Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. It’s somehow always seemed more about family then the others. I have fond memories of traveling home in my younger adult years and all of us being together. And I’ve had some good ones traveling north to my other, married-into home. Admittedly, in recent years, Thanksgiving has just been the three of us. Jill, Dylan, and I. This year will be no different.
But it still makes me happy to think of my brothers, their wives, and their children all together for the holiday.
Plus, on July 5th, we don’t start seeing Turkey propaganda in all the retail stores.
Plus, I like the central idea of “giving thanks.”
And, let’s face it. I like to eat.
One year, when Dylan was less than five, it was a just the three of us Thanksgiving. We were going around the table and stating what we were thankful for. When we got to Dylan, he remained silent. His eyes shifted, looking for the right answer. Then he looked down to his plate. To the orange, Jell-o, his mother had made just for him, because he’s a picky eater. He smiled. His chubby cheeks pooled with color. “Jell-o. I’m thankful for Jell-o.”
It’s been a tough month. The sting of our family’s loss is still fresh, but the memory of that smile on Dylan’s face all those years ago, still makes me….
Thankful.
So, I’m thankful for the love of my family.
For my health.
For the unwavering support I’ve received from my parents over the years.
For being born in this country. And all the freedom and prosperity that entails.
For friends, who even after not seeing me for decades, call/text to check on me because they know I am in pain.
For people I hardly even know, who have reached out too, because they loved my brother.
And for all of you reading this, whether I know you or not. I am thankful for you.
And yes, I’m thankful for orange Jell-o.
Tony D. Writes Pulp Fiction 