Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite holidays for various reasons. The gluttonous amounts of food and liquor, the gathering of family, and the prime-time Thanksgiving Day football games make each holiday worth looking forward to.

However, as I grow older and become increasingly “woke” to the dynamics of Thanksgiving in my family, I’ve started to notice something that makes me uneasy. I first really noticed it last Thanksgiving right around the time we were about to GO IN on the Thanksgiving spread. (See #ThanksgivingwithBlackFamilies for more details) We were all starting to head to the table to say grace. As we began holding hands and bowing our heads, I couldn’t help but notice my mom wasn’t in the mix. She was sitting in the kitchen looking exhausted, head bowed, sweat trickling down her forehead. After cooking up a 15-course meal, she couldn’t even bring herself to eat until long after everyone moved on from their first plate.

At that moment, a wave of embarrassment swept across me. I felt like a lazy son-of-a-b*tch because while I was getting drunk and talking trash with my uncles and brothers, my mothers and aunties were engaged in a grueling Tour de France of candied yams, collard greens, and macaroni pie.

Now don’t get me wrong, my mother loves Thanksgiving at her home. It’s the one time of the year where immediate and distant family can come together and have a good time, and she would never complain about all the work she had to do. However, it really bothered me that all the men in the household (including me) had no problem kicking back and relaxing without even offering to wash a plate, set the table, or even peel a damn potato. In a culture that is increasingly redefining gender roles and stereotypes, Thanksgiving in my household is still archaic AF.

So that’s why this year I pledge to help my mother in the kitchen on Thanksgiving. And I challenge young men everywhere to do the same. Don’t get me wrong, I’m far from a great cook, but I will dice the hell out of an onion, boil the **** out of a potato, and stir some callaloo like my life depended on it. And have you ever tried cooking six beers deep? Way more fun than it probably should be.

The kitchen is still my mother’s domain until she decides otherwise, but what better way to show how thankful I am for her efforts than to make an effort to lessen her burden. Thanksgiving is supposed to be an enjoyable event for everyone, and I pledge to do my part in making sure that happens.