First, let me categorically state that everyone has something to be thankful for, even if it’s only still being around to air their latest gripe and have somebody handy to do eye rolls! If my friend Bob could have seen me steering my way through our Thanksgiving feast he would have said, “Look at him, sittin’ there fat and happy!” and he would have been right. If one can strut while occupying a chair, clutching an overburdened fork in one hand and a gravy-soaked dinner roll in the other, then I was strutting.

The reason my chest was puffed up bigger than the turkey’s wasn’t so much the incredible meal, meticulously prepared by my incredible bride of some thirty-three Thanksgivings, or even the fact that I was surrounded by a small gaggle of kids and grandkids, only one of whom managed to spill anything that would repattern the tablecloth. It wasn’t even having my Mom, now easing her way toward ninety-four, raising a glass of wine with us and providing a toast in her parents’ native Slovak. It was something much bigger, yet so small I don’t think anyone else even noticed.

Vigi had heaped the table with every imaginable Thanksgiving delight, to the point of overflow onto a convenient sideboard. With appropriate gratitude offered to the Lord and before I could even warn my taste buds, I found myself the salivating recipient of the turkey platter … then the mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, stuffing and so forth. Without so much as a word between them, my two sons [at my immediate left] collaborated to see that I was the first to receive each serving plate, before anyone else! Of course Vigi, [to my immediate right] was next … then the rest. The organizational chart says that I’m head of the family but frequently, as the years whizzed by, I wondered if anyone had ever read it.

This gesture of respect was never taught to them, nor ever demanded … any more than I could have demanded the love that was so clearly behind it. At a time of life when many of my achievements seem to feel as though they were authored by some phantom, and self-doubt often interrupts reason, these two characters elevated me to the level of King Arthur, himself, presiding at the Round Table! It never happened before, and may never again, but the only way they can fully grasp the importance of their act is to be blessed with such a moment themselves. I wish it for them both.

As the meal progressed I looked and listened with growing pride to the conversational ebb and flow of four family generations … giggles, eye rolls and all. The little girls were now young women on the verge of accomplishing great things, my boys were beginning to sport the slightest touches of gray as middle age nibbles at their hairlines, and even Vigi’s sumptuous feast paled a bit in the glow of the royalty consuming it.

Most parents do the best they can to raise their children properly … to instill a traditional value system and an ethical sense of right and wrong. You may have noticed kids don’t come with an instruction manual and most people that have written books about them don’t seem to have any of their own. With so many potent outside forces that shape who these new adults become once they’ve graduated from home, all that remains is the hope you did something right along the way. When the table is cleared and dishes done, the things for which to be truly thankful are the ones, like this, that let you know you did.

Listen to Bananas Crackers and Nuts Podcast. Find Links under “Recent Podcasts”… and more shows on my Podcast Page.

Little Randy had filled himself to the brim with turkey and stuffing and family good cheer. After reaching his limit of pats on the head from maiden aunts and exclamations of, “My how big you’re getting!” from other well-meaning relations, he put on his coat and escaped to the rolling hills out behind the house. He had not been to Grandma’s in a long time and had forgotten how much fun it was to roam the fields and make up adventures that grownups would never understand.

He had, also, forgotten about the ominous dark building at the very top of the tallest hill, which he imagined to be the ship of a sea faring explorer tossing upon the waves. Sometimes the clang of a bell would echo across the glen that separated the imaginary ship from the imaginary shore upon which he stood. Cupping his hands around his eyes as if peering through binoculars, Randy focused on the double arched doors at the front of the structure and tried to get a clearer view. Maybe he could catch a glimpse of the captain or see if the crew was permitted Thanksgiving rations as they tirelessly manned the sails.

All of a sudden, one of the doors swung open and out marched a group of unusual looking people dressed in black bonnets, starched white collars and long dark robes. Randy was taken by surprise. He never really expected to see anyone — it was just pretend. But the whole procession was now headed precisely in his direction! He turned quickly and stumbled down the hill. “Mama, Mama, the Pilgrims are coming, the Pilgrims are coming!” He shouted as he ran.

He burst into the house. “What’s the matter?” his mother asked with a concerned voice and a curious look. “The Pilgrims are coming, Mama!” repeated little Randy. She put her arm over his shoulder and hurried to the window. They parted the curtains just in time to see a group of Nuns from the Abbey on the hill passing by on their after dinner constitutional.

Randy is Vigi’s kid brother and ‘The Pilgrim Story’ is one of her favorite Thanksgiving memories from childhood. He was only three or four at the time and today sports more than a bit of gray around the gills, like so many of us — but it is the family times that offer the most vivid memories of this festive holiday.

