@TheBlaisse here's my entry!
I kinda tried to write from the view of an European exchange student, who gets to experience Thanksgiving in his host family, so... yeh :)

"And what exactly do you do then?" 

I guided the scissors around my handprint on the chestnut colored paper. 
Amber had told me that they would use these for cutouts of turkey paper chains. 

The younger girl had even used her own pocket money to pay for extra paint and paper at the stationery store. 

Now I knew that this must've been something very special to her, because not even her older sister, Hazel, ever got to see that money. 

"I told you, we get to eat lots of food and we're gonna absolutely destroy each other with football!", Amber rolled her eyes, as if that answer was obvious. 

Her fiery red hair curled around her shoulders, almost matching with the autumn leaves that covered the garden outside.

The girl had asked me to braid it for her, which was a great honor for me.
I only was her 'temporary big brother' after all.

Unfortunately, it turned out that I was horrible at doing hairstyles. Me miserably failing to even comb it, was the reason why Hazel was now sitting criss-cross behind her little sister, trying to tame the fuzzy knots. 

She let out a deep-hearted sigh when the little girl moved again, causing the braids to untangle themselves once more. 

"Listen you little minion, if I have to do this one more time..."

We didn't get to hear the rest of her threat because Mrs. Cortell had walked through the door frame, carefully avoiding the minefield of crafting supplies we've laid out in her living room. 

"Okay you three, you should better clean this up before Gammie arrives. You know that Mr. Paddington likes to eat things he's not supposed to", the woman explained, referring to the hurricane of a grandmother and her senile old... what was it called? Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. 

And I mean that in the best way possible. 

Hazel had told me so much about her dad's stepmother, Ebony Cortell, she seemed like a legend. 

How she got rid of her toxic husband, kept her last name, went paragliding at 68 years old and has that incredible habit of baking five-star cookies in the middle of the night.  

The amount of money I'd pay to get lectured about life from this lady. 

And well, her dog, Mr. Paddington, was probably the oldest living thing on this planet. Mr. Cortell had told me that the dog has already been that old during his childhood. 

Amazing. 

We finished off our paper chain, which Hazel then glued to the glass door that led outside into the family's huge yard, using a plastic chair and my knee as support. Which sooner led to Amber's new nickname for me; "Chair-security"

That'd probably stay like this until I had to do something else concerning furniture and she'd find a new name. 

"Hazel, honey, will you help your sister with her sweaters?", the voice of Mrs. Cortell rang from the kitchen, where I could already smell the strong scent of pumpkin squash and mashed potatoes, making my stomach complain in loud whale-noises. 

Whereas Hazel didn't seem to be too content over her mother's words.

"Why me?! Amber hates feeling like an onion with all the layers! Remember the time she scratched at my face with a toothbrush?! She's a menace!", the dark-haired girl groaned in frustration, throwing her head back to look at the ceiling. 

"Y'know, I could risk my life for you", I stepped closer to her, slowly patting her shoulder. 

The young woman turned her head, a wide grin on her face. 

"You'd do that for me?"

When she saw that I solemnly nodded, she straightened her back, dramatically saluting me. 

"Our hero, your services will not be forgotten"

I bowed like a soldier receiving his medal of honor, before I went to Amber's room to help her with the so-called 'onion look'. 

It basically means you wear every single pullover you owned and on top of that, every jacket you can find, to make absolutely sure that you won't get cold during the late November nights.

And we'd need that today.

During my time here, I learned that the Cortell family had the tradition of celebrating Thanksgiving with a big garden party.  

The whole day I'd been helping to put up fairy lights in the trees and carrying chairs in and out again, because Mrs. Cortell kept changing her mind. 

I've been very confused when their neighbors appeared, balancing towers of tupperware in their arms, but quickly realized that the big table couldn't have been for only the five of us. 

The fight with Amber went off rather quickly without many injuries, which probably was one of the seven world wonders. 

When I stepped outside to grab my jacket, I couldn't help but stare in awe at what I saw. 

The sun had slowly started to set, tinting the sky a warm orange color and softly blending together with the red and yellow leaves of the trees that rowed the sleepy street. 

Round about twenty people were gathered in small groups, some standing around the campfire Mr. Cortell had put up and warming their hands on it.
I almost got run over by a horde of kids that were chasing after each other with joyful squeals, followed by an old dog that was yapping after them. 

I saw Hazel already being burito-ed up in a cozy looking blanket, her hands wrapping the fabric around her shivering body. She chuckled at something her little sister had said, making her dark curls softly bounce with the movement. 

Everywhere I looked, there were conversations held, jokes were pulled, followed by collective laughter.

It already looked like a beautiful fairy tale evening.

Yet what really caught my eye was the small crowd chatting around the table that was creaking with all kinds of goods.

I saw bowls of mashed potatoes, plates stacked with carrots and peas, followed by many jars of homemade cranberry sauce. The smell of food burned itself into my brain, luring me towards the table. 

A collective sound of amazement went through the party when Mrs. Cortell stepped out of the house, carrying a glossy turkey which she'd baked until it had reached 'perfection on the crispy spectrum', how Hazel had put it.

