Last year my wife and I headed to a thanksgiving celebration with her side of the family. We do this thing every year where we go to thanksgiving with her side of the family and christmas with my side. Then we flip-flop the following year: thanksgiving with my side, christmas with hers.
(Courtesy: rachel_r. Under creative commons.)
We were going to thanksgiving.
I don't know what got me thinking about last year's thanksgiving celebration but the memory's with me now.
I remember I wasn't terribly excited to be headin' out for the thanksgiving celebration last year. We were going to thanksgiving to see her family and it was going to be a long drive to Mesa, Arizona from our place in Orange County, California.
The trip promised to be even longer, too, because of some tension that had been building up between my wife and I just prior to the trip. Some of it family related, others just because I wanted to pout about something or other. Probably a male thing. Maybe as an outlet for the long road ahead.
Maybe, too, there was some selfishness on my part. The fact is, I was silently miffed we weren't spending thanksgiving with my siblings.
You see, my siblings and I are very close. Whenever we get together for anything, we've been known to produce dopplers of echos all the way down the block regardless of whose place we host the event at. And if it was an event like thanksgiving? Well, fuggedaboutit. We were just one of those "loud families" whenever we got together.
I guess in the context of all of that I was, however unfairly, comparing the raucous jabs, digs, pinches and belly laughs that traditionally mark the Aclaro-siblings' thanksgiving celebrations to my perception of now going to thanksgiving to a place where the atmosphere was going to be somehow, well, not.
Where's thanksgiving?
It started with the traffic.
I simmered and stewed the whole way. Even though it really wasn't as bad as all that, what little pockets we managed to run in to somehow validated for me that thanksgiving was already a bust.
It continued with the weather.
Thanksgiving with my siblings is typically up in northern california. Well, we call it northern but latitudinally speaking, it's really more central to California, just north and east of San Francisco bay by about 45 miles.
The cold nippy, sometimes damp weather that traditionally marks this time of year in that part of the world somehow makes for a cozier thanksgiving celebration.
One of my favorite things: hangin' on the deck with my brother and sisters sipping hot chocolates while soaking-in my sister's and her husband's panoramic view of San Pablo Bay.
Not, I thought, like the weather that we were hell-bent on driving steadily towards in sultry 'ol Mesa, Arizona.
I stewed. We were going to thanksgiving to a place where there wouldn't be all that cold, nippy, cozy, hot-chocolate-y, sibling stuff that I enjoy. Where's thanksgiving in all of that?
We arrived.
And, of course, when we got there, the weather was, indeed the not-nippy... thing.
We got to my siblings-in-law's place and enjoyed a nice quiet preamble while dinner continued to bake. It was nice to catch up. It wasn't raucous and nippy and chocolate-y, but nice.
Where's thanksgiving?
It started in the living room.
My brother-in-law caught us up on recent events. My wife caught up with her sister. Mom-in-law interjected unmentioned details. The game droned on unwatched in the background. Meanwhile our niece and nephew tugged at my arms vying for attention and a chance to go to the playground while dinner preparations continued.
As with your little ones probably, my niece and nephew are pristine little livewire bundles encased in polite, congenial little outer shells. I relented and offered to walk with them to the playground. Just a walk. After all, uncle Mel just got done driving a long way.
It continued at the playground.
By the time we got to the playground, I was already glistening with little mists of perspiration. Somewhere along the way I -- me, myself, I --challenged them to a race.
First it was to "the corner of the building." Of course the trick to winning any such races is to not let them know which part of the corner I was talking about. Tip: That frees you up to declare yourself the winner by having arrived at the closest, most convenient corner before either of them do.
They're quick studies though, my niece and nephew. They proceeded to win the next series of races that I was compelled to participate in. After all, I started it. Their inner livewire now protruded through cracks in their polite little outer-shells.
They logged their first win at "the little tree."
Then to "the swing set."
Then to "the slide."
Over the next half-hour my wife, her sister, my brother-in-law and my mother-in-law all managed to find their way to the playground, too.
Say what you want about "how cute" it is to see grown men and women running around swing sets, merry-go-rounds, monkey bars and slides. I think it all looks out of place. Surreal and out of place.
But there I was in the middle of it all. Sometimes leading, sometimes playing follow-the-leader. But I was definitely the alpha-primate when it came to the monkey bars.
It culminated at the swing.
At some point I remember headin' to one of the swings for a sit-down. After all, uncle Mel had just got done driving a long way.
Now I can't remember which of us had their butt firmly planted in "my swing" but they weren't havin' any of it.
Finders keepers and Mel's the weeper.
And that's when it happened.
I remember inhaling in preparation for a jovial little protest. I held it at mid-stream. And looked to my left.
I saw my niece and nephew laughing at their uncle's antics. They had that "let's do it again" gleam in their eyes. And we were going to do just that, again.
I looked across the sand to where my wife and her sister were engaged in close sibling conversation about only they know what. But they were smiling. Every few exchanges I could see them soaking in the same scene I was. (Were they laughing at me or with me?)
Just off to the side I saw my mother-in-law and my brother-in-law pointing and laughing at who cares what.
We weren't all that loud, but it wasn't quiet, either. I'd say maybe even a little raucous.
And there I was in the middle of it all. Me with my sandy chicken-legs and mists of perspiration beading on my forehead gettin' ready for another round of race-you-to-the-slide, or some such thing.
God what a mess I was! I had just got done driving a long way, after all.
And again I saw that I was in the middle of all that. And they were, too. Right smack in the middle. And I remember thinking, this is thanksgiving.
I finally let out that breath of air I had held in mid-stream a few moments earlier. I let it out in a silent, steady breeze of recognition. It had finally clicked.
The whole time I was busily going through the motions to go to thanksgiving, I had forgotten to give thanks.
What was earlier about to be a voice of protest, turned into a silently uttered, "happy thanksgiving."
(Courtesy: Gisella Giardino via a license under Creative Commons.)
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