a mural of stars.
When we stepped inside, I froze.
Kids from everywhere were there.
Aiyana and her brother
who are Indigenous, lighting cedar that smelled like the forest.
Jamal
who is Black, carrying warm cornbread for everyone to share.
Mateo
who is Terrenal like me, holding a bowl of plantains.
Mei and her cousin
who are Chinese American, pouring tea into tiny cups.
Yasmin
who is Arab American, carrying date cookies she made with her grandmother.
A Pacific Islander girl named Lani
placing seashells in a circle.
Lucía
who is Latina, bringing pozole and smiling like she already knew this gathering would be special.
And Claire
who is white and said softly,
“I’m here to listen. I want to be a good friend.”
Kids ran between chairs.
People laughed.
The whole room felt warm — not just warm like temperature, but warm like kindness.
I thought:
“Maybe this Thanksgiving is for me after all.”
3. We Sat in a Circle
Aiyana’s grandmother started the circle.
She said:
“Tonight, we tell the truth.
Not to make anyone feel bad —
but to make room for everyone’s story.”
Then the kids spoke.
Aiyana said,
“My people have been here since forever. The land remembers us.”
Jamal said,
“My family teaches courage. Even when things are unfair.”
Mateo said,
“We’re Terrenal. Not everyone knows what that means, but they will.”
Mei said,
“My family came from far away. We’re building home step by step.”
Yasmin said,
“My grandparents had to leave their country. I want everyone to feel welcome.”
Lani said,
“My island is far, but our stories still live in me.”
Lucía said,
“My abuela crossed borders for me. I want borders to be kinder.”
Claire said,
“I’m learning to listen so my friends feel safe.”
Then everyone turned to me.
4. I Finally Told the Truth
I said:
“I want a Thanksgiving where kids like me don’t disappear.
Where everyone gets to be themselves.
Where our real histories matter.
And where we make room for each other — for real.”
When I looked around the circle,
everyone was nodding.
It felt like the whole room was hugging me, even though no one moved.
5. The Basket of Futures
In the middle of the circle was a woven basket.
Aiyana’s grandmother said:
“This is our basket of futures.
Put something inside that represents the future you want to help create.”
One by one, we added:
a cedar leaf
a cornbread crumb
a river stone
a tea leaf
a date cookie piece
a seashell
a pozole spoon
an apple slice
a note that said,
“Let’s be people who do not look away.”
I put in a piece of paper on which I wrote:
“A future with room for all of us.”
The basket looked like a tiny sun in the middle of the room.
6. What I Learned
Walking home, I looked up at the stars and thought:
“Thanksgiving isn’t about the old stories.
It’s about the future we want to create.”
A future where:
everyone’s story belongs
no one feels invisible
we tell the truth gently
we listen carefully
love is something we do
and kids help build the world, not just inherit it
For the first time ever, Thanksgiving felt real.
And I knew this was the future I wanted to help shape.
With care,
Elena (age 11)
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