I'm a stickler for tradition--
Change, to me, is evil at it's very conception.
So the fact that I am not at a Thanksgiving dinner cooked by my Meemaw and Peepaw in the formal dining room of 206 Locust St. should be killing me.
Really--
it should be.
The fact that the same broccoli casserole and pumpkin pie recipes of my childhood are not going to be appearing in my Thanksgiving horizon should have me up in arms.
Maybe that's what growing up is all about.
The realization that some things are just more important.
Especially on a day set aside for thanksgiving.
This turkey day, while I sit in a hospital waiting room, typing papers, and reading books about politics, I'll keep one thought in mind.
I don't care that my tradition is destroyed, or that my ritual has been cancelled;
because to be perfectly honest, the most important constant is present.
I am surrounded by the ones that I love.
And sure, we may be spending our time in uncomfortable chairs, and sure we might be eating lunch in a Cracker Barrel instead of around my great-great grandma's oak table, and sure we might smell like hand sanitizer and medicine--
but we are together.
And we are arguing and punching each other and moving at a constant speed of 100 mph like always.
And we have my Meemaw.
And all that is worth giving up a million brocolli casseroles and a billion pumpkin pies forever.
I of all people have reason to be thankful this year.
So God, thanks--
give us one more, huh?
that is all.
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