Thanksgiving is many things to me.
Thanksgiving is what I said at the dinner table one Thanksgiving at my grandma’s house right after I had just learned how to say “No, thank you.” Someone offered to pass me the corn and I said, “No thanksgiving.” Of course everyone laughed.
Thanksgiving is laying in bed when I was seven years old and feeling sad, because I knew I would not be able to eat Thanksgiving dinner. I happened to know that Big Foot was under my bed, and he was sure to get me when I got up.
Thanksgiving is helping my mom set the table while she is hurrying
to get everything else ready.
Thanksgiving is listening to my grandpa say the prayer while I wait hungrily to begin the meal. I must confess there was more than one olive snitched off the relish tray while everyone had their eyes closed.
Thanksgiving is my dad taking a picture of the dinner table and all the people seated around it. We had to have a raised fork with food on it to show how good it was.
Thanksgiving is getting up from the dinner table so stuffed I can hardly move, only to come back an hour later for several helpings of pumpkin pie.
Thanksgiving is playing the organ in the living room after dinner and writing a song with the help of my uncle Dave. Our song went like this: “Thank you turkey for letting us eat you. . .”
Thanksgiving is listening to the radio news while driving home
from grandmas and listening to the radio and being grateful that we didn’t get in a traffic accident on the way there.
Most of all, Thanksgiving is a time to reflect on what I have. It’s a family time. A time of love. A time to be glad I’m alive.
Coming Tomorrow: Times Tables
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