The Family Thanksgiving Tree...

Dear Maria,

You know how it goes, a little warm-up, followed by thunderstorms, followed by a cool-down, most likely until the other side of the Christmas season. What other people seem to have in store temperature-wise and/or by way of snowfall—well, they have my condolences. This cold snap has finished the lantana and nearly done in the plumbago. But the roses may have a few more blooms left in them over the next two, maybe three weeks.

From my perch, a chair maybe five feet from the sliding glass doors, I can see a street over one of the tallest trees in the neighborhood. Of course, my two white oaks are of good size, too, at least forty feet I would guess. And I can also see on the left the little plum that I put in two years ago and over to the right, the crape added this spring.

Over the years I have planted dozens of trees, the oldest a Bradford pear in Northbridge Terrace some, oh, 18 years ago, I believe. It dominates the corner where I placed it—yes, I have driven by and taken a look. One of my children, of a sort.

Four weeks ago, or maybe five now, I happened to tell two good friends—on separate occasions—with the irony duly noted, that I think I would make a good father now. I know, I know. Much credit to them that they did not verbally, not even visibly reveal any astonishment—true friends, the two of them. Of course, I can imagine the howls of disbelief to chuckles to outright derision on some fronts. Eye-rolling at the very least.

Begs the question of “Why now?” to be sure. Certainly flies in the face of my definitive declarations against fatherhood for 98% of my adult life. Yep, I did the math. You know very well that my ego several times and rightfully so was handed to me on a platter these last few years, and without the demands—self-inflicted to a degree—of that other thing I did as my daily bread, I find myself standing much revealed to be in a very different place these days.

Fortunately, my siblings and their children have enthusiastically rewarded me with the role of uncle, which is essentially to always be the bringer of ice cream. Not the same as parenting, I am all too aware. And I am also lucky to know a number of folks with babies and infants, and so I can delight in the cooing without dutifully dealing with the pooping.

This week a number of the family, more than 20 or so most likely, will gather for Thanksgiving, and while we are not perfect in our roles—not even in something so much easier as being an uncle—we are rooted deep and spread wide. Thankfully. Just like your family.

So may your holiday be a happy occasion, and safe travels to all who must travel some miles to join in the festivities.

Kindly and warmly,

srk