Many, many, MANY years ago, when I was in college (don’t ask
when, that’s none of your business), I was in a classroom on the Wednesday before
the Thanksgiving weekend, eyeballing the clock, waiting for 1:30 to tick by so
I could get the fuck out of there. Traffic’s
a bitch the day before Thanksgiving.
Also, there’s food to be ate and booze to be drank. There’s no time for all of that fancy book
learning the day before Thanksgiving. One
thirty came, and I put my notes in my backpack (that may be an indication of
how long it’s been since college, I still wrote notes there), Along with 30 of my classmates, I stood up
and got ready to walk out the door. That
professor was still standing at the podium, though, clearly not ready to let us
leave. So, we all sat back down, one eyebrow
raised, real indignant, hateful looks on our faces. Dr. Boileau stood silent for a moment. The discontent grew with every tick of the second hand on
the clock. Finally, he said, “you all
have somewhere to be right?” Uh. Clearly.
“So, what is it that you are excited for? Seeing your friends, your family? Eating more food than you should? You all looking forward to going to the bar
tonight when you get home? You know that
the night before Thanksgiving is the busiest bar night of the year, right?” We may not have known that at the time, but we
did know that the traffic on the beltway was only getting thicker with every
question he asked. We also knew that the
longer we sat and played 20 questions, was postponing time until we could belly
up to the bar with people we only got to see once a year.
Now, let’s be clear, I really liked that guy. I learned a lot of shit from him. The world of academia applauded him for his
contributions to social and interpersonal communication. As all of his students did. However, at 1:35, none of us cared to indulge
him in reindeer games. We just wanted to
go. A few people actually walked
out. But, mostly, we stayed out of
respect for the man and his
position. Finally, he said “so, tonight
when you get home and you hug the people you haven’t seen in a long time,
tomorrow when you sit at dinner with your families, Friday, when you stand in
line at Kohl’s, to get all your holiday shopping done, and Sunday when you
drive home, remember what’s important.” Again. Nothing.
We had nothing. We really didn’t
care. Finally, Dr. Boileau said “Remember
what the holiday is about. It’s about
giving thanks. It’s about
gratitude. It’s about remembering why
you are fortunate.” More silence. He said nothing else. That took seven minutes. The longest seven minutes of our lives. Until we got on the beltway, and sat in all
that traffic. There was plenty of time
to think about what he had said there. As
I cruised along at 3.5 MPH for 80 miles, I remember thinking “Ohhhh….this guy’s
fucking good.”
When I finally pulled into the driveway in Chesapeake, 8
hours after I had left Fairfax, normally a three hour drive, I had thought a
lot about what he said. More than I
should have. But I had an extra five hours
to think about it. I did all of the same
things. I walked in. I hugged.
I laughed. I went to the bar. I stole the Peyton Manning DirecTV poster
before I went home. I mean what would a
holiday be if I didn’t take home a bar memento? (I have three Peyton Manning posters,
BTW.) Anyway, the next morning, I woke
up and still couldn’t shake those words:
“…It’s about remembering why you are fortunate.” I woke up early, before anyone else, and I
went to the computer. I composed an
email to the people I was most grateful for.
There were eight. And I told them
all how much they meant to me and how they made my life better. I felt really good about that email. So, I made it a tradition.
Every year at Thanksgiving, the first thing I did, was write
an email to the people I was most grateful for.
The people who made me smile. The
people who gave me guidance. The people
who were always honest and helpful and inspirational. The first year there were eight. The next year there were eleven. Every year, the number got bigger. My first year back in California, there were
45. I remember writing that email and
thinking “maybe 45 is too many.” Maybe
the message looses meaning if you tell everyone you know that you are grateful
for them. I kept going, though. And every year, there were more people I was
grateful for. Pretty awesome,
right?
Until this year, when I composed an email and I wrote down
everyone I was going to sent it to. More
than 150. Again, I thought “maybe that’s
too much.” Then I read the email and I
wasn’t real comfortable with it. It’s
pretty much the same email every year. Thank
you for helping me. Thank you for sharing
yourselves with me. Thank you for giving
me perspective and direction. Thank you
for the last 15 years. Thank you for the
last five months. Words. Stuff.
Does it mean anything anymore?
So, I didn’t sent the email today.
Today, being the day before Thanksgiving. The same day that I have sent the same email
for more years than you will ever dare to ask me. (it’s none of your business.)
Again, I told you this story to tell you the next
story. Today, I was down in the warehouse. I walked my old friend’s office. It’s a big office. We even joked about how big it was. I’m gonna get him some better art work
though. It’s real sterile there. But the office is big. I walked in and I said “look at you and your
big , fancy office.” Embarrassed, he
laughed and gave the stock response: “well,
I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m a pretty big deal.” Yep. I’ve
heard. I smiled and sat down on his big
couch, kicked my feet up and we just talked.
The last time we had talked was on Monday. I was real pissed on Monday. Anyone who saw me on Monday knew that I was
fucking pissed. After we got the pleasantries
out of the way, the first thing my
friend asked was “are you feeling better?”
Nope. Well,
maybe. Kinda? Then I laid it all out. I told him the entire story of why I’ve been
so angry. I told him where my hostility
stems from and everything I’ve done to make it all right with the
universe. Then I laughed and told him he
should have closed the door before I walked in.
I laughed again. He didn’t’
laugh. He just said “why do you think
that other people don’t want to hear your story? Maybe you don’t always have to put on the ‘tough
bitch’ show.” EEEEGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!! I was so terrified of not being accepted, that
all I could say was “I just don’t want to burn people out.”
That’s the truth. I don’t want to burn people out. I don’t want them to be so aggravated with my
emotion that they never want to see me again.
I don’t want to be that girl who is always screaming about how life isn’t
right. Mart and I talked about a lot of
other things. We talked about children
and jobs and the future. I walked out of
his office and he said “you need help taking the toner to the car?” That’s what I was there for. Toner.
And I yelled from the front door. “Pretty sure I’ve got it!’ And I
smiled as I walked to the car. That was
fun.
As I was driving back to from Mart’s office, I thought about that email I was going
to send today. The email that has become
tradition. The tradition that Don
Boileau originated, without even knowing he had. I didn’t send the email. It was too stock. It was too generic to send to the people I
love. An email can’t say thank you for
being genuine. An email can’t say thank
you for reminding me of where I need to be.
It won’t ever say thank you for making me laugh or holding me or
listening to me. Emails won’t ever say I’m
sorry for cussing your existence because you recounted my inadequacies. An email will NEVER say Thank you for making
me better. Or I love you for being
you. Or thank you for loving me. Even though I’m a hateful bitch.
Don Boileau made me think about what I’m grateful for. And I’m grateful for a lot. What are you grateful for?
-Inner Peas
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