By Mike Pound

Globe columnist

mpound@joplinglobe.com

This morning, I woke up and had the same Thanksgiving thought that our pilgrim forefathers likely had on the morning of their first Thanksgiving: Really? The Detroit Lions? That’s who we have to watch today?

Look, I’m all for tradition. As far as I’m concerned, tradition is a good thing. And I know that the Detroit Lions playing on Thanksgiving Day is an NFL tradition. But at some point, when a tradition isn’t working, maybe it’s time to call off the dogs or, in this case, the Lions. I don’t mind watching the Dallas Cowboys play every Thanksgiving. I don’t like the Dallas Cowboys, but I have to admit they’ve earned the right to play on Thanksgiving. Although, to be honest, I’m not sure that the Cowboys playing the Seattle Whatchamacallits is going to make for the most riveting football experience. But I also thought the Kansas City Chiefs would beat the Buffalo Whatevers. So it’s possible I don’t know what I’m talking about.

See, that’s the difference between a male person and a female person. A male person wraps the Thanksgiving experience around the NFL, while a female person wraps the holiday experience around the “family.”

I know. I can’t figure out female persons either.

Female person: OK, the turkey is in the oven. The dressing is made. The pies are cooling. The cranberries are chilling. The rolls are ready to go in. The vegetables are waiting to be steamed. The sweet potatoes are done and ready to be thrown out (I don’t like sweet potatoes). I think we’re ready. Can you think of anything else?

Male person: Yeah. Where’s the remote?

Female person: *%$#.

Thanksgiving takes female persons to a special place. A place for families to get together. A place to reconnect. A place to catch up on their individual lives. You know, hell.

Ha. I joke.

The female persons at my house love to start off Thanksgiving Day by watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Although this year, as I understand it, because of the economy the parade will be called the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade and Half-Price Sale. I don’t want to say times are tough right now, but the Kermit the Frog parade balloon has a sign on it that reads: Will Work for Flies.

My wife and our 10-year-old daughter, Emma, love the parade. Me? Not so much. It’s not that I have anything against parades. A parade of Sports Illustrated swimsuit models, for example, would be a fine parade. But, frankly, after float No. 9,876, the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade begins to wear on me. But so does that “Dancing with People Who at One Time Were Almost Stars” show, so maybe it’s me and not the parade.

While my wife and Emma watch the parade in our kitchen, they also work on the roughly 395 side dishes that my wife insists on making for our Thanksgiving dinner. My mother-in-law actually puts our Thanksgiving together. As far as I’m concerned, my mother-in-law puts the most important part of our Thanksgiving meal together: the turkey.

I don’t know about you (and aren’t you glad I don’t?), but I think in your basic Thanksgiving dinner, the turkey is the star. All the other stuff on the table amounts to lame opening acts. Think of the turkey (caution to young people: very old musical reference coming up) as Frank Sinatra and the other stuff on the table as Steve and Edie.

So, sometime today, after my wife and Emma have watched the parade and after all 495 side dishes are done, we will load our car down with food, and if there is room, the three of us will get in and we’ll drive to my mother-in-law’s house. When we arrive, we will unload the 596 side dishes and carry them into the kitchen. While my wife and my mother-in-law make room for the 698 side dishes on the table, I’ll walk into the living room and turn on the TV. Then I’ll sit down on the couch and inhale the intoxicating aromas coming from the kitchen. While I sit on the couch, I’ll think about this Thanksgiving. Then I’ll think about Thanksgivings past. Then I’ll think about Thanksgivings to come.

And then I’ll think: “Really? *%$#* Detroit? Every *^%#$ year?”