I Hate Thanksgiving

I hate all holidays, including my birthday, because nobody ever remembers it and nobody ever gives me any presents. Holidays are good for only one thing, and that's getting a day off from work.

Since I don't work, I don't give a damn.

However ...

It's called Thanks-Giving.

I've been thinking about something a lot over the last several days, and it's this: there must have been a good fairy at my christening who blessed me with a special gift that has grown each day I've lived.

She gave me the gift of love.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not saying I'm lovable. I'm not saying people care deeply about me. In fact, I don't believe I'm particularly lovable; and I have no idea if there are any people who care one whit about me.

Well, no, wait, there is Bobby.

But I never thought that was important anyway, being lovable or cared about.

No, the gift she dumped on me was a capacity to love.

And what I love are the people who've allowed me into their orbits. They're a remarkable tribe, the people I love. Endlessly fascinating. Sometimes inscrutable. Creative. Wounded. Joyous. Alive.

It is better to love than to be loved. And I'm happy.

I'm thankful.