There are those who write about atrocities committed against the Indians (It would be 300 years or so before they became Native-Americans). Still others use the occasion to make some obscure political point. Me? I wasn’t around back then to harm anyone. The only atrocity I ever committed on Thanksgiving involves turkey, stuffing, two kinds of potatoes, cranberry sauce and a few notches let out in my belt to make room for Vigi’s fresh baked lemon meringue, pumpkin AND apple pies. It’s a celebration of life and plenty — a purely American holiday made for gatherings with family and friends. It’s also a time for reflection and for gratitude.

I live in a terrific home sharing a wonderful life with an incredible lady. While we’ve had some rough patches, and each of us has slipped at times down a health-threatening slope, we’re here to talk about it. I’ve known the joy of children, the sweet smell of success and bounced back from the bitter taste of failure. I have good friends. I may not be wealthy but I am rich. I have no regrets.

On Thanksgiving I choose to celebrate and give thanks for these things and for more than any man has a right to. If anyone wants to complain about historical matters that have been rewritten a thousand times, and probably never once accurately, the best I can do is point him toward the window and tell him to keep watch for the Pilgrims — but first, please pass the gravy.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

Listen to Bananas Crackers and Nuts Podcast. Find Links under “Recent Podcasts”… and more shows on my Podcast Page.

Little Randy had filled himself to the brim with turkey and stuffing and family good cheer. After reaching his limit of pats on the head from maiden aunts and exclamations of, “My how big you’re getting!” from other well-meaning relations, he put on his coat and escaped to the rolling hills out behind the house. He had not been to Grandma’s in a long time and had forgotten how much fun it was to roam the fields and make up adventures that grownups would never understand.

He had, also, forgotten about the ominous dark building at the very top of the tallest hill, which he imagined to be the ship of a sea faring explorer tossing upon the waves. Sometimes the clang of a bell would echo across the glen that separated the imaginary ship from the imaginary shore upon which he stood. Cupping his hands around his eyes as if peering through binoculars, Randy focused on the double arched doors at the front of the structure and tried to get a clearer view. Maybe he could catch a glimpse of the captain or see if the crew was permitted Thanksgiving rations as they tirelessly manned the sails.

All of a sudden, one of the doors swung open and out marched a group of unusual looking people dressed in black bonnets, starched white collars and long dark robes. Randy was taken by surprise. He never really expected to see anyone — it was just pretend. But the whole procession was now headed precisely in his direction! He turned quickly and stumbled down the hill. “Mama, Mama, the Pilgrims are coming, the Pilgrims are coming!” He shouted as he ran.

He burst into the house. “What’s the matter?” his mother asked with a concerned voice and a curious look. “The Pilgrims are coming, Mama!” repeated little Randy. She put her arm over his shoulder and hurried to the window. They parted the curtains just in time to see a group of Nuns from the Abbey on the hill passing by on their after dinner constitutional.

Randy is Vigi’s kid brother and ‘The Pilgrim Story’ is one of her favorite Thanksgiving memories from childhood. He was only three or four at the time and today sports more than a bit of gray around the gills, like so many of us — but it is the family times that offer the most vivid memories of this festive holiday.

There are those who write about atrocities committed against the Indians (It would be 300 years or so before they became Native-Americans). Still others use the occasion to make some obscure political point. Me? I wasn’t around back then to harm anyone. The only atrocity I ever committed on Thanksgiving involves turkey, stuffing, two kinds of potatoes, cranberry sauce and a few notches let out in my belt to make room for Vigi’s fresh baked lemon meringue, pumpkin AND apple pies. It’s a celebration of life and plenty — a purely American holiday made for gatherings with family and friends. It’s also a time for reflection and for gratitude.

I live in a terrific home sharing a wonderful life with an incredible lady. While we’ve had some rough patches, and each of us has slipped at times down a health-threatening slope, we’re here to talk about it. I’ve known the joy of children, the sweet smell of success and bounced back from the bitter taste of failure. I have good friends. I may not be wealthy but I am rich. I have no regrets.

On Thanksgiving I choose to celebrate and give thanks for these things and for more than any man has a right to. If anyone wants to complain about historical matters that have been rewritten a thousand times, and probably never once accurately, the best I can do is point him toward the window and tell him to keep watch for the Pilgrims — but first, please pass the gravy.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

Look for Bananas Crackers and Nuts Podcast links under
“Recent Podcasts”…also check out the Podcast Page.