Giving Thanks, 2009

The year Mom died was the last time the giant, knotted Joliat family all migrated to Detroit.  We worried about Dad, one month from losing his Elaine.  I worried that my family would observe my lack of any cooking skill.  I rolled out of Dad's guest room early in the morning, to help get the stuffing assembled.  There was Dad, tearing a giant tub of bread he had dried out, and adding it to his chopped celery and onion.  The neck and giblets were bubbling in a pan, and his bird waited for its dressing.  The man had never had to touch a pan in his life, but he had things well in hand.  He showed me that life resumes, changed but supported by tradition and love. 

Last year, Dad had almost the whole family in Detroit, and my brother orchestrated tickets to the Lions game one last time. The game promised to be another Lions rout, but Dad looks joyful.  He was backtracking a tradition he had enjoyed with his own brother when he was a young man.  It was a good day; we missed it. 

Without Dad this year, the Joliats have scattered and sought a celebration without sad echoes.  Jenny is at Disney World with grandkids.  Mike is in Florida, trying to heal his heart and leg after the bypass surgery of October.  Judy stayed home in Chicago, to nudge her son in his college quest and cheer on Maine South as it continues its football season.  Paul will be greeting his son's homecoming from West Point, and he will host the holiday dinner for Marie, who will also remain in Royal Oak.  I think we all absorbed Dad's example, and want to demonstrate that life goes on- changed, but still rich beyond belief.

To that end, I am here in Maui, with my life's greatest treasures- Steve and my family. I created "tour shirts" to immortalize the week, and I will nag my family for a photo-op which they will grant me after I beg and cajole enough.  To get to paradise, we drifted through an airport teeming with soldiers- heading home, heading out.  They were younger than my sons, and my heart filled with hopes for a peace that would bring families together without the boots and fatigues.  Some families have larger holes in their holidays.  

There are legions of things to be grateful for, and many of them germinated in my roots-the Joliat family.  I have known the safety of family security and love in my parents' marriage.  I have always had food to eat; scrambled eggs and lumberjack (pancake)  dinners never seemed like ways to stretch a budget, they were adventures.  My parents postponed all luxuries, and lived modestly so they could pay our tuition at Catholic elementary and high schools.  They encouraged us to read.  They sent us all to college, and expected us to repay their sacrifice with strong work and an intense work ethic.

 Mom and Dad had a balancing act going in the 50's and 60's- we were a big brood in a small home.  They had a unique system-there was no demonstration of unconditional love, though we knew it was there.  We had to earn their attention and praise through service and accomplishment.  When Mom arrived home from the grocery store, we would descend like drones to help her put the goods away.  If she was out , we would clean cupboards, do laundry or set the table just so we could give her the "ta-da" that would bring us her approval.  When we got jobs, we would use our money to buy Mom a treat.  We would evaporate rather than get a bad report card.  If Mom arched her eyebrow at us, we knew we were on thin ice and shut our mouths.  It worked like a charm, and to this day, I cannot figure out why I did not incorporate it into my Dahl world.  I am a pushover: my boys have turned out to be wonders of my world, but it is a happy accident.  I am the most deconstructed Joliat.  After I moved to Chicago, I never even sorted my silverware in the drawer until Mom and Dad came to visit me, and I knew I would get that arched brow. 

Today I am up before the family, and it gave me this time to give thanks for my past and my present, and to hope for a future that will reveal its blessings.  To the last week of his life, Dad would proclaim that he was "tip top" -even as a walk to the kitchen would require a rest.  But he was "tip top"- because his life was rich with love.  Every moment holds a miracle.  On this day, I hope that all of my family, friends, and anyone visiting here allows their blessings and miracles to come into focus, and their challenges to fade. Happy Thanksgiving.  Mahalo and aloha. I hope you are all "tip top".