A Chair Pulled Closer to the Table

Simple Ways to Make Thanksgiving a Little More Inclusive and Accessible — Without Making a Big Deal About It

The story doesn’t start with a table.
It starts with a doorway.

A small one.
Too narrow for the wheelchair.
So he had to be carried in, fireman-style, by his older brother and cousin, laughing while pretending it was a tradition.

No one made a fuss.
But later, after the pie, he whispered:

“You know, I love this day. But it always feels like I’m crashing someone else’s party.”

And that’s when it hit her:
He wasn’t talking about the doorway.

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Thanksgiving has always had a bit of mythology around it —
a perfectly set table,
a seat for everyone,
an unbroken circle of family and food.

But the truth is, inclusion doesn’t happen by invitation alone.

It happens in the choices we make —
before the guests arrive.

And it’s rarely about grand gestures.

It’s about the quiet adjustments that say,

“I thought of you. Before you had to ask.”

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So what does that look like?

Here are a few ways to make Thanksgiving at home a little more inclusive, a little more accessible, and a whole lot more human — no speeches required.

• Reimagine the “Kid’s Table”

  What if it wasn’t an exile, but a zone of independence?

  Try putting:

  • Coloring materials in both English and Spanish

  • Sensory bins for little ones who need breaks

  • A kid-led trivia game with questions they help write

  • A small, soft mat in the corner for a child who might need to sit off-table to stay calm

  What you're really doing?
  You're saying: You matter here, even when you're wiggly.

• Make Space for Bodies That Move Differently

  You don’t need a ramp to be accessible.

  But maybe:

  • You clear the route to the bathroom, no shoes, no clutter

  • You put a sturdy armchair near the table for someone who struggles to rise from low seating

  • You print the menu in big, bold font for your uncle who keeps forgetting his glasses

  • You ask before dinner:

  “Hey, anything I can do to make the space easier for you this year?”

  Accessibility doesn’t mean perfect.
  It means intentional.

• Let People Opt Out Without Disappearing

  Not everyone can handle the full sensory load of Thanksgiving.

  So:

  • Let someone serve themselves early, before the rush

  • Offer a plate-to-go with their name on it, no questions asked

  • Set up a quiet chair on the porch or back room with a blanket and a view

  This doesn’t isolate.
  It liberates.

• Share the Mic — and the Stories

  Not everyone wants to talk.
  But those who do? Let them lead.

  Invite:

  • A teen to bless the meal in their own words

  • A grandparent to tell the story of “that one Thanksgiving when...”

  • A non-verbal family member to show a photo, a drawing, or just a favorite object from home

  • A refugee friend to bring a dish — and the memory that goes with it

  Because nothing says you belong here like asking someone to help shape the moment.

• Ditch “Tradition” When It Hurts More Than It Heals

  If a long-standing family ritual makes someone feel invisible, unsafe, or overwhelmed…

  Change it.
  Skip it.
  Or make a new one — one that fits this version of your family.

  Tradition isn’t sacred.
  People are.

Inclusion Doesn’t Announce Itself

There’s no sign on the door that says “accessible Thanksgiving.”
No hashtag to prove you did it right.

But maybe someone will notice…

…when you meet them at the car so they don’t have to walk the gravel driveway alone.
…when you hand them a plate before anyone else — because you know what it took just to show up.
…when you pull the chair a little closer, and smile without needing a reason.

And maybe, long after the food is gone, what they’ll remember most is this:

“I didn’t feel like I had to earn my place at the table.”

That’s the real tradition worth keeping.