Thanksgiving memories...

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday of the year. And think about this: Thanksgiving may be the only holiday that is shielded from political correctness. We still give Thanks to a greater being for this past years plentiful bounty we have brought to the table.

My personal history with Thanksgiving has always been a positive experience, even if marked with some sadness. When I was growing up, my parents set a wonderful example of always inviting coworkers (or military personnel since my father was in the Navy) far from home to celebrate with us. Our family had little but it seemed at Thanksgiving, my parents would find a way to have a meal befitting any royal family.

Dad was an incredible cook. Indeed, he did most of the cooking. He teased my mother and called her his "prep chef." During the week of Thanksgiving, I would come home from school to the smell of fresh pumpkin, mincemeat, and apple pies my parents would give away as gifts to our friends and neighbors. On Thursday, you never knew who would show up at our front door. When we lived in San Diego, it was usually Navy men originally from the South that my father would invite over. In Richlands it was my mothers co-workers, many of whom were visiting doctors, nurses, or other medical professionals also far from home. More than once we would actually take meals to the hospital. Neither one of my parents could withstand the thought of a friend (or even foe) going without a Thanksgiving meal.

And maybe this stems from the era they were born. Both of my parents are part of that greatest generation that grew up during the Depression and knew what it was like to go without a meal more than once.

But my fondest Thanksgiving memory is probably my saddest; the last one I had with my father. Parts of that Thanksgiving week of 1982 were a blur. My father, already knowing he was dying, was feeling weak on that day. By the time Saturday rolled around, he was in the ICU. His lungs had quit functioning and his blood gasses were horrible. His hemoglobin was barely above 4.0. He was dying. At that time, I didn't know he had already been told it was just a matter of time before his heart and lungs would give out. I found that fact out a week later when he told me he was going to make it through one more Christmas to spend with me but that was it.

By the end of March of 1983, my father had passed away. But not his tradition of inviting those far from home to celebrate the holidays. My mother insisted on inviting people over. And to me that was just fine; it got my mind off what I missed.

Things are different now. My family is spread apart in a lot of ways. And although my sister lives near my mother, they will spend Thanksgiving apart. Bucky, Ivan, and I are down South enjoying a day together. It doesn't make the day less enjoyable to have fewer people over but I do feel guilty of not keeping up the tradition, especially this year when I do have so much to be thankful for! Financially I have so little but in other ways, I am rich.

So, whomever you worship...either it be God or Mother Earth or even Dr. Seuss...give Thanks for all that you have. For our moments together are fleeting and sweet.