The Finding of Thanks

It's Thanksgiving time. Give your thanks to people. Remember to be thankful of life, of the world, of the opportunities provided to you. Every year, my family goes around the table and thinks of something unique and touching that they're thankful for. You must be unique and touching - it's a requirement, enforced by the normal family pressure of who can make someone cry out of touching heartfelt happiness this year. And every year, I find it within myself to flop on the heartfelt touching side of it. Shit, I hate talking about emotions. It makes me very uncomfortable, even around my family. So this year, in preparation for the inevitable, I thought I'd give it a trial run. What am I thankful of?

...

The mind draws a blank, and the old standbys flit through my mind, slowly drawing out my suddenly timid thoughts. Family, friends, food on the table, roof over my head, warm blankets and the crisp smell of fall in the morning. Thick socks on cold nights, Scrabble tournaments, and tea pots. Escape books, mellow music, a good listener, hidden journals, black ink pens that glide across the clean paper in an irresistible manner. Homemade soup, cold cold glasses of milk, fresh bread, food made with love, the smell of breakfast in the morning, the sound of my mom happily singing while she cooks. Football games, stealing shrubbery for table ornaments, sparkling grape juice.

This year I am full of thanks for the things that have managed to change in order to stay with me for nineteen years; the happy memories of past years that have morphed to become tales told with exaggerated gestures and uncontrollable laughter at the recollection of it all, traditions that come and go. And the things that things that haven't changed so much; the smell of turkey, the taste of mashed potatoes and sweet corn, the sound of our old piano, and the simple, almost mafia-esq knowledge that family comes first.