There are hundreds of people, scattered throughout the world, that I would be happy to call my family. I would claim them in a heartbeat.
(I will also claim my biological family, even though we make each other crazy a lot. Like, a lot a lot.)
But today, I was reminded that not everyone has that luxury. Not everyone can say that they have somewhere to celebrate, and people to celebrate with this week.
I caved and got a haircut tonight, and my stylist was a lovely and enthusiastic woman from Thailand. Her entire family is back there, so she's spending Thanksgiving at work. It's not a holiday she's used to celebrating, but it's hard, she said, to be without any family when everyone else is with theirs.
I wish that I could seek these people out and bring them together, somehow, for a real Thanksgiving dinner. Someday I'll do that, I think. Borrow a church basement, perhaps, and have a giant potluck on Thanksgiving day. Watch some football. Come back for round two. Play ridiculous games. Why not extend my family for a day or two?
I've always been a firm believer that family has very little to do with blood. Family is whoever happens to be at dinner. Family is whoever wakes up on your couch that morning. Family is people that you care about, and that care about you. It might be temporary, like the kids that sleep on the couch for a couple of weeks at a time. Or it might be permanent, like the child that you legally adopt.
But maybe this will be the push that you need to do what I can't this year: to add someone to your family for a day. Or a lifetime. Your choice.
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