Monday, November 19, 2007

www.whiteville.com

By JEFFERSON WEAVER
Staff writer

I have a new hero. His name is Tyrone.

His actions of a week before Halloween gave me hope for America’s children. You see, Tyrone punched Santa Claus.

The Santa was just an inflatable yard decoration, but Tyrone agreed with my guiding principle that Christmas is Christmas, Thanksgiving is Thanksgiving, and Halloween is Halloween. The three are being melted together into a politically correct holiday I call Commercialmas, which is a column for another day.

I only know Tyrone’s name because his slightly older sister shrieked “Tyrone!” when he bopped Santa in his nose so red and merry.

“It’s HALLOWEEN!” Tyrone loudly announced, shortly before huffing his way into the store for this year’s costume. “It’s time for CANDY, not PRESENTS!” They had to pass a huge display of Christmas stuff to get to the costumes and candy.

I saw him later, one fist in a death grip on a pirate costume. I’m not sure what his sister’s costume was, but their momma had fallen victim to the sales-demons and had several Christmas-type things.

Tyrone had his priorities straight; still, I have to wonder what happened to Thanksgiving.

The fourth Thursday of November was always a big deal at my house. We always dressed for Thanksgiving at Mother’s house; after Miss Rhonda and I were married, it was rather confusing since Thanksgiving dinner is always a more casual affair with her family. While we rarely had more than eight or ten around Mother’s carefully and feverishly set table, that’s not even a good start for a holiday dinner at my in-laws. The polar contrast of the two gatherings were always a special part of the holiday for me, although I didn’t begin to realize that until Papa was gone and Mother was going and our Thanksgiving traditions were slipping away.

I do not want to see Thanksgiving forgotten, and it angers me that the holiday is cast aside as little more than a prelude to the season of Christmas shopping warfare. It never ceases to amaze me how many stores are now open on Thanksgiving. I am archaic, if not arcane, enough to remember when that wasn’t the case.

One year, when a sneaky hound snatched the stuffing from Mother’s kitchen counter, Papa had to search through three towns for over an hour to find replacement ingredients. Nowadays I doubt that would be a problem, since every retailer is pressured to get a jump on the Christmas shopping season, and some shoppers simply must spend some money, lest it spoil.

That’s not what Thanksgiving is about to me.

Thanksgiving, the holiday folks would like to forget, is supposed to be a time for being grateful for the blessings we receive throughout the year. Trite as it may seem, I love Thanksgiving, and not just because of the food. I have far more to be thankful for than I can relate.

I have salvation through Jesus Christ; I had the best upbringing my parents could offer.

I have a close handful of friends I know I can call on anytime, anywhere, for anything. I have a family who loves me, and I love them in return. I have a wonderful wife who feeds me, puts up with me, and loves me unconditionally.

I have the sounds of chickens in the morning and geese in the afternoon. I have the joyous barking of far too many dogs and the comforting purr of contented cats.

I have a good job, with a fine company, and people who for some reason read the words I write, even when they disagree with me.

I have dawns and sunsets and night skies that remind me the problems of this earth are really very tiny. I have the cry of a hunting hawk, the philosophical mourning of an owl’s hoot, the rustle of the pines in a forest like a church and the morning mist on a bay lake.

I have hot coffee at a lunch counter or a cold soft drink in a country store; a cold biscuit eaten on the tailgate of a truck; or a chunk of cornbread hot out of the oven dripping with butter.

I have a church with a spirit-led pastor and a choir that loves to sing and people who have become my second family.

I have doves rocketing across a cornfield, ducks rising from a marsh, deer lightfooting through the bay forests, coonhounds singing in the cold dark night, and fish tugging on a cane pole.

So please, don’t try to take away Thanksgiving. If not for my sake, then for Tyrone and his sister, since they still have a few years to make some holiday memories with their families before heading out to create their own families and hence, new memories.

As for me, I already have far too many reasons to be thankful, and it’s impossible to fit them all in just one day.

So please, don’t try to take away Thanksgiving. Give us a day or two between ghosts and goblins and Santa and his reindeer.

Shoot, you might even find a reason or two of your own to be thankful. If you don’t, call me and I’ll share.

Happy Thanksgiving, folks.

Weaver is a staff writer at The News Reporter. You can reach him by telephone at 642-4104, ext. 227, or via e-mail at jeffweaver@newsreporter.biz.