Lately, I’ve been nostalgic for the 1950’s, the decade of my early childhood. I daydream about life then, remembering the holidays with oodles of relatives crowding into our kitchen and around the dining table, first to eat and later, to talk or play cards. Sifting through my memories, I remember it as a simpler time, filled with love, delicious food, laughter and conversation.
This year, as is our custom, we spent Thanksgiving with my son and family, who live across town. My daughter-in-law’s entire family joined us so, mimicking my childhood, fifteen of us crowded around two tables stretched out to be one.
After we’d all had our fill of turkey, I watched my daughter-in-law prepare to whip the cream for pumpkin pie. My three-year-old grandson wanted his mama to pick him up, so she sat him up on the counter edge next to her, where he could watch the proceedings. I peered at him as he stared at all of us standing or sitting nearby laughing and talking. I had a sudden flashback where I was the little person at our large family gatherings so long ago. I wondered what my grandson might be thinking and hoped he was absorbing the free-flowing love that surrounded him and will, in later years, look back on these gatherings with the same fondness and love for family that I felt in that moment. Along with his mom, dad and brothers, I hope he will remember his grandmas and grandpas, aunts and uncles, and the enjoyment of all being together to celebrate the gratitude we feel for our comfortable lives. He may also remember it fondly as that “simpler time.”