Rolls are decent, but let’s get real — that’s hardly a meal.

My younger sisters had a bit of a different opinion of the holiday — they love the food and two of them had birthdays on Thanksgiving, which meant it was a holiday that got them gifts. And attention.

I, on the other hand, used to kind of think it was pointless. I would have rather taken a get-out-of-jail-free card, left early and spent the day with friends or taken a nap.

College (and maybe my graduation from the kiddie table to the adult table) changed my opinion on a lot of things — but especially the relationship with my family.

No longer did I think my little sisters were annoying and bratty — I looked forward to the texts and Facebook.com messages asking when I would be home next.

No longer were parents nagging — instead I appreciated their bringing me water bottles and taking me out to lunch when they drove through East Lansing.

And no longer was Thanksgiving just a lame excuse to eat a meal with people I hadn’t seen in a while — instead it was a completely entertaining celebration.

Holidays are a little bit exaggerated in my family.

And by a little, I mean a lot. My great-grandparents started it.

Their kids, their kids’ kids and their kids’ kids’ kids have always gotten together down in Carleton, where the city is filled to the brim with Maxwell descendants.

We start by hanging out with the immediate family, where my sisters and I are joined by only one other baby cousin, and gradually end up with the extended family in a basement filled with fold-up chairs and a buffet-style dinner.

My dad moved us away to the metro-Detroit area, so at the big family get-togethers we were generally the outsiders.

The four generations of family football players didn’t mean much to me, and unlike the rest of the family, we weren’t all neighbors and best friends.

My sisters and I were more comfortable hanging around each other than getting mixed in with second and third cousins — most whose names I don’t know.

My great-grandparents both passed away a few years back, and it was one of many eye-openers for me. It was the first time I realized not everybody has huge out-of-control holidays.

It was the first time I realized that this huge, loving family was something so ingrained in me that I was taking it for granted.

Maybe the deaths would mean we wouldn’t cram into my great-grandparents’ house on Christmas Eve and sit around the tree as we were each given a small gift.

Maybe the Fourth of July wouldn’t involve all ages and generations packing into a two-bedroom cottage for the weekend — dogs, campers and significant others welcome.

Maybe it wouldn’t be the same.

Well, I was right — it’s not. But it’s not a bad change.

My cousins bought my great-grandparents’ old house. My aunt and uncle purchased their cottage. And all 70-something of us haven’t let the traditions completely slip away.

For me, Thanksgiving is now more about stuffing 75 people in a small basement than turkey stuffing.

I have finally learned to appreciate the holiday for the meaning behind its name.

I look forward to the petty third grade-sounding fights of my dad and his brothers and mingling with second cousins and uncles — now some of my best friends — whose names I used to not be able to remember.

So this year, when I’m giving thanks, I know exactly what it will be for: having a family that year after year, holiday after holiday, through thick and thin, still enjoys celebrating with one another.

And you couldn’t pay me 500 Monopoly dollars to leave early.

Colleen Maxwell is the State News lifestyle reporter. Reach her at maxwel79@msu.edu.