These days it seems that no celebration comes without controversy. I have even heard grumblings that the American Thanksgiving holiday is “problematic” because of its genesis.
Well, I say “phooey” to that.
Whether one accepts that narrative of this holiday’s beginning or not, our forebears, in their wisdom, determined to set aside one day (just one day) of the year for reflection on all of the good things that have come our way. It is one day of the year whose celebration is designed to encourage gratitude.
There are so many things for which each of us can be thankful. Of course, I am grateful for all of the trite and true things that we all are happy about. I am thankful for the love of my family and friends; that I have a significant other who puts up with my nonsense; that I have a job that pays the bills; a roof over my head, food in my belly, and clothing on my back.
But what I am most thankful for are those things that we seldom stop to consider. Those oh-so-little but all-important things that we often forget.
I am thankful to see the shapes and shadows of the monsters that haunt my room at night. Others are not so lucky.
I am thankful to hear the jarring sounds of the alarm clock that wakes me from my dreams. Others are not so lucky.
I am thankful to feel the pain of a paper cut against my skin. Others are not so lucky.
I am thankful for the rancid smell of the skunk that passes by. Others are not so lucky.
I am thankful for the taste of bitter food that makes me gag. Others are not so lucky.
But mostly, I am thankful that when I step outside into the morning sun, I feel it caress my face . . . reminding me that I am here.
Others are not so lucky.
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