What doesn’t change
I had a few minutes on this workday (you call it Thanksgiving) to ruminate on the working man’s holiday. In an attempt to find inspiration, I looked back at what I wrote last Thanksgiving. I found that little has changed. The good and the bad. I like to remember the good. I might write more later today, but for now, I’ll just reprise last year. Because…it’s all still true.
From Thanksgiving 2001 on Thanksgiving 2002
Why I’m lucky…and thankful…
I have a wife who almost likes getting sick when I’m sick. She does it so she can empathize with my pain. We’ve both been sniffling, coughing, puking mounds for the last week and a half. She surprises me by breaking out baking skills that I didn’t know she had. She learns new languages and humors me when I try to remember my old French classes and try to conjugate the verb avoir. And she feels like she’s been bad when she stays up late.
I have a dog…Scoop…who doesn’t care when I’m sick. She doesn’t care that we’re not making Thanksgiving dinner tonight. As long as somebody plays fetch with her and doesn’t move her off of her space in bed, she’ll wag her tail and be happy.
I have two parents who try to make me feel like I never left home. Mom calls every phone I have to wish me a Happy Thanksgiving and leaves three of the same good tidings messages. When I call back, Dad gets on the phone we we talk about the Missouri Tigers fantastic win last night. It’s almost like I’m rolling out of bed in southwest Missouri, smelling my mom’s food, sharing a cup of joe with my dad and getting ready for the Willis Thanksgiving Marathon.
I have a brother who fills in for me when I can’t be home. The extended family will be wowed by his tales from the ER. He’ll fill them in on what he’s doing and some of what I’m doing. Then he’ll e-mail me and tell me about all the silliness I missed. I’m proud of him and his success. It’s rough having a best friend who lives six states away.
And I’ve got a lot of good friends. Many of them read RER. They come from my childhood, my college years, and my pseudo-adult years. They keep all parts of me sane.
