It’s interesting to me that we can be sort-of
programmed to do certain things at certain times. Take today, for example. It’s
the last Thursday of November. Pretty much anyone in the United States of
America can tell you the significance of this day. It’s Thanksgiving, of
course. Since we were children, we can remember mom getting up early putting a
turkey in the oven, spending hours and hours and hours making mashed potatoes,
and stuffing, and twelve or six or two different side dishes, and rolls, and pies.
Tables were set. Music was playing. Guests were dressed up. Wine was poured.
Toasts were made. Dinner was served. But why? What is the significance of this
day? This moment?
Are we practicing a religious celebration? Nope.
Are we expressing our love toward our one and only? Nope. Are we recognizing
one of our Country’s great leaders, or fallen soldiers, or national freedom?
Nope. Are we copying historical events? Kind-of. We’re copying our mom’s, if
nothing else.
Although our Thanksgiving has turned into a very
different one than in centuries past, the tradition has remained. The original
celebrators we’re thankful for their successful harvest. Ummm . . . I could
kill a plastic plant. I have no harvest. I don’t grow corn like the Wampanoag
Indians. I don’t catch my own fish, or shoot my own deer, or milk my own cow
like the Pilgrims.
My harvest is different.
My harvest is my husband, who is my rock, who
makes me insane, who is sarcastic and funny, who has been a part of my life
longer than he wasn’t, who is so freaking smart it scares me a little, and who
knows just how to hug me so I can feel the fear, or pain, or anger leaving my
body with a deep breath.
It’s my children, who were wanted more than
words can ever express, who have made me laugh, and cry, and scream, and sing,
and dance, and never question, and unwaveringly defend, and pray, and create,
and love.
It’s my parents who raised me to expect more of
myself tomorrow than I gave today, who taught me to be hopeful, and forgiving,
and humble.
It’s my brothers and sister who teased
me, tickled me, gave me advice and rides, and loved me, no matter what was
happening in our collective or individual lives.
It’s my friends who are emotionally
close and logistically way too far, and the ones who are logistically
close but I’ve struggled to let myself know.
It's my dogs who bark too much, get
poopy-butts, need allergy medicine, and nearly die from excitement when I
walk in the door, who can't wait for me to sit down so they can sit on my, who
wait patiently through the night to see me the next day.
It’s my home that is messy, disorganized, not
decorated the way I want, expensive, warm, filled with photos, and memories,
and love, and where my husband and children come back to me.
It’s the job that I don’t usually look forward
to going to, but enjoy once I get there, and the paycheck that results.
It’s my car that I hated writing that
check for, and resent paying the gas and insurance for, am frustrated to
repair, and that gets me safely and unfailingly wherever I ask it to.
It’s the fresh food that I am too tired and lazy
to go to the well-lit, plentifully stocked grocery store to buy, and even more
unenthused to cook.
It’s the education that never seems to end, that
eats up too much time, that is hard and expensive and rewarding and exciting,
and will allow me to finally be a teacher.
My harvest is my hopes and dreams, which I am
allowed to have because I was raised in a country protected by volunteers and
led by visionaries, soldiers and leaders who have guided our country through
large and small battles to ensure that I can wake up every day, in my warm
home, with my loving husband and children, and go to work, in my car, to make
money to buy food, and celebrate Thanksgiving with family and friends.
Even though we have lost so many people that we
loved in the past few months, it’s okay to be thankful. In fact, we must be. We
must recognize what we have, and loudly appreciate it. We must recognize and
loudly appreciate the people around us, and the people who have left us,
because each one has given us a piece of who we are today. As cliché as it
sounds, we would not be who we are today without their presence in our lives.
We must take full advantage of every opportunity that we are presented with, because
that’s what freedom means. We must not let one minute of our life pass without
it having the significance it deserves.
We’re programmed to do that on Thanksgiving.
But, today I realized that every day should be one for giving thanks.