Traditions
It wasn’t a tradition, really. But somehow that Thanksgiving stands apart from all the others in my mind as being…what Thanksgiving is all about.
I was 11 years old. The dynamics of my dysfunctional family had shifted, for better or for worse. Richard, a stepfather of sorts, had “temporarily” moved to Fairbanks “for work.” It was the first time that I could remember feeling things like security, safety, relief, even happiness.
For at least that November, it was just me, my brothers, and my mom. We bought tickets to The Great Alaska Shootout which is a college basketball tournament that comes every Thanksgiving in Anchorage. So for Thanksgiving weekend we headed to the big city. We even rented a car; stayed at a hotel. We ate at a buffet called the Kings Table. On Black Friday we went into big stores like Sports Authority and JCPenny. We bought cassettes of our favorite bands (CD’s were still pretty new and expensive). We all had the flu but I don’t remember that. I just remember feeling close with my brothers and my mom. I just remember feeling the absence of tension and fear.
I remember feeling peace. And clarity. That feeling when you know, or at least believe, that things are okay. Everything will be okay.
I am grateful for that memory. That was my last Thanksgiving with Mike, my brother, who died the next year. I am eternally grateful for that memory.








