My father wasn’t born in this country. He came from the Philippines in the early 1930s with, I believe, one intent in mind: to embrace America as his own.
He became an American citizen, worked decades for the federal government, was an officer in the U.S. Navy, loved to play golf, and—for special occasions—made our kitchen his world. By the time of my earliest memories of Thanksgiving, he was well ensconced in this truly American tradition and celebrated it with customary gusto.
