Was not about food.
One of you pointed out that there are children starving in Africa, who would saw off their malnourished limbs to get a steaming pile of that Thanksgiving goodness.
I know! My God, I know.
There are children starving in Africa. And here in Nashville.
And babies are dying of cancer.
And parents are living with dementia.
And that electronic billboard tallying the death toll on I-40 keeps going up and up.
And if all of that senseless tragedy could be summed up in one meal, I’m pretty sure it would look exactly like that turkey.
I am grateful beyond words.
So how do I explain to you what I mean about the turkey?
Just … consider for a moment all those things for which I'm so grateful. I have this perpetual buzzing awareness that any one of them could be snatched away from me at any moment, for any reason.
If that were to happen, and I were to find myself plunged into darkness, and someone were to slide that tray of turkey into my life, I’m telling you it would be my undoing. I don’t think I would survive that moment.
Do I sound insane yet? Let me try harder.
It’s not just institutional turkey lunches that depress me.
It’s the cheap stuffed animals people try to win at county fairs, and too white tennis shoes worn with too new blue jeans, and carnations—especially the ones that have been tinted to match a certain holiday, and old women buying pork chops on Manager’s Special. It's that gutwrenching Make a Wish Foundation, where the kid’s dying wish is always just to get a whole bunch of cards or to meet someone like Justin Bieber, or the president, or Elmo, or Mickey Mouse. It's a grown woman requesting a silver blouse from the god damn Angel Tree.
This shit kills me. And I don't know why.
In the end it takes so little to make people happy.
Why does that make me so sad?