Having Enough-Remembering Thanksgiving

I awoke to the familiar sound of dishes rattling in Mother’s kitchen and to the thick scent of coffee wafting through the air. I glanced out my bedroom window; the neighborhood was lit by the first rays of the day shining through a thin layer of gray clouds like sunshine through a stained-glass window. The trees, no longer their virescent hues of spring and summer, were scarlet, gold, and copper. Mesmerized, I watched the leaves fall off the trees gently swaying in the November wind. A sigh rose in my throat as I thought about all that was lacking that Thanksgiving Day. I joined Mother in the kitchen, mildly curious about the Thanksgiving brunch she’d planned for us at an undeveloped park on the outskirts of town. Instead of busying herself cooking the usual Thanksgiving fare, Mother prepared a thermos of hot cocoa for my brothers and me and another thermos of coffee for her and Dad. “This will be fun, sweetie. It will be a Thanksgiving to remember. Wait and see.” I smiled covering up my disappointment and helped Mother pack a box with the utensils she needed—a cast iron skillet, tin plates, silverware, charcoal briquettes, matches, a spatula, and two wooden spoons. My brothers and I clambered into the truck bed. Dad pumped the gas pedal several times until his cranky jalopy sputtered into action. On the way to the park, Dad pulled into the parking lot of a local grocery store; through the rear windshield I watched my parents cull through their pockets, the seat cushions, and the glove box gathering all the loose change they could find. “This should be enough,” Mother said in a thrilled voice. She scurried out of the truck and emerged minutes later, smiling with two dozen eggs, a pound of bacon, and a small loaf of bread in her arms. Once at the park, my brothers and I bolted from the truck, frolicking in the leaves as we ran along a pathway that led to an old, abandoned farmhouse tucked amongst some trees. While they explored the farmhouse, I sat on a log, reminiscing about previous Thanksgivings, yearning for a piece of Mother’s pumpkin pie topped with a dollop of whipped cream. I inhaled, slowly taking in all the crisp autumn air my lungs could hold slowly expelling it. The smell of sizzling bacon drifted by; and in the distance I heard Dad whistling and Mother singing as she fried bacon and eggs over a crackling fire, seemingly oblivious to the fact that our grim financial situation prevented us from celebrating Thanksgiving as we always had with turkey, dressing, and all the trimmings. “Come and get it,” Mother hollered, clanging her spoon on one of the tin plates to get our attention. We dashed toward them and sat on the ground, warming our hands on the open fire, its flames curling and swaying as they burned the dry wood. I looked at the fried eggs and bacon Mother scooped onto our tin plates, focusing on the meager amount she’d given each of us. “Let us give thanks, for we have enough,” Dad said, his face beaming. 'Enough? How could this small amount of food possibly be enough?' I thought. I wanted to snap back and complain but resisted the urge to do so. Rather than quickly devouring my eggs and bacon as I usually did, I bit into the bacon letting it slowly break over my tongue, relishing it as if I was eating it for the very first time. It was perfectly prepared, crispy and salty. The eggs, too, were cooked to perfection with the slightly runny yolks intact and no raw white remaining. Maybe it was the fresh air. Maybe it was my father’s words. But without warning, tears misted in my eyes. These were not tears of lacking; rather these were tears of sheer joy in realizing that the eggs and bacon tasted better than the turkey and dressing I would’ve eaten if the circumstances had been different. Despite my tender age, my heart softened, and the lacking I felt vanished, replaced with love, appreciation, and thankfulness for my parents, their attitudes, and their willingness to make an ordinary Thanksgiving meal a memorable one despite their difficulties and financial woes. Mother was right. The day was a memorable one, and I remember it as if it were yesterday. Having enough that Thanksgiving was a blessing in disguise—a lesson in gratitude that to this day helps me focus on the differences between my needs and my desires. Having enough has diminished many of my life’s disappointments. It has also given me grit, grace, and an overwhelming feeling of thankfulness, even in the face of my own adversities. sincere gratitude feels quite magical warms heart and soul, creates a connection between souls gratitude unlocks the fullness of life what we have becomes enough turns meal into a feast