I love the holidays and always have. Thanksgiving in my family has, for as long as
I can remember, been the most traditional with our crazy family gathered
together celebrating in our own special way.
Relatives we rarely see gather at our huge home and divide into groups
that are not always clear-cut. Lots of racket
tumbles out from the recreation room where the men have assembled to watch
football. The womenfolk chat together in
the kitchen as they assemble the feast we will gorge ourselves on in a few
hours. The children always find a way to
entertain themselves with only the occasional mishap or need for
discipline.
The fall of
my 16th year however was not so happy. Having graduated high school early, during
the summer I had convinced my parents and myself that I needed the independence
and time to understand myself. Living
with my cousins in London seemed like the perfect solution. I could be independent but still have the
family connection to fall back on when I needed help. It was perfect that is, until November 1st
rolled around and I found my thoughts increasingly headed for home. At first I politely ignored the path and tried
to distract myself with more exciting activities I could not afford myself in
America. Those diversions only worked as
long as I kept myself busy. When I tried
to fall asleep at night the memories would come crawling back becoming my
constant companion as they settled on my pillow.
Around the middle of the month I
finally acclimated to the disruption of the ideally planned life I had created
for myself and eventually the perpetual sobbing ceased. Yes, I was homesick and no, I was not going
to be home for Thanksgiving or the Christmas holidays for the first time in my
life. I would have to settle for video
chats and connections through social media with those I loved across the
Atlantic Ocean. I was comforted by the
revelation that although English people did not celebrate Thanksgiving,
Christmas was a universal holiday. My
energy could now be focused on making my first independent Christmas the best
one ever and you know what? Once I
adjusted my attitude it was the best holiday season ever as I celebrated with
my cousins and newfound friends. We
shared family traditions and started new ones together. I had
survived without my family and I was better for it.
“So, now you understand why I get
so crazy about the holidays Jack. Family
is important but so are the lessons I learned that season. It was a season of maturity,” Laura stated
matter-of-factly.
“Wow. That’s beautiful Laura. Thanks for sharing. Now I’m ready to start on that famous
cranberry-nut stuffing of yours so we can finish it before your parents arrive.
Pass me the breadcrumbs please.”
“That’s a good idea. I am sure they will love you just like I do.”
Laura aimed the bowl of breadcrumbs to slide right into Jack’s waiting
hands. Jack not realizing her intention
lifted his hands and the bowl slid right off the slick table and with a crash,
landed on the floor.
Jack cried out with surprise. “Oh honey, I am so sorry. That was your special bowl you made when you
were younger.”
“That’s okay Jack. I also learned that November that memories
come from the heart and not from material things. Let’s clean it up and make some new memories
together!”
“Yes. My first Thanksgiving will be
special because I get to celebrate with you.” Jack arose from the floor, put
the glass pieces on the table and took Laura in his arms to kiss her
soundly.
“Ahem,” Peter Dickenson’s patient voice
interrupted the couple from the open doorway.
“Next time you want a romantic moment don’t forget to lock your door,”
Laura’s father teased.
An embarrassed Laura made the
introductions. “Dad and Mom, this is
Jack Peters, my fiancé. Jack these are my parents, Peter and Lorraine
Dickenson.”
“Nice to meet you son. Welcome to the family.” Peter extended his
hand for a handshake.
“Thank you. The pleasure is all mine Mr. Dickenson,” Jack
responded, grasping his future father-in-law’s hand firmly.
No comments:
Post a Comment