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Every year it gets harder. The date sneaks up on me like an RSM ready to pounce on an ill-turned-out troop. And all of a sudden it’s here. What am I supposed to do? What can I say? How do I deal with it?
Padre (Major) Howard Rittenhouse – File Photo
No, it’s not my wedding anniversary; it’s Thanksgiving. And every year I have to write something profound, or at least words loosely strung together that make some kind of meandering sense. And every year (just like at Christmas), I wonder what I’ll write.
Oh, sure, I could write something about Thanksgiving, about turkey and gravy, about family gatherings and friends, about too much food and too many libations, but that’s just so … so expected, so passé.
I remember hearing someone recall the first time they watched their mother cook a turkey: “It was disgusting. Every half hour or so, she opened the oven, pulled the turkey out and stuck a thermometer into it. I told her, ‘If it’s that sick, I don’t want any!’”
Another person remembers hearing an ad: “Eggnog, gravy, stuffing, cranberries, apple pie…” The ad concluded by advising, “The average American gains between four and seven pounds over the holiday season.” This person’s son was also listening and remarked to his mother, “Oh, Mom, aren’t you glad we’re Canadian?”
So I could tell you stories like that, or of how my mother would cook the turkey and the potatoes, stir the gravy, and bake pumpkin pies, and we would all sit down to a delicious feast only for her to leap up halfway through the meal exclaiming, “The rolls!!” Whatever the occasion, she would invariably forget the rolls she’d put in the oven to warm, and they would emerge hard as billiard balls. She’s gone now, but Thanksgiving or Christmas, my boys look at each other with knowing grins and exclaim, “The rolls!” Good times.
However, I’m also aware that not everyone had a mother who cooked Thanksgiving dinner; or had families who gathered or if they did, it was fraught with tension, loud with fights, or descended into a drunk fest. Not everyone’s family was as mine.
And then there are the homeless (veterans among them) on the streets for whom Thanksgiving is just another hardscrabble day in the endless Groundhog Day of their lives. But if they’re fortunate, they may find a hot meal at a mission staffed by volunteers taking the time and effort to offer a human touch and nourishing food for the vulnerable.
I could write about that. Or I could write about what I referred to earlier: the fact that for others Thanksgiving and other holidays are hard because the place at the table that their loved one (Mom, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa, spouse, child) once occupied is empty. And holidays are sharp and painful reminders of deep and penetrating wounds. I could write about loss and grief in the midst of festivity.
And I guess I wrote about them all: the grieving, the homeless, the vulnerable, the lonely. So as we approach turkey-time, let’s give some thought for what we’re thankful, and for those whose lives are not as ours. And perhaps you’d like to make your thoughts into actions: volunteer at a food bank, make a donation to a similar institution, invite someone over for a meal who’s otherwise alone. Perhaps someone once made a difference in your life – this could be a way to ‘pay it forward.’ That’s a good way to express thanksgiving.