Giving Thanks

It’s that time of year again – the most wonderful time or something like that – time for food and football and ah, yes, the “F” word: Family. Our holiday season is kicked off with the overeaters’ favorite and the first installation of crowded living rooms and dining rooms the country over – Thanksgiving. My Thanksgiving definitely got me thinking about changing times and what Family really is and with a divorce rate generally lingering around fifty percent, I wondered how my thankful table matched up with others. I have come to think the picture of my little table this past Thursday was a modern Norman Rockwell.

Here is how we were seated: the heads of the table were occupied by me and my live-in boyfriend; the innards were filled with my three sons and my ex-husband. Yes, my EX husband and father of my children. I know it sounds crazy to many. The people to whom I recited my turkey day guest list all looked back at me with eyes that, I swear, had those cartoon black-and-white spirals swirling around. The funny thing about my family is I live next door to my ex. When my children spend an evening or a weekend with their dad, they simply walk next door; if they forget to bring something to dad’s, there is a rap at the door followed by a, “Sorry, Mom. I need my…” and this works for us. Quite well, actually. So when November rolled around, my boyfriend and I had a conversation about inviting the ex to our table. There was never a hesitation or any doubt my ex-husband would be invited. The only question was whether or not he would accept.

Well, he did. Initially. Then after a spirited difference of opinions a few weeks prior to Thanksgiving, my ex-husband told my oldest son (the one most attached to him) over the phone that he would not be attending our feast. The look on my son’s face as he received the news was torturous. My boyfriend, a child of divorce with a neglectful father, couldn’t bear to see the hurt in my son’s eyes. So much so that, of his own volition, my boyfriend called my ex-husband and asked him to put aside any differences or hurt feelings and sit with us for a few hours on a special Thursday not for me, not for him, but for three little boys who never asked to be a part of this familial rearranging. And he did.

So there we were, our little dysfunctional family celebrating our first dysfunctional Thanksgiving, going around the table sharing with each other one thing we were thankful for. When the wave of thanks reached my ex-husband there was a pause and then this: “I am thankful for a phone call that talked me into getting over myself and coming here to celebrate with my family.”

I have so much to be thankful for.