Oh, when I was a little kid, how I dreaded Thanksgiving! Not the Thanksgiving Day I was told about, when my 6' 3" father took me to the Thanksgiving Day parade and put me on his shoulders so I could see the huge balloons float by. I must say I don't recall it; I was only told it occurred.

What I really remember was that my family never invited anyone over to our house in Larchmont to share Thanksgiving dinner. There were just the four of us, four unconversant individuals seated unhappily around the dining room table waiting -- unsuccessfully -- for someone to speak, to start a conversation. It wasn't until I met my wife Ginny Giacopasi that I was introduced to this most American of holidays -- invented by the Puritans to commemorate the New England Indians for saving their bacon. My first Italian-American thanksgiving was something of a jolt for me. Helping after helping of that wonderful Italian lasagna I consumed … until I realized that the lasagna was not the main course… until I realized the turkey and the ham were lurking out in the kitchen waiting to be consumed. After the dinner, the women got together to wash the dishes and put the uneaten food into the refrigerator, while the males convened to the living room to watch the football game and digest their mammoth helpings of food. It was only a few years after I left my childhood home that I realized how unnatural my first Thanksgivings really were.

These days, I look forward to Thanksgiving because I'm also surrounded by friendly folks.

We're usually the guests of Janet Wray, a master cook who prepares turkey and ham or roast beef with all the fixin's, and her daughter Tina and son-in-law Jay Hamilton. (And this year her new niece Jayden) Our daughter Jessica invariably finds her way home from whatever part of the world she's working in. (This year it'll be Ireland, where she's recently earned her master's degree in human rights from the University of Galway.) And there's Jerry and Leslie Bartlett, whose conversation reminds Ginny and me of the New York City that's a part of our past.

Occasionally there are a couple of Cottey students, who have somehow or other been unable to travel home to share the day with their own family and parents. And they're made to feel wanted and comfortable, too.

Once the meal proper is finished -- in about an hour and a half, that is -- the males adjourn to the family room to watch the day's endless football game. And allow the meal to digest.

And I know I've lived long enough to experience Thanksgiving the way it was meant to be.

For that I truly give thanks.