Thanksgiving 2006: My Employer
22 November, 2006 
General Pension
A great place to work!
I work 10 minutes from home, close enough to come home for lunch, doctor’s appointments and anything else that might come up. We are treated like adults and given a great deal of freedom to do our work well. The interpersonal relationships are more akin to friends or even family than employee/employer.
In the past we have had a summer schedule with alternating Friday’s off, and we have closed for the week between Christmas and New Year. (Just my personal opinion, but this practice should be federal law.) Today we got out early.
I am thankful for my employer.
Thanksgiving 2006: For Family
22 November, 2006 
I’ve covered those who live in my house, but family doesn’t end there. Well… if you’re only counting blood relatives you remain in touch with it comes close. I’m going to be more liberal.
Blood
This is difficult for me. I’ve got one of those new fangled “modern” families with divorce and re-marriage and all that. The lines of connection are fairly easy to keep track of, but when it comes to actually talking about everyone it gets really hard. The relationships, while full of love, are complex and messy. There’s back-story and unresolved feelings. Hallmark is just plain useless.
But through it all there’s love. It seems strange to me, but I have very few memories of my youth. Ages 0-5: I’ve got exactly one that comes to mind. I have more stories, but only one memory. The school years are a little less sparsely populated… but not much. That said, of the few memories I have, nearly all of my family - from grandparents to cousins - are there. Many of those people aren’t in my present, but they are in my past. And I’m sure, in ways large and small, each has left something with me, some imprint that helps to create the person I am today.
Marriage
While I have lost touch with a huge portion of my own extended, blood family, I’m fortunately enough to have married into a large family that remains close. Like crazy close. As in “close-enough-to-still-drive-each-other-crazy-on-an-almost-daily-basis” close. My first experience with the whole family was at a cousin’s wedding. Picture it with me: one of the older Pittsburgh neighborhoods; an elaborate and stunning Catholic sanctuary. On the left, the bride’s family, most of whom aren’t more than two generations removed from Mexico. Those are my in-laws.
Welcome to the family…
(The groom’s side had a strong ethnically Italian look about them. I told Kerri I felt like I had walked into The Godfather.)
You remember what I look like, right? I stood out like… well… like a pasty Irishman in a family of Mexicans.
I still do, but I’m glad to be a part of the family. As someone who remembers but doesn’t know most of my own extended family, I’m thankful my kids have cousins and aunts and uncles and great-grandparents that they know.
Honorary Family
We’ve got blood. We’ve got marriage. We’ve also got the “honorary” family. These are the aunts and uncles who aren’t really aunts and uncles. Those long-time family friends who just that close and dear. The parents of friends who did their own share of parenting you back in the day.
Honorary family is one of the best parts of living in the same town for 20 years. Thinking about it just know there are easily a few dozen relationships that go back more than a decade. That’s a big deal to someone who grew up an Air Force brat. At my best friend’s wedding, the seven of us groomsmen (including the groom) had all known each other for at least 15 years. My kids call his mom by the same nickname as her grandkids. That’s cool.
Today, I express my thanks for family of all kinds.
Thanksgiving 2006: For Luke
21 November, 2006 
The weirdest thing about being a father of three is being a father of three very different children. Samantha: lanky, pale skin, fine dark hair, hazel eyes. Jake: round cheeked, olive skin, wavy brown hair, endless brown eyes. And then there’s Luke…
For Luke
If you went poking through my baby pictures, there’d be no doubt that this is my son. Straight, blonde hair. Beautiful blue eyes. Slightly translucent skin. Without a date stamp, you’d be hard pressed to tell who is whom now that 70’s fashion is becoming vogue again.
Luke, I am your father.
Luke is our third, our youngest, and the last we will ever have naturally. (Kerri and I are keeping open the possibility of adoption down the line.) Because he’s our last, every moment has additional significance. No longer will we cycle through the newborn routines of midnight feedings, spit up, and belly button stumps. We’ve had our last first birthday, our last first steps, our last first words. From here on out we are moving forward, leaving things that have been part of our everyday life for half a decade behind.
