Thanks Giving

In keeping with fall being my favorite season, Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. 

Most everyone knows that D & I hail from western Pennsylvania.  Our childhoods were spent there, most of our families still reside there, and a piece of our hearts will always remain there.  We moved away some 31 years ago with a 6-week old baby and a trunk full of dreams and possibilities. That 6-week old baby will soon be 32, has a wife, a brother, a sister-in law, a niece and a nephew. All reside in the south, hundreds of miles away from their northern roots.  But when the end of November approaches their internal clocks take over and a reverse migration occurs. 

There is nothing glamorous about Thanksgiving in western PA.  It is usually cold & dreary, the landscape barren.  There are no fancy parties or gourmet meals.  The light that leads these transplants north is the light of family, the promise of laughter, a turkey and stuffing cooked the old fashioned way, and time to be shared with parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Insuring that the bond of family remains as strong as the steel that was once produced in the now abandoned mills that line the rivers of western Pennsylvania.

For me it is also a melancholy time.  I miss my Dad; the patriarch who always sat at the head of the table, and always offered his heartfelt gratitude to God before the meal could be served.  Who in later years sat quietly watching his grandchildren and great grandchildren at play.  Who always allowed us to pick on him.  I think in part because he knew we did it out of love, but also because if the truth were known he loved the attention. He was husband, father & Pap.  I believe he embraced the Pap more than any other role he played in life.  I regret that he never had the opportunity to meet the last two additions to the family.  He loved children, and little girls always occupied a special place in his heart.  He would have adored our little A.  Her devilish smile and flashing blue eyes would have had him beaming with pride.

And while his chair at the dinner table on Thanksgiving Day is physically empty now.  I know that he will be there, watching quietly as his family gathers once again.  Chuckling at the antics and bantering that might cause a stranger to think we didn’t like each other.  Smiling as he observes his great grandchildren at play and leaning in to get a closer look as little Gabers is introduced to his northern family for the first time.

Neither I nor my off-spring can imagine spending Thanksgiving day in any other place than dreary western Pennsylvania, with an old fashioned meal and the encircling arms of family.  You did your job well Dad; you can rest in peace.

Originally posted 11/14/08