I had a remarkable experience this Thanksgiving. It started out
normal, heading to my parents’ house anticipating all the great
food my mom makes every year. But this year was very different, and
it left me full of more than just good food.
Editor,
I had a remarkable experience this Thanksgiving. It started out normal, heading to my parents’ house anticipating all the great food my mom makes every year. But this year was very different, and it left me full of more than just good food.
My parents recently became foster parents to two boys from Sudan, Africa, ages 15 and 16. Joseph and Paul are so naive to our American ways that they are like babies. And yet they are more like men than most Americans will ever be. I can’t begin to understand the experiences they have had, for my life has been far too easy and I have been so blessed. This was their first Thanksgiving, or any other holiday here.
My parents also invited friends from their church, who are originally from Congo, Africa. Their names are African (Gadi and Bahati Nepa) but you can see how they have become African Americans. They are pursuing the “American Dream” with two young boys, owning a home, and discussing real estate investing with my father and I. The Nepas must be a comfort and an inspiration to Joseph and Paul who feel a little like “fish out of water.”
Like most Americans, we have our traditions. We like to go for a walk to “work off our dinner” (who are we kidding?), and most importantly, we take turns sharing what we are thankful for. This year, we played soccer (futbol) instead of walking (surely burning more calories) and like always we shared what we are thankful for. I am usually not short of words, but I found myself almost overwhelmed, and I didn’t know quite what to say. The thoughts were swirling in my head as we had just finished stuffing ourselves with more food than some people might see in a month. But most importantly, instead of being anonymous and in a far off land, those “some people” were sitting at our table. Those “some people” were my brothers and friends. I’ve never had to worry about having food to eat, and I’ve never had my family all murdered by rebels. I’ve never spent a month walking across my country to get to another country where I could spend six years in a refugee camp, dreaming of the opportunity to live in America. Can you even imagine? Stop for a moment and try.
My father’s sentiments were right on, but he too spoke clumsily. He only wishes he knew how to be thankful like them. Gadi was quick to correct my father and said “no, you don’t want to have the experiences we have had.” But the burning question in my mind is how can we be thankful when we don’t know what it’s like? It’s easy to believe that true happiness comes from success (which is a euphemism for having material things), but are we slaves to our materialism? I have always enjoyed nice cars and houses, and all the material things of this world. But how much is enough? I don’t know. I have some friends who are well off, and I know they struggle to teach their children to not take things for granted. Will their children be able to be thankful, and how can they ever have the gratefulness that comes from having so little? I do know I should be so much more thankful than I am, and I am thankful for Joseph, Paul, and the Nepas. And so much more.
Tony Bruscia, Hollister
