I remember sitting around the table in his den. There was most likely a western playing on the TV. Six grandkids fit around it perfectly. It was our place to eat our turkey and all the Thanksgiving fixings. I spent many holidays around that table.
I visited my G-Dad many years later and the table looked so small. Hadn’t it been bigger than that? I reminisced with him about the many childhood memories made around the table. A circular table, built with his own hands. After that conversation, he told my mom he wanted me to have the table when he was gone.
It sits in my living room. It’s had a fresh coat of paint, but paint can’t cover up the memories.
I watch Jackson run his trucks and tractors across it. Most moms wouldn’t let their sons drive toys across their furniture, but I don’t mind. The table has been marked with colorful Crayola and has been the base of many Lincoln Log creations.
He eats his fruit snacks off it. He’s even tried to climb on top of it. He bangs his toys on it.
The table doesn’t seem as small as I watch my son make his own memories around it.
By next year he will probably be sitting on the floor, eating his Thanksgiving dinner from the same table that I did as a young girl.
This Thanksgiving I’m thankful for memories. I’m thankful for a G-Dad who built a table that family gathered around. I’m thankful the table sits in my home where new memories are being made. I’m thankful for a son who gets to drive his trucks across the table his great-grandfather built.