On Gratefulness and Thanksgiving
On this day of Thanksgiving, it's time for an annual reflection.
At some point during every Thanksgiving dinner that I can remember, my family and I would take a moment to go around the table and talk about something we’re thankful for. It was a simple practice, and there was no pressure or requirement for people to come up with something deep or profound, only that we be genuinely thankful for it.
Well, this year, I don’t get to have moment that with my family. It’s the first time I’ve not been around a table with them on this holiday. My heart aches to be with them today. So, if you’ll allow me, just for a few moments, I’d like you to be my family today, and I’d like this to be our table.
First off, let me tell you a couple of things about the table you’re sitting at. It’s always been open to you. My mother cannot stand discovering that someone doesn’t have a place to go for Thanksgiving dinner. The very idea of someone being alone today is an anathema to her. Growing up, I was taught that there’s always a seat at the table. Though, that table might not be *the* table, we often had so many people that we would have to set up card tables and whatever else we could use - but there’s always a seat for you.
That is something I’m grateful for. Both as her son, and just generally as a human being - there are people out there who always have a seat at the table for us no matter where we find ourselves.
Around that table, there’s an unmistakable sense of anticipation. From my mother (and usually myself as well) being busy in the kitchen getting everything finished up, to dad entertaining my grandmother and her husband, to the steady influx of friends and family - there’s catching up, and joy, and of course sometimes a hint of drama.
When we would all sit down, there was one thing that never changed. We never just picked one direction to pass the food. It was comical: the turkey would go one way, the gravy another, the mashed potatoes - hey, why are those just sitting there? Somehow, everyone would get all the food they wanted, and we would eat. The food was always delicious - but there was one thing that was coveted above all else at that table: the dressing.
Every family has its prize dish at the table. For us, it was the dressing. I’m still not entirely sure what dark magic my mother uses to make it taste so good - I suspect she uses far more butter than her recipe calls for - but words can’t describe the savory, buttery deliciousness that is her dressing. I am deeply grateful that she pours her heart and soul into what she cooks.
Dinner was not a quiet affair, we would talk about life and love, we would share memories, but we stayed away from the troubles of the world around us. The table was a place for us, just us, and not for politics or war or corporate greed. That isn’t to say that there was never any drama. Sometimes interpersonal drama would come out at the table, sometimes remorse about people we’ve lost through our own actions. But that’s the place to reflect on those things, where someone can come up and give you a huge hug with no judgement.
Almost without fail until just a couple of years ago, at some point while we were sitting around that table, someone would ask for the songs. The songs are a big deal. Like, a really big deal. My dad, my uncle John, and my uncle Mike would all share a similar look of exasperation - but one that only barely masked their shared pride in this annual tradition.
This video was taken in 2016, a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving and the night before my grandmother got remarried, twenty two years after my grandfather passed. We had family there who wouldn’t be there for thanksgiving - and wanted to hear those songs. Like I said - the songs are a big deal.
In 2021, we lost my Uncle John (the one on the right side in the video). He was far too young, and his presence is sorely, painfully missed. He was a quiet man, but you wouldn’t know it from that video - because every year when the songs were sung, he lit up.
I’m grateful I have this video. We always think we’ll get another year around the table with the people we love, but we don’t always. And because I have this, I never have to go a thanksgiving without the songs. I can remember him, mourn his loss, and enjoy this memory every thanksgiving I have left.
Because my mom does almost all the cooking, and everyone feels the need to contribute to the table, dessert was usually obscene. Cookies, pies, brownies, ice cream, and all manners of dessert would flood in at the end of the meal. The problem was always that we had just completely filled ourselves with dinner, and we never finished off any of the desserts anyone brought.
We used dessert as an excuse to stay around the table for just a little while longer. None of us wanted to leave it, but in order for something to be special it has to be temporary - fleeting. So sooner or later, people would start pitching in to clean up.
I’ll never forget, the last one to leave was always my Uncle John. I think he knew how precious these times were. I could write an entire piece about him, but I’m not going to today. Let these few words suffice - I miss him dearly, and I’m grateful for the time we had with him. He was always there, just there. I didn’t realize how precious that was until he was gone. Holidays, birthdays, graduations, family dinners - he would show up without fail. He would just be there to share in the emotions of the day and be a witness to life. I’m so grateful for every holiday, every birthday, every dinner we got with him.
I’m sharing all of this with you, around this metaphorical table, because I need to. These are the memories I want to share, the things I’m grateful for, and my way of honoring (and missing) that very table this year. To be clear, that table is still there, and I hope that I have many more Thanksgivings with the rest of the people around that table. But if I don’t, or if they don’t, let this stand as a testament to just how much I love the people around the table, the traditions of it, and how grateful I am for every moment I’ve had with them.