By the time you read this, I’ll be on the beach.
In fact, as I packed my things on Wednesday morning for my Thanksgiving trip, I muttered to myself, “Where are my swimming trunks?” and suddenly it felt as if the entire world I knew had been dropped on its head. To my memory, I’ve never needed swimming trunks in November.
I muttered mainly because I dreaded the drive — six hours on the road on Wednesday so I can spend Thanksgiving with, among a few others, the people I live with and my next door neighbors (my in-laws). Then I drive back Friday. My family had been at Gulf Shores since the weekend, so it’s just me, the radio and my thoughts in the car. And, did I mention I hate driving?
I knew I’d enjoy myself once I arrived, but in the face of the agonizing process of getting there, I let myself think, “Wouldn’t it be nice to skip this and just stay home?”
Then I remembered I once ate Thanksgiving dinner alone at a Dixie Cafe in northeast Arkansas. With that, I got over myself.
It was four years ago, and I was a single father living four hours from my nearest family. The paper where I was working kept me late Wednesday and required my working a short shift Thursday evening.
There was no time to get home, and I didn’t know how to cook anything. I’d even sent my daughter to her mother’s for the holiday, even though it wasn’t technically her mother’s year to have her, so she could actually have a normal Thanksgiving. I certainly wasn’t having one.
Sure, mine was a temporary circumstance, and that blunted the blow quite a bit. I’d see my family soon enough. I’ve not spent a Thanksgiving alone before or since.
But it got me thinking, probably for the first time, about people for whom holiday inconvenience is more than just a one-off. The waitress who served me while I pouted that year would probably had rather been elsewhere. Then there are firefighters, police officers and military personnel spending Thanksgiving and Christmas keeping us safe.
There are also people at retail stores saddled with accommodating our insatiable thirst as consumers as we can hit Black Friday sales that actually now often start on Thursday.
Beyond that, there are people who are truly lonely, or truly hurting, who view the holiday season as a month-long flagrant reminder that things are not going well. Statistically, depression and suicide rise during the holidays. People who live alone tend to be more lonely. Those who have lost loved ones often miss them most.
Those who are poor are reminded everywhere they look of how much society values material possessions. People who are struggling mentally, physically or emotionally can feel left out of “the most wonderful time of the year.”
This knowledge shouldn’t steal anyone’s joy during the holidays. But it should remind us to be as considerate as possible, especially when we let the little things bother us. It should also compel us to be kind to the people we see, reach out to those we think might need it, and by all means, do something benevolent for a stranger without expecting anything in return.
So, whether you’re faced with a long drive, a relative you can’t stand or the prospect of the Walmart being out of TVs by the time you fight your way into the store, let’s all keep our perspective this holiday season.
And above all, remember to do the thing that is possibly the hardest, though it sounds so simple: Love one another.
Zack Plair is the managing editor for The Dispatch.
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