My Thankful For

When the four kids were younger, and we came together throughout the year from the different places we all lived, Jon brought a tradition to the table.

We ended each meal together by going around the table and each saying three things:

• One thing that was good about my day
  (It didn’t have to be “the best” — just one thing that was good.)

• One thing I didn’t like about the day
  (Not “the worst” because sometimes those are the things you keep to yourself, and you’re entitled to that privacy.)

• One thing I am thankful for
  (It could be each other. It could be a vacation we were planning. It could be Twizzlers, which, let’s be honest, it often was.)

The absolute best part was the way my youngest stepkid always spoke when it was their turn. This little six-year-old child would turn these bright blue eyes up to the ceiling, inhale deeply, and smile to themselves while they pulled words together to fill in the blanks.

Okay!
[Exhale]
My good thing is, Dad got me new shoes.
My bad thing is, I couldn’t find my glasses, but then I found them.
And my thankful for…

“My thankful for.”

It’s still one of my favorite expressions; one of those funny kid things that our family will say forever, like Neckflicks or Gramma Crackers or Frontal Butt.

(Don’t ask about the frontal butt.)

Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

While writing this, I’m realizing that I can hardly remember any of the “one bad thing” that were said over the past ten years since we started doing this. I mean clearly there were many. But the “one good thing” answers? Those come to mind right away — I got 100 on my test. I got to pet a cat. I had a playdate. I had chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. We’re all together.

It’s the best reminder to me that sometimes the good things, no matter how small, are worth saying out loud so that we remember them.

And not just on the one time a year when the holiday happens to have the word “giving thanks” right in the name there.

It’s also a reminder to me that even when things feel incredibly crappy — in our personal relationships, our families, our jobs, our communities, or of course around the world — when we’re mourning people we’ve lost, when we’re worried about our futures, when we’re struggling to make sense of unimaginably terrible things, there is always light. At least a little, somewhere.

Kids can find it.

Maybe we can take their lead.

Tonight we’ll have the opportunity to go around the table (or at least a very squished misshapen circle of friends and family jammed into in my mom’s tiny living room) and hear what 24 different friends and family members of all ages are thankful for. We will hold space for those who are not here with us — those we knew and loved and those we will never know. We will cry. (Well, I will because I always do, no matter how much my kids make fun of me for it.) We will hug. We will eat too much. We will make the same dumb jokes about eating too much. We will pretend not to notice the kids who only eat bread and dessert. We will laugh watching the kids’ annual written-and-performed-in-a-day play. We will wonder how many times we will keep getting to celebrate this day with all of us here, together, because that’s the kind of thing you wonder as people get older even though you don’t say it out loud. We will take pictures. We will be scolded by the kids for taking too many pictures, but ignore them because we know why we take so many pictures. We will be grateful.

I hope you find your thankful for, too.