Ugh. Thanksgiving. Yay!

Growing up, I felt entirely at odds with Thanksgiving. Or maybe I felt that Thanksgiving was entirely at odds with its intended purpose. I’m not sure which. While adults took over the main spaces of the house on Thanksgiving, my siblings, cousins, and I were usually ushered off to the basement, the backyard, or anywhere that kept us out of the way of the adults. The dads and uncles would gather around the TV to watch unremarkable football games, while the moms and aunts spent hours in the kitchen preparing a meal that we would consume in less than half an hour—often after being hungry for most of the day because we weren’t allowed to eat for fear of losing our appetite.

The food itself was another puzzle. Aside from the turkey, which was usually overcooked and dry (no offense intended, moms and aunts), the rest of the dishes were things we never ate at any other time of year, and for good reason. Canned cranberry "sauce" and creamed corn were staples that held little appeal. Creamed corn? Really? And aunt so-and-so’s Jello mold with carrot shavings and raisins floating somewhere in the middle? Seriously, is this Candid Camera? Were we getting Punk’d? There was rarely any mention of gratitude or giving thanks, unless it was someone joking about being grateful for the couch—usually just before one eccentric uncle claimed it for his post-cocktail nap after the football game.

All I wished for, on those days, was that they would leave me at home where I could eat when and what I wanted and play where and what I wanted. Thanksgiving was a confusing, disconnected experience—one of those unfortunate days each year when I felt completely out of place. It was more of a spectator sport for me than it seemed it was for others. The great Thanksgiving day holocaust was more endurance test than celebration and I couldn’t wait for the period between Halloween and the first of December to pass.

In the coming years, my attitude toward Thanksgiving didn't change much—at least not at first. But somewhere along the way as I entered fatherhood, something shifted. Maybe it was the accumulation of life’s blessings or simply growing older and seeing things through the maturing lens of earned wisdom. Suddenly, the day wasn’t just about dry turkey and anxious emptiness; it was about the people my life had engineered around me—the laughter and love of my wife and kids, and the deep sense of gratitude that had quietly crept in.

From boyhood to fatherhood and now into grand fatherhood, instead of dreading Thanksgiving, these days, I find myself embracing it, recognizing how fortunate I am. The holiday isn't perfect, but the imperfect moments have become the ones I cherish most, reminding me of the richness of my life and the importance of giving thanks, even for the little things. Perhaps, especially for the little things. Everything around me reminds me of the undeserved blessed life that is mine. I am in a constant state of gratitude because of it. From my wife to my kids to the rest of the amazing relationships I've evolved into, I'm not sure I could be more fortunate. I truly, sincerely love (and like) my wife. I have a job that pays the bills, and we live in a home of relative comfort surrounded by purposeful warmth, weekly game nights, and genuine acceptance. Perhaps most importantly, I have a growing relationship with the heavens that binds me to all things good, building me into a better man and broadening my shoulders to face hard days. It's a better life than I deserve and I’m sincerely, deeply grateful.

So, happy Thanksgiving. May you think of and include others in your life in this time of year–the kids, the elderly, and even the weird aunts and uncles that make you question the purpose of family and gatherings (they mean well, they truly do). May you turn off the TV and spend time together making and enjoying the great Thanksgiving day feast. May the food be, well, good. Most of all, may it be a day of great thanks, and giving; a time of reflecting the good, pondering the growth, and gratitude for the ability to give. These are my honest and sincere hopes for you and yours. And also, for me and mine.

Happy Thanksgiving.