Our national holiday of "Thanksgiving" took root almost 400 years ago, when Massachusetts colonists and members of the Wampanoag people gave thanks to God for harvest and health. It was a bold experiment by Plymouth Governor William Bradford, and it worked. It lasted. Heck, it became an Act of Congress in 1941.

What doesn't take an Act of Congress, however, is the memory of past Thanksgivings in my life ... some of which are sketchy at best. Food ... yes, there's always food; sports ... yes, always games in the yard or on TV, and if you're old enough, games on the radio, and if you're REALLY old enough, games in the parlor. Stories have been told, old acquaintances have been renewed, and Alka Seltzer has flowed like the headwaters of the Rappahannock on a warm spring morning in Shenandoah.

Thanksgiving has always had special value for me, albeit self-serving, for there is always a one-in-seven chance that it's my birthday. For, you see, a birthday on Thanksgiving is a special thing - after all, how many people get turkey, mashed potatoes, and all the other delights on just an ordinary birthday! I admit my bias here, and thank my parents for keeping the latter part of November 'open' way back when.

One particular Thanksgiving day stands out in my mind, and I think of it each year. I was a young kid - and our family was together ... no Korean War or other assignment to split us geographically apart. All together in the same 'zip-code', before 'zip-codes'. As I recall, this was before television - or at least before we had television. It must have been in the mid to early fifties, perhaps earlier. It was Thanksgiving. Just our immediate family.

The turkey was cooked, potatoes made, along with all the other stuff. Grace was said - not routine for ordinary meals, at least verbally. The radio was on - it was what we now call the "pre-game show" of a football game. My father's school - Texas A&M University was playing someone - it didn't matter who, just that it was Texas A&M was important enough.

My father started carving the turkey, after a somewhat ritualistic display of sharpening the knife - probably more ritualistic than efficient - but we didn't care ... it looked good! And, as he carved ... and separated the different types of meats and other parts - he knew each of our favorites - the radio started playing a song - a band song from the game.

I honestly don't recall whether the band was playing the National Anthem, or what I would later learn to be the Aggie War Hymn. I believe it was the latter. And my father stopped carving. And the table got very quiet ... the only sound was the radio. And, I noticed that my father ... well ...

I can't begin to put in writing the emotion that fell over my father that day - whether it was about comrades he'd known at Texas A&M, or the Bulge, or wherever. It was probably all of the above. Suffice it to say the song ended ... we re-composed, and had a nice dinner. Thanksgiving, indeed.

Governor Bradford - your experiment really did work. Thanks! And now, if you'll excuse me, there's some band song starting on the radio.

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