Thanksgiving
This morning I sat on the floor organizing my books, because I’m that cool. I had an in earbud while listening to an interview with one of my favorite songwriters while my daughter built a fort and my two boys played with their Legos.
I opened each book to its title page and stamped it to mark my ownership. “From The Library of Jacob Andrew Hatcher.” There are books on country music, presidential biographies, and memoirs from southerners like me. There are southern gothic novels and thomes of nerdy theology. Lewis and Clark’s expe-dition takes up a few slots and whole shelves are dedicated to the Civil War.
As I picked each book up I remembered when I had acquired them; I felt the paper in my hands and memories of the various living rooms I had them in came rushing back. I thought of so many days just like this one, being home with the kids while school is out, laying on the couch reading books while they play.
It got me thinking about why we’re home, their being out of school for Thanksgiving, and it really made Thursday’s holiday shine in a different light. Like so many others, life isn’t quite what I dreamed it would be when I was a kid. We’d love more money or a nicer house, and would love it if the kids would eat real good instead of macaroni and lunchables, but there’s still plenty to be thankful for.
Just the same, I’ve had a life filled with great music, good books, and a family that I cherish. I’ve had plenty of guitars come in and out of my life and been able to play them on stages others dream of playing. I’ve got a truck that’s old but I love and a dog that keeps the snakes out of the yard and is loud enough to let potential intruders know he’s there.
Sure, things could be different, but I’m not sure they’d be better. And I’m not sure I’d be as thankful for them were they not as simple and sentimental as they are.
