Thanksgiving, Redux

       I enjoy the days after Thanksgiving.  The turkey is finally gone, the dog has miraculously jumped onto the tabletop to finish-off the pies, and the extended family has left for their homes.  The kids are back to school.  College football has reached that fevered pitch, and I wait patiently for the BCS to make-up it's mind, on which schools should complete in the important bowl games around New Years Day.

     How about that:  "I enjoy..."

     I don't often have a bad day when I'm able to express gratitude, and say "I enjoy..."

      I think many able bodied people can't grasp how important those two words can be to us. 

     Thanksgiving in the Sullivan home is unique in many ways.  It is the convergence of diversity.  My wife's family is Jewish to the extent that we have a Kosher home.  No shrimp cocktail, here.  Her parents are European, and survived the concentration camps.

      My family are a mix of Boston Irish and Scots representative of all manner of Roman Catholics, from the fallen to the observant.  My youngest brother, Chris married a Cuban woman.  Her father went to High School with Fidel Castro, both of whom played on the same baseball team.  Mr. Palacio was a catcher; Castro, a pitcher.

     Kids galore romped though the house.  We ate like hogs at the trough, napping between courses in front of the football games on TV. 

      Nothing changes.  I remember Thanksgiving when I sat at the kid's table.  On other Thanksgivings, one of my uncles by marriage, would talk to Mr. Palacio about Castro's shortcomings and he would know because his father-in-law gave Castro a try-out for the Washington Senators in the early '50's.  My uncle's dad was finishing his own Hall of Fame career with the Red Sox.

     We tell the same old stories, but the get funnier by the year.  Some of us have passed, but it's not hard to imagine a Thanksgiving fifty years from now, when the old pictures are hauled out.  And the jokes are funnier still.

     Another year gone by, my favorite holiday has passed.  We've agreed, almost by silent consent, that no bad memories invade this holiday.  We enjoy it too much.

     Thanks be to God for this day when we celebrate; thanks be to Him, because on this day we laugh; Thanks be to God for a day without anger or rancor, spite or malice, resentment or jealousy.

    On Thanksgiving, we have gratitude and love one another each in our ways, and share a perfect day.

     Is there a good reason why everyday couldn't be a bit like Thanksgiving?