Plymouth rock

It was the battle of the seasons and leaves lay on the ground like fallen soldiers.

He sat on the rock overlooking the valley.  Fall’s cool breath had turned the trees into a sea of reds, oranges and yellows.  He could almost hear Bob Ross saying, “Happy little trees.” A wisp of smoke rose from a burning leaf pile in the town of Plymouth.  It was his favorite time of the year. The thuggish brutality of summer’s heat had left.  Pleasant was a word that he’d use to describe the day.

He opened up his backpack and got out a sandwich.  A squirrel emerged from the brush behind him and sat, staring at him with a look of want.  The man on the rock pulled out a hand full of peanuts out of a Ziploc and tossed them to the squirrel. The squirrel ran and then returned, grabbing his newfound treasure and disappearing into a near by bush.

It was Thanksgiving Day and he was just glad to share it with someone.

His wife had decided she was tired of him and left earlier in the year.  She and his children were now 600 miles away and it wasn’t his weekend.  The divorce wasn’t final. And he didn’t want it to be. He took another bite of sandwich and chewed it slowly. He had already swallowed his pride.

The squirrel reappeared.  “You’re getting greedy, you little fuzzy-tailed rat,” the man said as he threw him some more peanuts. “But I hope you have a happy Thanksgiving.”

The lonely man sat there looking down at the peaceful valley below with very little to be thankful for.  A weaker man would have jumped.  But he had already hit rock bottom. There was no sense of hitting it again.

The past year had been a year of self-reflection.  Having your pride carved like a turkey will do that to you. He closed his eyes and imagined last year’s Thanksgiving meal. He could see the faces and he hear their voices.  A distant crow’s caw woke him out of his daydream.

He did two things the day she left: Threw all the alcohol out and made a list of all of his faults she had listed.  He rewrote them over and over, ranking them from the easiest to the hardest to fix.  Like Dave Ramsey’s debt snowball, he created a fault snowball.  And got to work changing his life.

On that Thanksgiving morning he was a different man. A different man who was truly thankful. The town’s people had noticed it.  So had the family.  The squirrel came back for thirds. “Why not, it’s Thanksgiving,” the man threw yet another handful of nuts to the greedy rodent.

“There you are.”

The man swung around.

“I knew you’d be up here.  Boys, here he is!”

It was his wife.  And his kids. Under her arm was a blanket. His oldest son carried a basket full of food.  “Happy Thanksgiving!” the boys sang.

The man looked up and said, “Am I dreaming?”

“No, I’m waking up,” his wife said. “I’m sorry.  I see how hard you’ve worked to win me back.  But I also realized I was at fault, too.  The boys need you. I need you.”

And on Plymouth rock, looking over the town, one family and one squirrel had the best Thanksgiving ever.