Thanksgiving

One might describe the scene as a whirlwind. The timer beeps, signaling it’s time to pull the rolls from the oven. On the counter lies the remnants of what was once a beautiful turkey, its golden skin now stripped away. The kitchen table is filled with dishes replicated on the dining room table. At the refrigerator, a container is refilled with ice cubes, while my sister is opening a drawer to grab another serving spoon. A little one dashes through the crowd, tugs at my pantleg with her beautiful smile, silently asking for a taste of cheese or whatever is nearby. I’ve learned she prefers something sweet. There’s room for double the number of people in the kitchen, but it’s not yet time to welcome the crowd to the kids’ table. The storm of Thanksgiving is brewing, and Mom tells one of us to start gathering everyone at the dining room table, knowing it will take several minutes to get their attention and for them to take their places.

Amid the frenzy, at the most inappropriate time, I grab my mother’s arm and ask a question I heard my Dad ask hundreds of times through the years: “Do you want to dance?” It was a question he asked in the midst of mayhem, as well as when we were having fun. I know it’s the last thing Mom wants to hear, and the last thing she wants to do, but she’ll oblige, let me grab her, and dance just a few steps to pause from the commotion. It’s a wonder she hasn’t socked me at least once through the years. Instead, she indulges me, letting me twirl her around, however briefly.

That dance, however brief, always makes me pause and take in the moment. It’s a reminder that amid the frenzy, the heart of Thanksgiving is about the people around you and the memories you create together. Every family has its own traditions—some loud and boisterous, others quiet and subtle. For us, it’s always been about the little things: who’s cutting the cheese and arranging it in a unique pattern, the playful declarations about who sits where, the familiar dishes that make their way to the table year after year, using Mom’s “good dishes,” and even a quick dance in the chaos. And then, as everyone finally gathers around the table, the chaos fades into laughter, the clinking of serving spoons in dishes, and heartfelt thanks for the abundance in front of us—and around us.

I imagine scenes like this take place in homes all across the country, each with its own unique flavor and cast of characters. Yet the way the day unfolds is strikingly similar—families gathered around tables, sharing food and laughter, and taking a moment to give thanks for the abundance we’re blessed with every day.

Tom Brand, a native of Hopkins, Missouri, graduated from North Nodaway High School and attended the University of Missouri. He spent 19 years as a farm broadcaster at KMA and KFEQ radio, 12 years as Executive Director of the National Association of Farm Broadcasting (NAFB), and is currently the director of the St. Joseph Community Alliance. He and his wife, Beth, live in St. Joseph.