Thoughts About Thanksgiving

 

With the upcoming American holiday of Thanksgiving only days away, my mind lately has turned to memories of that time period from my childhood. In fact, I've been sharing those memories in recent genealogy presentations, and all for good reason: I think the Thanksgiving holiday may be one of the prime reasons I've always wanted to learn more about my own family history.

You see, even though I grew up in the New York City metro area—I was only a thirty mile drive away from the big Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade—our family never did anything fun on that holiday. Granted, any day off from school was a day for students to celebrate, but for me, Thanksgiving didn't fall into that category. With steel-gray skies overhead and near freezing temperatures—but nothing as fun as snow yet—I'd mope around the house with the parade running on the tiny TV in our living room until I couldn't stand it any longer, and go outside, looking for friends.

No one. Up and down the street I'd look, trying to find anyone to hang out with, and give up. Sitting on our milk box on the front porch, I'd watch the planes flying overhead on their approach to Idlewild Airport, and wonder, "Where is everyone?"

That, of course, was a rhetorical question. I knew where everyone was: they were on their way to visit aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents who lived somewhere else. Everyone, that is, except for me.

That was likely when I first began asking questions about our invisible extended family: who they were, where they lived, and why we didn't see them more often. Thankfully, my mother had lots of answers and was happy to oblige me on many occasions since then, though my dad hardly added anything—a testimony to my current drive to connect with my Polish paternal roots this month.

It's been many, many years since that point when I first woke up to that missing part of my life, that part about knowing my roots. I have never since stood along the parade route of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, though I know its own heritage began one hundred years ago. But I can say that now, after decades of searching for answers about my own heritage—and thankful for the stories shared with me by older siblings, cousins, and even DNA matches along the way—I have a bit more peace about knowing who my extended family has been, and where I fit in this larger family tapestry. And that's the kind of thanks I can celebrate this Thanksgiving.