Almost instantly, everyone sat down, knowing exactly where most of the food was placed. 

Before I could have a seat next to Hazel, I suddenly got squeezed to death by an old lady with fuzzy gray hair thick enough to hide Victoria's secret. 

Ebony Cortell nearly broke my ribs when she attacked me out of nothing, speaking at 130 kmh. How much was that into miles per hour?

"Darling, how good to finally meet you!"

She spoke with a heavy southern accent, making it even more difficult for me to understand her.

"It's a pleasure to see you too, Miss Cortell-", I managed to press out through clenched teeth, which made her chuckle and pat my cheek. 

"Oh, please! Call me Ebony!"

She looked down at Hazel, wiggling her eyebrows as she made a snatching gesture with her gloved hand. 

"Such a fine young man you got there", her dark red lips twisted into a smug grin. 

"Gammie, please"

I felt a hand grabbing my wrist and pulling me down on the wooden chair, away from the woman, who scoffed but continued talking to every person in a two meter radius. 

Next to me, Hazel let out a defeated sigh, pushing one of her curls behind her hair. 

"Now that that's out, she'll most likely leave you alone for another ten minutes..", she rolled her eyes, but didn't seem really mad at her grandmother's behavior.

Before we could eat, everyone took turns to say what they were grateful for, which quite surprised me. Only then I realized how little I actually knew about Thanksgiving. 

When it was my turn to speak, I felt my palms getting sweaty. All eyes being on me, the 'stranger' from another world so to say, made my stomach twist a bit. 

Searching for wherever my voice had disappeared to, I took a deep breath. Yet the second I was about to open my mouth, the words got stuck in my throat when the man in front of me let out a high-pitched scream and shot up from his seat. 

Almost two seconds later, the entire left row was on their feet, scrambling away from the table where a suspicious glugging noise was coming from. 

"Bruno, not again!", Mr. Cortell yelled at an older man with his eyes wide behind thick glasses, who threw his hands up like he was being talked to by a cop. 

Bruno. The man who probably invented the 'weird uncle' trope. 
From what I've heard was he a literal menace to society. And I mean the kind of 'squeezes between couples on boat rides because he can' menace.

How he'd managed to bring a giant animal in here without anybody noticing, I didn't know.
And now that animal was causing a mass panic.

Chaos erupted when a whole, fully living, completely unaware of his surroundings and therefore fully disturbed turkey popped out from beneath the table, rapidly flapping it's wings while making those weird sounds and shaking that horrible jiggle-skin-thing around it's neck.

The next few minutes were a blur of feathers, screams and people running after a 30 lb bird, and turning around to run away when said bird chose to flip the tables and chase after them.

I didn't remember if I ever got to say what I was grateful for. 

And my appetite had disappeared when the turkey had jumped onto the table, dragging the cloth with him and stepping into the many bowls of perfectly fine food. 

Next thing I knew, half the guest left, still with feathers tangled in their hair and Bruno with his turkey were forever banned from family meetings. 

The evening got finished by only the five of us and Ebony sitting around the little bonfire, snuggled into heavy blankets and silently looking at the roasting marshmallows we'd stabbed onto a few sticks.

Nightfall had come, making the fairy-lights twinkle like tiny stars in the dark, blinking from behind the leaves. 

My marshmallow was close to being burned and falling off his stick, but I didn't dare to move an inch. 

Hazel had leaned her head on my shoulder, her eyes reflecting the golden flames as she quietly stared at the tragic downfall of my marshmallow. 

"I don't know why we did the same mistake twice", she whispered with her voice low, yet filled with sarcasm. 

I only chuckled, absentmindedly turning the now empty stick. 

It went quiet again, only the steady chirping of crickets and the sound of crackling fire weaving through the night.

"Hey, you wanna know what I'm grateful for?", I looked down at her, receiving a soft hum as a response. 

"I'm grateful for the most amazing Thanksgiving ever"

I had to grin when I heard her laughing at my words. 

"No, really! Hey, I'm being very serious here!", I chuckled, slightly nudging her with my shoulder. 

"Of course, my apologies. Please, do continue"

My heart skipped a beat when she scooted closer again. 

"Okay, so. As I said, before I was so rudely interrupted...", I threw her an accusing side glance, "...I am grateful for your sister's mercy. That she allowed me to live another day without having my eyes stabbed out by a toothbrush-"

"Yet"

"No, shush now, I'm not finished!"

I only heard her laughing to herself.

"Aaand... I'm grateful for this family. That you all welcomed me with open arms, and that you give me the chance to experience all of these amazing things...", my voice was quiet, not daring to disturb the moment. 

"But the one I'm most grateful for, the one who I will always remember... is your uncle Bruno and his turkey, which I've named Fred, by the way-"

"C'mon, man, really?"

I could almost hear her rolling her eyes, which made the corner of my mouth twist upwards.

"Hey, it's the little things"

"Sure they are..."

A tiny feather hovered from one of the trees, joining the red autumn leaves beneath it. 

I have no fucking idea what Thanksgiving is.