Common themes on Thanksgiving are giving thanks for the roof over our head, the bounty of food on our tables, and the people in our lives.
But this year, while grateful for all of those things, I find myself considering the past, and history, and acknowledging my privilege by recognizing what I have never been denied.
And I am suddenly grateful to begin to understand how easy my life has been in spite of personal hurdles.
How simple it has been to have never struggled for the right to my own language, to have never been taken from my home and denied care, and love, and food, and humanity, and my heritage.
So today, instead of celebrating all I have, I am instead grateful for the few hours I spent at a Pow Wow, welcomed to share in the brilliance of color, the sound of other language, the depth of emotion, and the heartbeat of drums.
And I celebrate knowing that the children who were there have a chance at what as stolen from so many before them. The safely and security of being surrounded by love and family, and the richness of a most beautiful community.
I am grateful for the opportunity to witness the beginnings of recognition, reconciliation, and healing.