Thankful for return to the Lone Star State

Thursday will be my first Thanksgiving in Texas since 2004. Then, my family and I had a modest celebration at our home in San Antonio, unable to afford the trip to visit my family in Beeville or my sons’ grandmother in McAllen.

Gosh, am I glad those miserable days are gone.

This Thanksgiving will also mark the first one that my two youngest sons and I have visited with my family in about 10 years. (My oldest son is grown and lives in Michigan. My sons’ mother also lives in Michigan, and after three years of separation, she and I will soon be divorcing).

Over those years in Michigan there were many Thanksgiving celebrations. Some were memorable. Others were…um, very forgettable. ’Nuff said.

This Thanksgiving should be far more relaxing. When you get the Zowie siblings together (Sabrina the firstborn, Misti the middle child and myself the youngest), there’s guaranteed laughter.

This holiday also represents a new hope, a lot to be thankful for. I thought I’d list some of those for readers of the Fredericksburg Standard-Radio Post.

I’m thankful to be living in Texas again. Although I’m an oil brat who didn’t move to Texas until I was eight, I consider this home and myself an adopted Texan. I’ve told my sons that I’m staying in Texas for good this time. Someday, I will be buried in Texas. Of all the places I’ve been, Texas has this strong aura that I find myself wanting to be a part of. Maybe it’s the culture, the accents, the lifestyle, the people, and maybe it’s all of those. I no longer have to look at Texas cities on a map and wish I could be a part of that daily existence.

I’m thankful that my sons are all settling down and doing well. My oldest is moving up the ranks where he works and is taking classes at a community college. The two youngest, earlier this month, both made the All-A Honor Roll. I’ve told them that I’d like to see them have the type of life where they can easily make ends meet and have the funds to travel and partake in hobbies. It would be quite a generational change: my maternal grandfather was an impoverished cottonpicker, and the closest he had to a will was a request to be buried in his overalls.

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