Mark Woods: Giving thanks for Dad's Thanksgiving tradition

My dad had a Thanksgiving tradition, one I know wasn’t his alone. Before he said a prayer and we started digging into the turkey and stuffing, he made us go around the table and say something we were thankful for.

As a teenager, I probably was more prone to finding things to complain about than ones to give thanks for. But I’d eventually mumble something, probably about pumpkin pie, the Detroit Tigers or my friends. Never mind that I had two little sisters, Lisa and Beth, also sitting at the table. I wasn’t about to give thanks for them.

These days, perhaps more than ever, I’m thankful for a lot of things. Including my two sisters. They recently flew from Nevada and Michigan to join my wife, Toni, and me in watching our daughter on stage for a UCF play.

Having all of us together, particularly now that Mom and Dad are gone, felt a bit like a pre-Thanksgiving gathering. It made me thankful for time with all of them.

To a degree, being a columnist is like being a teenager. We’re prone to find things to complain about. And there is value in that. But for this Thanksgiving column, I’m going to try to put together a list of things I’m thankful for. (And in the spirit of the Thanksgiving table, I’m going to try to steer clear of politics.)

Giving thanks

I’m thankful the official end of hurricane season is in sight and (at the risk of jinxing it before Dec. 1) it looks like we dodged another year.

I’m thankful that, after a brutally hot summer, we’ve reached the sweet spot of Florida weather.

I’m thankful I can return to the woods and not be swarmed by mosquitoes and flies.

I’m, of course, thankful for the things that sound almost cliche — family, friends, health.

With each of those, I think I’ve become more and more appreciative. The crazier the world gets, the more all of these help keep me sane.

I’m thankful for Ranger, the dog we rescued in 2016 (and named partly because it was the National Park Service centennial) and who, seven years later, has yet to ever NOT get spinning-around-in-circles excited about going for a walk. If only we all had something that made us that excited every day.

I’m thankful for my neighbors.

I'm thankful for drivers who actually use their turn signals.

I’m thankful for all the people working to improve our city — many whose names you never see in the newspaper or on TV.

I’m thankful for some of the additions to the city since last Thanksgiving — like the Fuller Warren shared-use path.

I’m thankful for local stores and restaurants. What Amazon can do is remarkable, but what it can’t do makes me more appreciative than ever of my favorite brick-and-mortar businesses.

I’m thankful for the St. Johns River and all of its tributaries.

I’m thankful for peace … wherever on earth we can find it.

I’m thankful for Packers-Lions this Thanksgiving.

I’m thankful for Black Friday. Not because I go anywhere near a store — other than one year when I went to Walmart to get a column — but because it makes it a good day to go a lot of other places.

I’m thankful for the people who entrusted me to try to tell their story this year. (I keep thinking about Greg and Lakesha Burton and how, even after Greg suffered a stroke, they remain so full of gratitude.)

I’m thankful for modern technology, with so many ways to watch TV, that makes it possible for shows like “Welcome to Wrexham” and “Reservation Dogs” to be made — and for me to be able to sit on my couch in Jacksonville and watch live Liverpool FC matches.

Having said that, I’m thankful I grew up in a time before cellphones, internet and WiFi — back when you could still watch “A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving” on network TV. With rabbit ear antennas. And no remote.

I’m thankful I grew up then because, as much as adults like to chastise kids for being glued to their phones, I’m sure we weren’t all that different from kids today.

I’m thankful for my co-workers. We might be a small newsroom, a fraction of the size of what we were when I took a job here in 2001, but we are a resilient one.

I’m thankful for readers. Particularly readers of newspapers. But really all readers and, more broadly, simply reading.

From 'Narnia' to 'Princess Bride'

I recently saw a post where an author asked people when they learned to read. I think for most of us, it’s hard to remember any exact moment. But I do vividly remember some of the childhood books that my parents read to me (we still have a library copy of “Beady Bear” because, apparently, I decided to take my crayons and color some of the black-and-white pictures, meaning my parents had to buy the book).

And I also remember another one of my Dad’s dinner table traditions.

After dinner, we had to sit and listen to Dad read books, usually a chapter at a time. The Chronicles of Narnia, The Phantom Tollbooth, A Christmas Carol.

I say we “had” to do this, because by the time I was a teenager and Dad still did this with "A Christmas Carol" during the holidays, I hated it. Why couldn’t we be like normal families? Why did we have to spend that much time at the dinner table? Why did we have to listen to Dad read these books, doing the voices of the characters?

But it was kind of like the scene in “The Princess Bride” when the grandfather (played Peter Falk) visits his grandson (Fred Savage) who is staying home, presumably because he’s sick — although his forced cough lets you know he might not really be sick.

Grandpa plops down next to the bed with a gift, a book. And when the boy scoffs at the idea of this being a good gift, the grandfather says: “When I was your age, television was called books. And this is a special book.”

The grandson asks if it has any sports in it. The grandpa tells him it has fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love …

“Doesn’t sound too bad,” the boy says. “I’ll try to stay awake.”

The boy, of course, ends up gobbling up the story.

It was a bit like that at our dinner table. Sometimes by the time Dad finished a chapter, we'd be asking for maybe just one more.

I’ve read some stories about "The Princess Bride" that say, if you analyze the film and its script, it becomes clear not only that the boy isn’t sick with some common cold — would a grandfather bring a wrapped gift for that? — but that he is grieving the loss of his father.

This analysis points out that grandfather is there to comfort him by reading this book, which he says his father read to him and he read to the boy’s father. And it turns out it's a book with the Fire Swamp of Grief and the Pit of Despair, with the character Inigo Montoya driven by the grief of his father’s death, and finally with the grandson finding hope in something like love.

I don’t know if the screenwriter or director would say this analysis is correct. But I do know that on this Thanksgiving I will give thanks for the family and friends who are here, even if they aren't at our table, and the ones who are gone. And I will be thankful that, every Thanksgiving, Dad tried to get us to say such things out loud.

mwoods@jacksonville.com, (904) 359-4212

This article originally appeared on Florida Times-Union: Giving thanks for Thanksgiving dinner table traditions