I was blessed to celebrate what many think of as a “traditional” Thanksgiving: we ate turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes and gravy, pumpkin pie and lots more, resulting in a few naps afterwards in front of the TV football game. Our entire extended family attended, some traveling hundreds of miles. We played a pseudo-competitive game later, and returned for even more food afterwards. And we all declared a thing or two we are grateful for, spanning ages 7 to 74. Yes, it was heart-warming and heartfelt, a day to file away in the cozy closet of cherished memories.

And I think we are now a completely traditional American family in another way as well: we had no conversations about politics. It isn’t a new policy this year. We discovered well before Trump’s appearance in 2016 that our discussions did not end with persuasion (although they may have contributed to a wider understanding of personalities), but more generally with some anger and disbelief that others couldn’t see what was as plain as the nose on our faces. We came to an unspoken agreement to steer well away from political discussions or even simple political comments, and there hasn’t been a political argument since.

After our meal, people did comment on the Thanksgiving foods they loved the most, which covered a wide spectrum, and I was reminded of a phrase I’ve often quoted. I remembered it from a movie (Prizzi’s Honor 1985), but now find it comes from a relatively well-known Latin phrase used since the 1600s: “There’s no accounting for tastes.” One person’s love of stuffing can’t be diminished in the face of another’s preference for sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie can’t be automatically elevated above banana cream, and a slice of salami with a cracker is not intrinsically better than a chunk of honeydew melon for an appetizer.

Worldwide, it’s even more appropriate, since delicacies in one locale don’t usually transfer to another, even though Americans’ tastes have expanded greatly with our changing ethnic mix (tacos are now trendy, sushi and croissants are staples in many supermarkets). Thailand boasts about 20,000 edible insect farms, producing both fast-food varieties and delicacies. We prepared for a recent trip to Ecuador with the knowledge that for foodies there, guinea pig was a specialty, but we couldn’t get our stomachs around it. (The restaurants we visited were low- or moderately-priced, so we never saw it on a menu.)

But I began to wonder if the same is true for politics. Are the divisions simply matters of taste? The last decade in politics has proven to me that, in general, people believe what they believe and choose sources and arguments that reinforce their beliefs, while shying away from those that make them uncomfortable.

A book reviewed in the Boston Globe (“Good, Reasonable People” by Keith Payne, Dec. 1, 2024) notes the same process. It highlights the “flexible reasoning” we use to support our positions, even if it doesn’t pass a logic test. Our “psychological immune system” demands that we believe we are smart people open to other views, and whose bedrock beliefs are well thought-out and based on evidence. The book also suggests that it’s especially important for people to believe their positions place them on “the moral high ground” while other beliefs fall somewhere below. Our “psychological bottom line” requires that we believe in ourselves and our chosen political candidates so we can maintain a solid self-image.

So Thanksgiving political discussions are off-limits for many of us. It probably serves us better to focus on the bounty symbolized by the turkey and other favorites rather than the political elephant in the room which crowds out a good deal of our consciousness these days.

In the end, Payne suggests a type of analytical thinking that rises above the emotions of a heated political argument. He wants people to analyze how both sides are essentially defending themselves to protect their self-image and their psychological bottom line, which maintains they are good, reasonable people.

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He believes we need to learn to see each other in a more complex way, encompassing two sides at once: others are “individuals doing their best to see the world they were thrust into,” and also “opponents in a contest that matters.” This widened view allows us to fight with “words and ballots” rather than “blood and bullets.”

It’s a laudable goal, but it’s a rocky path getting to it. For now, it’s all about the turkey rather than the elephant.

Allen Woods is a freelance writer, author of the Revolutionary-era historical fiction novel “The Sword and Scabbard,” and Greenfield resident. His column appears regularly on a Saturday. Comments are welcome here or at awoods2846@gmail.com