As I prepare for tomorrow's feast and the time spent with family, I am drawn back to one of my earliest memories of Thanksgiving.
My first relatively clear memory of Thanksgiving is from 1977, I think. I was 6 years old and we had moved to Washington state earlier that year, leaving behind my dad's family in Nevada. I remember driving all night through a rather fierce storm to get back to my grandma's house for Thanksgiving. I don't know for sure that it was the same year, but I remember the dinner table stretching from one end of the house to the other and everyone squished around it, passing food and laughing. My grandma's house wasn't big, maybe 1200 sq ft if that, and it was bursting to the seams with family.
It occurred to me that we're kind of recreating that here tomorrow. I am blessed with a bigger house than my grandma, but we'll still have tables stretching from one end to the other and we'll be passing food and laughing, I'm sure. It makes me wonder if my kids will remember this Thankgiving and what their recollection of it will be.
Whatever they remember, I hope they know how loved and blessed they are.
