Thanksgiving Memories and Wishes

Thanksgiving for the Hill family was a Rockwell painting come to life…Sort of. There was the time a candle fell over and set the table on fire. Or was that Christmas? There were times when grievances turned into spats. There were times that the empty seats at the table were filled with heartache. In short, all the joy and grief resident in every family followed us to the table. 

But we were family and my father used his considerable influence to bring us together.  There was always much laughter and good humor. All the delightful smells and sounds of Thanksgiving filled the house. In the kitchen, too many chefs jockeyed over space in the oven and too many hands tried to sneak a sample before time had come. I confess to being hit by a serving spoon more than once.

When dinnertime came, Bob Hill sat in sovereign silence at the head of the table while everyone else took their assigned seats at the “grown-up table” according to age, gender, and length of membership in the family. Children, and a few youthful family members were seated willy-nilly at one or two card tables. No serving plates ever made it to the dining room table.

Everyone, once the small children were served, would, plates in hand, encircle the kitchen table. Every square centimeter of space around the sacrificial turkey was occupied by bowls of rice and giblet gravy, green beans, potato salad, and sweet potato puree with melted marshmallows on top. Platters with slices of ham, deviled eggs and rolls beside baking dishes with cornbread dressing. Oyster dressing was available for the adventurous among us. A crockpot of macaroni and cheese sat on the counter, out of place among the sweet potato pie, pound cake and dessert delights.

In the dining area, decorum and polite behavior was the norm but at the kitchen table it was bump and shove and reach before the dark meat or the deviled eggs got gone. We would move back to the dining room as each plate reached its capacity. Plates on the table, only the daring would sneak a pinch of turkey before everyone was seated.

Tantalus had nothing on those of us waiting for the pre-eating ritual to end. Like many families, we would begin with the individual “I am thankful for…” round. Everybody had to join in and woe be unto anyone who paused or who was too thankful. Let’s get this over with. Dad would then call on one of us to say the Thanksgiving prayer. We would join hands around the table, no matter who we sat beside, and, hopefully, my brother-in-law Steve, would say the family prayer. He was an exceptional prayer giver. I was always grateful when Dad called on anyone else. I would usually panic and either mumble or pause too long at a loss for words.

Despite the best intentions of everyone to eat everything in sight, there was a shameful surplus of food. After seconds and, okay, thirds, there was more ritual to come; the ritual called “The Dividing of the Leftovers”. Everyone had a favorite and plates or containers were filled to order. Oyster casserole and ham were my favorites, along with the pineapple casserole and pecan pie. I confess, I resented anyone taking too much of any of my favorites. It was gentle umbrage and all was forgotten in a couple of months.

Helping clean-up was voluntary.  There were occasions I wished it were mandatory. Between scrubbing casserole dishes or gently washing wine glasses, came the good-byes. Parting was, just as Shakespeare described it in the sixteenth century, sweet sorrow. Hugs were in order and good wishes and compliments on the meal. Smiles mingled with tears as one or another of the guests returned to their homes.

I wish you the best of everything this Thanksgiving. If there are few good memories to draw on, I invite you to begin creating them. If you are reading this writing, you have something to be thankful for. You have today.

Our paths may have been different. Every childhood path has its own turns and difficulties. That is easy for me to say. I grew up in a close-knit family who had all the ups and downs of daily life. My parents both worked but they were there to support me or to use minimal force to correct my path when it took a bad turn. I always felt loved.

That is not true for all of you. I know the difficulty some of you overcame to become who you are today. You need to be proud of the challenges you met and grateful for the gift of strength you were given. As a teacher I have seen young people overcome parental abuse and escape from the terrible grip of drug addiction. I have seen them struggle through learning disabilities to make their lives and the lives of their families better. I have seen them rise from terrible sadness to foster happiness in their children. I once had a principal tell me that a student of mine “Came from nothing and would be nothing.” He couldn’t have been more wrong. 

I am especially grateful to those students, friends and family who overcame disadvantages. They give me hope for the future and I am overjoyed at their success. They light our way through the darkness to brighter days. I am grateful for the opportunity to learn from all the young people I taught. I am thankful for the chance to watch my students and my children grow into productive, creative, caring adults.

This year our Thanksgiving gatherings will be smaller and more intimate. We will, in the midst of gratitude, feel the burden of isolation. We will miss those who in other years, would be with us. We will mourn for those lost to the invading virus. Our hand holding and hugs will be virtual but the love will be real.

My love goes out to you.  I am thankful for the care, great or small, you have given me throughout my life. I look forward to the day, hopefully just over the horizon, when we can again come together to share our losses and celebrate our successes.

Have a meaningful and hopeful Thanksgiving.