I asked dad if we should invite Harold, the 82-year old next door neighbor and World War II veteran, over to our modest turkey dinner and he thought it was a good idea. My brother and I used to play with Harold's kids during the late 70s/early 80s when I would summer in Easthampton and I hadn't seen much of him since. He was old and semi-deaf yet sturdy and he had planned to heat up a can of soup for the holiday so he was grateful for the invitation. During dinner, we talked about this and that and I wondered what Thanksgiving was like for folks back in the day. "What were people thankful for?" Harold shared a fond memory of his youth when his grandfather, a farmer, would round up his slaves on Christmas day and let each one of them take a peek through their large living room window at the beautiful Christmas tree that had been trimmed to the nines. And, as they left to go back to their quarters, Harold's grandfather would hand each one of them a cube of caramel for Christmas.
The turkey started to kick in and I got sleepy.