Alone in the Crowd

 

There are some people for whom a holiday like Thanksgiving does not make a good fit. It's not that they're ungrateful for all the blessings we're supposed to be thankful for on the fourth Thursday of November. It's just that life does not always accommodate a four-day weekend. It sometimes leaves people feeling alone, despite being in the midst of a crowd.

Face it: a day like today—the pandemonium of Black Friday following close after the feast day of Thanksgiving—is one I earnestly hope to avoid. Yet this year, situated less than four weeks away from Christmas, it will see me doing the last thing I'd hope to do: run into town to shop. Why? Because we want to get our Christmas tree up and decorated before leaving on a business trip. Sometimes, life just doesn't stop because it's time for a holiday. So I'll be out there, right in the midst of the shopaholic crowd—but certainly not there for the same reason.

If it isn't apparent to you yet, I am Thanksgiving's counterpart to the Grinch who stole Christmas. I've never enjoyed the day (let alone a four-day extension), though I've tried to reconcile myself to turkey dinners by creative additions of hors d'oeuvres and side dishes over the years. Even as a child, I found the day miserable, and during my college years, the pressure of the academic calendar couldn't justify a four-day transcontinental round trip, just to be with family.

Over the years, we've hosted others who have found themselves alone in the crowd on the Thanksgiving weekend. This year was no different, sharing our meal with a delightful guest whose work schedule couldn't permit the long drive home this week.

Our conversation turned to memories of family—not necessarily the family our guest would have liked to dine with this past Thanksgiving, but family of previous generations. I'm firmly convinced that every family has ancestors who can evoke memories and yield fascinating stories, and this extended family did not disappoint. Our guest's face came alive with the shared memories over dinner, amidst the encouragement to write these stories down before they are lost forever.

When I hear some family historians' recounting of their Thanksgiving visits, I get the impression that eyes glaze over among those captive at the dinner table, but that was certainly not the case for us. Of course, I have a vested interest in seeing others pursue their family's stories, but I can tell a fun story when I hear one.

Family historians are not as alone in the crowd as we might think we are. We have the ability to bring people's stories back to life again, to be remembered and appreciated for who they were. We may be the only one among our family members who actually do the research—in that one way, alone in the crowd—but when we bring those ancestors' stories to life again, there will eventually be an audience of those who appreciate the memories.