When I was a kid, we’d have an ass ton of relatives in the house on Thanksgiving. This year being what it is, I’m only around two other people on Earth -- my daughter, Kenzie, who lives with me and my son, Sam, who stayed all night here last night then went home to his girlfriend today.
I’m infinitely thankful. Four years ago, I ate a Thanksgiving meal in a community building. Even though the place was packed, the people were strangers and I felt alone.
Anyhow, I remember parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins in our house. There was football on TV. I sat at the kid’s table and after eating, my siblings, cousins and I would play Go Fish.
Right before eating, my mom said, “Uncle Maurice, would you like to say the blessing?” We were all standing there, holding hands and my great uncle said this prayer. He was the right man for it. He was so reverent and solemn. You could tell by listening, he was a Christian. Obviously, it made an impression on me because this was in 1979 or ‘80 and I remember it to this day. It was a holy moment.
That was the last gathering of that size to take place at my boyhood home in Jett.
On the weekend after Thanksgiving, I’d be with my dad and we’d go to my grandparents’s house in Marshallville, Kan. (pop. 700). And man, all that food my grandma Guy made. She was a country gal and knew how to make all kinds of stuff from scratch. She canned food in an outdoor cellar and if she’d see a garter snake on the concrete steps, she didn’t get scared the way I would. We didn’t say grace before every meal so when we did, it was a big deal. My step-mom would ask my grandpa, “Richard, do you want to say the blessing?”
And like with Uncle Maurice, on my mom’s side of the family, Grandpa could pray fervently. You could tell he’d done it before. “Let us not forget the debt that was paid on the cross.” The men of that era, raised in church -- they had that special ingredient. Maybe it came down to faith.
Thankful
In November of 2016, I’d been divorced for eight months and I was still terribly depressed. For the past year, I’d been living in the western part of the Sunflower state in Pard, Kan., away from my family. The ex wasn’t letting me see the kids and I was all alone. I’d heard about a community Thanksgiving meal at the Pard Memorial Hall. A large auditorium with a kitchen and pantry, construction on the building was completed in 1920. It was a municipal project to honor the veterans of The Great War. I went there more to be around people than to eat.
Feeling wrecked inside, I sat by myself at the table and started sobbing because the volunteers had actually prepared this moment for us. For a few seconds, I felt self-conscious. Then I didn’t care anymore. I think everyone was oblivious to me anyway. People were busy getting served, eating and socializing with friends and family. There were a slough of volunteers. The wrestling team from the community college dutifully served food on plastic plates. I’d heard that the coach was big on community service.
It wouldn’t get better for me until I finally looked at the divorce papers I’d avoided reading and saw that the judge had granted me a specific visitation schedule with my kids. After I confronted my ex, Maria, about that, things started to change. Eventually, I would move back to Jett and my daughter would move in with me because among other things in that dysfunctional home, she didn’t like step-dad.
For the next two years, Kenzie and I helped serve meals at the Jett Senior Center. I baked a blueberry pie for the Sunday potluck lunch at my church, The Church of All Saints and Sinners on State Street. My buddy, Kyle, was the pastor.
This year community meals are being served to people waiting in their cars. We’re a divided country, living in the worst pandemic since the years when Pard Memorial Hall was being built. If you travel across the country on airplanes right now, if you don’t wear a mask in public, you’re a damn fool.
But it’s going to get better. There will be an end to Coronavirus, just as the Spanish Flu came to an end 100 years ago. There will be another day, which is not to say it will be smooth sailing from then on. With what we’ve done to the environment, our bodies, society -- I wouldn’t be surprised if there aren’t more pandemics in the not so distant future. It’s not Armageddon, though. It’s not God’s plague on the earth. Bad things just happen, times improve and the cycle repeats itself.
2020 has been a crappy year, but I’m more thankful than I’ve felt in a long time. It’s always been tough for me, but I’m keeping the faith.
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