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For my family, Thanksgiving has always been the day that friends and relatives get together to thank God for His blessings on us for the last year. We’ll have the kids and grandkids over, the house will be noisy and the aroma coming from the turkey and dressing in the kitchen will be maddening. Before we eat, we’ll all gather at the table and give thanks not only for what He has given us, but what He has kept us from!

An evil is stalking the world now that wasn’t here when I was a kid. Maybe it’s been here all along but as a kid I never saw it lurking near the cotton fields of north Alabama. We knew what the devil was of course, from going to the West Huntsville Baptist Church every Sunday morning and evening, but I don’t think it entered our minds to think he was walking down the same road as us.

God in his infinite wisdom must have prepared a special place in heaven for watermelons, barbeque, shrimp and homemade banana ice cream! I’ve tasted watermelons all over the south, but the best ones I’ve ever eaten were the melons my cousin Jackie and I stole from Big Jim Tatum’s watermelon patch in Mississippi when we were kids.

Some memories, like good wine, age better than others. Sometimes when I awake early in the morning, in my mind I can still hear the rooster crowing as he greeted the sun with a boisterous cry and with a swagger in his walk. There are not a lot of roosters left in Mississippi now, having gone the way of hand milking old Bessie the cow and digging sweet potatoes with a shovel and bushel basket.

I remember one special Christmas morning, when dad and mother yawningly turned the Christmas tree lights on in the corner of the living room, illuminating all the wonders that Santa had brought the night before. This was before television and computers and well before video games.

As though it was yesterday, just as the morning light was seeping through the windows, I saw a red cowboy hat and a Roy Roger’s gun and holster set under the tree. On the other side of the tree there was a tan cowboy hat and pistol set. This one was for my younger brother.

Most of us take vacations for granted today. I know I do. Growing up, I can’t remember my father or any of my relatives taking one. Back then it was hard enough to raise a family by working every day, without taking a week or so off without pay. The closest thing to a vacation my folks had was a weekend off from work such as on the Fourth of July or Labor Day.