Eek! Thanksgiving is upon us with Christmas close behind. Help! I’m not ready. Where has the year gone? We rush through and gobble up the days as if we have an infinite supply. I haven’t written a Thanksgiving column. What to do? Aren’t computers wonderful? I found an old column stored in my word processor that surely no one will remember and have cannibalized it.
Over the river and through the woods
To Grandmother’s house we go.
The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh
Through white and drifted snow.
Over the river and through the woods,
Now Grandmother’s house I spy!
Hurrah for the fun, is the pudding done?
Hurrah for the pumpkin pie!
— Lydia Maria Childs, 1844
When we sang this old song at Coterie I was reminded that reminiscence is a many-layered thing. The song conjures up a yesteryear that I haven’t experienced, never having ridden in a sleigh. Perhaps I ought to add a sleigh ride to my bucket list. “Over the River” also brings memories of when we sang it at school with Miss McKinney and when Bill and I taught it to Vicki.
Like July 4, Thanksgiving is a quintessentially American time, a part of our common experience and is woven into the warp and woof of my being. Our shared memories of it are as predictable and comforting as mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie!
Just as July 4 is the great American cookout with burgers and hot dogs, I know what millions of Americans in every region of the country will be eating. Each family’s menu is set in concrete; we do not tamper with holiday feasts. Friend Jana told her children, “Maybe we’ll have something different this year.” They exclaimed, “We don’t want something different. We want what we’ve always had!” Traditions such as Thanksgiving give us something reliable that we can count on no matter how hectic our lives. The splendid turkey, pumpkin pie, green bean casserole and Mama’s corn pudding bring comfort and warm our hearts.
A report about cultural diversity contained thought-provoking statistics. If a group of 100 people were chosen on the basis of the demographics of the world’s population this is who would be in it:
70 people of color, 30 Caucasians
70 non-Christians
70 unable to read and write; 80 living in substandard housing; 50 malnourished
50 percent of the world’s total wealth would be in the hands of only six people.
And where do those fortunate six — let me repeat — six people live? They live in America. When I read this to Bill, a former teacher of government, he asked, “Why do you think that this is so?” I answered, “Natural resources?” “Other countries have more natural resources than America.” I thought for a minute and then said. “Freedom! I believe it comes from freedom!”
I’m well aware of America’s failings — past and present. However, don’t tell me that America isn’t exceptional! I am so thankful that I have the freedom to worship or not worship as I choose, become educated, write what I wish, marry whom I wish, own property, earn and control money and criticize the government. In the midst of our repletion, in the comfort of our warm homes we should pause, take warning and ponder the serious implications of those statistics. wclarke@comcast.net