Forget the turkey. (Poor thing – but that’s another theme altogether.) Forget the presents. Forget the dressing-up, the pomp, the nicely-laid table, and all the stress and expense leading up to this special day. There’s only one thing that really counts, and I’m sure everyone who celebrates Thanksgiving knows what it is. Yes, of course. It’s the ‘thanks’ part of the giving. The giving of thanks. That’s the real gift.
Okay, duh, you might say, because that’s hardly an original thought. But seriously, every year when this day comes round (and I’m not even American, so my family has never officially celebrated it), I treasure a special something in my heart. Don’t you? As long as we’re alive and free, and at least in reasonable health, shouldn’t we all be thankful?
What a lovely idea the original Pilgrim Fathers had, when they celebrated their first harvest festival in their new land way back in 1621. And how very nice of President Lincoln to make it an official celebration over two hundred years later, in 1863. Just think of all the thanks that have been exchanged around family tables and in deepest hearts since then.
I remember the happiest Thanksgiving of my life. I was sweet thirty-seven (a far better age to be than sweet sixteen, believe me!); I was in love, and I was pregnant. I already had two children, and hadn’t expected to add another one to the brood at this relatively advanced stage in my fertile years. I’d also already had one previous marriage behind me (ending in an amicable divorce), so likewise hadn’t expected to be given another chance at love so close to encroaching middle-age. All round, it was a euphoric time of my life, and Thanksgiving seemed the ideal opportunity to give voice to such joy.
At the dinner party that my partner and I were invited to (we weren’t yet married yet – that would come later), we found ourselves in the company of a charming American hostess and seven or eight international teachers sitting round her elaborate Thanksgiving table. The setting was perfect: an old-world apartment tucked into the loft of a nineteenth-century building, right in the heart of historic Kraków. It was a good job I was only in early pregnancy, as the five steep flights of wooden stairs we had to climb, bereft of a modern-day lift, would have proven nigh impossible a few months later!
Anyway, climb them we did. The scrumptious aromas that greeted us upon arrival, along with the all-consuming ambience of candle-light, wooden beams and smiling faces turning towards us, instantly put my mind at ease. You see, just before leaving our own flat, I’d had last-minute doubts about accepting the invitation when my hormones were still wreaking havoc, conjuring mood swings and nausea most days. But I needn’t have worried.
It was a magical evening. The food was delicious (my nausea miraculously disappeared), the company warm and sincere, and when our effusive hostess asked each of her guests to express something they were thankful for – going round the table in turn, like a school exercise – my initial British inhibition was trampled underfoot when it came to my turn. Miraculously, all self-consciousness, reserve and disapproval (Oh, you Americans and your gregarious ways…) blew out the window – which was closed, admittedly, being late November with the first hint of snow in the air, but never mind that. Even more amazingly, I found myself genuinely wanting to express heartfelt thanks aloud – to share the joy I was feeling in my life at that time.
At that time.
Hmm. Sounds sad? Suggests an ending?
The thing is, once we leave childhood behind, we learn that all good things come to an end. But we also learn that they are replaced, in time, by other good things. Even if there are dark stretches to wade through in between, there’s usually a glimmer of light winking just round the corner, waiting to replace those were the days with THESE are the days, my friend!
As it happens, my marriage to the man I was in love with, back on that distant Thanksgiving Day, eventually came to an end. So that was certainly a dark time, with no sign of any twinkling lights round that deceitful corner. Just one more of life’s good things thrown out the window. But wait – not entirely. We’re still friends now, and there’s still love there. Even if the marriage didn’t last, the memories of our good times did. And still do.
And now, on this Thanksgiving Day of 2025, I give thanks to the beautiful memory of that long-ago Thanksgiving, when my happiness was so over-brimming, I wanted the whole wide world to know about it, not just the handful of guests at that treasured dinner party, still so vivid in my heart and mind.
So if you’re reading this right now, feel free to join me in giving thanks — for this special day, for past special days, and for all those unlived-as-yet special days still waiting for us. And then make sure to add them to life’s most precious collection: the good memories – the ones we’re thankful for. One of life’s greatest gifts.
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Cover picture generated by AI
Wendy Skorupski 