Thanksgiving

Let’s talk Thanksgiving.

I have been grousing all week because a global pandemic, food allergies, and so on were messing up my holidays; cussing about how I hated hanging out with my family because everyone would complain about the food, each other, and basically everything else.

Today a couple of kids and their mom (Non-English speaker) from up the street came by my house to borrow my phone so they could call the local bails bondsman to get their dad out of jail, and failing that to ask him who to call for some basic needs.

None of them had coats. One was in a tee shirt. It’s 40 degrees F here. I invited them all into my house and damn did I get a wake up call. I am not rich. Lower middle class maybe. But the mom was sitting on the very edge of my couch, touching my “authentic” Mexican blankets with one hand as she talked on my Samsung phone, and her kids were wondering around touching things, asking questions, looking around.

They were into every corner and cabinet. They all kept talking about how nice and warm it was, asking if they could look at my books, could they turn on the stereo, what my Scrabble board was.

So here I am in a warm house, no one in my family is in jail; I own two jackets, and four hoodies, good clothes, pants, boots. I ate three times today and had a snack. I have enough food to care for my family of three and nine feral cats. I donate my “junk” to the Goodwill maybe twice a month so my house does not get too cluttered.

We have electricity, TV, internet. All three of us have computers, phones, and stereos. I have over 3,000 books. And a Scrabble board.

Well, scratch that last. The kids now have that. I taught them how to play while their mom talked. And when they left, I told them to take some other stuff, too. Some books, the food I could get them to accept, spare hats, gloves, a few colored pencils, and hoodies. And I had to fight with them to get them to take it. Because they had each other. They had pride in themselves and the work they do. And they do work.

Any work they can get as non-English speakers in a largely upper class city and suburb. Charity is an insult in any language. But, I told them they could pay me back when they had the cash, that it was just bad luck and we all have bad luck, that this was not charity because the dad had mowed our lawn for free once, the son had helped one of our cats, and so on. I had to lie to them a little and tell them I had another “one” of whatever it was…or not lie and just not mention I had three more. And when they left they were all smiles and wishing me a happy thanksgiving! Me. Jesus.

I needed that reminder, I needed to have my blasé ass kicked. I am in a good place. I have much. I should indeed be giving thanks.

Something to consider tonight as so many of us prep for days of over-eating and over shopping in the coming week.

Caliente, familia, amor.

And that is my spiel for the day. Thanks for reading.