As Thanksgiving approaches (with lightning speed, I might add), I’ve been walking down memory lane and revisiting past holidays. As the years go by, fewer and fewer stick out in my mind (what can I say? It’s a side effect of getting older 😉 ), but there will always be a select few that I’ll always remember and treasure forever.
One of the few I can still picture in vivid detail was my first Thanksgiving away from home.
It was 1999, and I was fresh out of Basic Training. That September, I was sent to Keesler AFB in Biloxi, Mississippi for tech school. I volunteered for the drill team right out of the gate. I loved the marches, formations, my teammates, and the comradery; hell, I loved everything about Keesler. To this day, I look fondly on the time I spent there.
Let’s fast forward to November of that same year because this will end up being a novel if I don’t!
The powers that be did what they could to let us go home for the holiday, but this isn’t an ideal world, and this is the one part that is fuzzy. I don’t remember why some of us couldn’t go home for Thanksgiving, so I’ll leave it at that.
We were hanging out around one of the smoke pits near the dormitories (just picture a wooden gazebo) and lamenting over the fact that we had to stay and were going to miss out on some good food. I mean, the chow hall was awesome, but there is nothing like a home-cooked Thanksgiving turkey.
The drill team leader, a short airman with black hair cut just below her ears stood up, her manner stoic as she lifted her head. The movement was so commanding, that it silenced the entire gazebo.
“We will make our own Thanksgiving,” she declared.
And that was all it took.
The smoke pit turned into an excited Thanksgiving Command Center as we planned the meal. It would be held in the fishbowl (a community center for us airmen in training, complete with a kitchen). We had everything worked out to a capital T, right down to who’d ask the chaplain for permission to use the kitchen.
I’ll never forget playing Risk, laughing and joking the day away as the cozy aroma of turkey, mashed potatoes, and pumpkin pie filled the air. I’ll never forget drinking cider as I looked down at my plastic little men (contemplating their next move as I eyed the plastic men of my friends), the cheerful chatter, the fervent excitement when the food was ready, or the way everyone pitched in to clean up.
It was our first Thanksgiving away from home, but we made it our own, and I will always treasure the memory of us coming together that wonderful Thursday afternoon.
It was a testament to the America I love, the America where people from all walks of life come together in love and kindness. This is the America we must fight for, now, more than ever.
Happy Thanksgiving, and remember:
Kindness matters.
❤ mlc