And I am thrilled! It’s no secret: I think babies are alright, but I love ‘em when they start doing tricks. Just this afternoon Luke was imitating Jake, crawling around on the floor pretending to be a dog. Scruffy from Bob the Builder to be precise. Sunday he was doing his best to sing along in the car to “Away in a Manger.”
Luke is sly and subtle. He’s the only one who’ll sit and watch football with me. He’s my baby, and I’m thankful for him.
Thanksgiving 2006: For Samantha
Note to self: Do this more often. It pulls oneself out of the daily grime and adjusts one’s perspective. It also gives one an opportunity to talk about one’s self.
For Samantha
What can I say about my princess?
She’ll never remember my favorite moments with her; she was only minutes old. I suspect there was a minor oversight on the part of hospital, but whatever the reason I held you for nearly 90 minutes while Dr. Patel attended to Kerri. For 90 minutes I held you and stared at this new life. And you stared back. We watched each other for what felt like an eternity.
In that first hour the magnitude of your arrival began to sink in. Kerri and I would ask each other, “What do you think life will be like with a child?” I always answered, “I don’t know.” I had nothing to compare it to, no frame of reference within which to even begin imagining. I could picture life as a father no better than a blind man could picture the Mona Lisa. So, I am forever grateful for that oversight that allowed me 90 minutes with you.
It seems I’ve shifted perspective and am now writing to Samantha as much as about her. Hmmm…
Well, in that first hour you wrapped my around your finger, and I’ve been there ever sense. Aside from your dark hair, you and I are cut from the same cloth… right down to the freckles that dot our nose and cheeks. We clicked instantly. We cuddled on the couch watching This Old House many Saturdays. You slept for hours on my chest. We are best friends already.
I’m thankful for Samantha, and I thank her for easing me into fatherhood.
Thanksgiving 2006: For Jake
No list of things for which I am thankful would be complete without my kids. There are days when I joke, asking Kerri how I let her talk me into having more than one. As an only child the noise and activity are things for which I wasn’t prepared. I’ll be honest; I told her I wanted lots of kids. I clearly had no idea what I was getting myself into, but that’s OK.
For Jake
So, I’m starting with Jake. Why him?
He is a solar dervish, emitting endless life and constant energy.
Because he’s our middle child, and middle children too often get the short end of the stick.
Because he was born near the end of Rob’s life, and too many of those early days were spent in hospitals, away from home, tending to others.
Because of all our children, he is the least like me. Though he carries my name, he’s olive, dark, and wavy-haired like his mother. His eyes are endless pools that soak up my soul. He is a solar dervish, emitting endless life and constant energy.
Because he and I clash like titans, and I am just now, three years into his life, discovering how to be his dad.
Because it is hardest for me to communicate love to him in ways that he understands, though I love him deeply and long for him to grasp as much of that as possible.
This Thanksgiving I am thankful for Jake.
Thanksgiving 2006: For Kerri
Will started it, and it looks like Bob it picking up on the theme, too. I’m happy to be on this bandwagon…
I’m thankful for Kerri. It might be a bit cliché to start with one’s wife, but I’m doing it. Will and Bob did the same. Sue us. We’ve got great wives. (Perhaps you should thank them, because I’m willing to bet none of us would be half the man we are if it weren’t for them.)
Kerri and I have been married nearly a decade; we were “steady” for another five or so years before that. She’s my best friend, by confidant, my audience, my lover (shhh! don’t tell our parents), and my strength on so many feeble days. Together we’ve graduated (a couple times each), welcomed children, bid farewell to a loved one, bought a home, traveled, laughed, fought (a little), cried (ok, I came really close…), risked, dreamed, failed, wondered and silently held one another.
In some ways I’m your typical male, oblivious to many of the subtleties that go into relationships. With Kerri, however, the briefest touch lingers. A glance lasts for days.
So, I begin my list here… with Kerri.
There but for the grace of you go I
