A Trad Dad Thanksgiving… Again!

What a marvelous day and we’ve much to be thankful for this year!

For starters, I am thankful for my Catholic faith; the ancient, august, and venerable Mass of the Roman Church; my wife and children, etc. I am also thankful for the life of the great George Neumayr, may he rest in peace. I am thankful that more and more people are coming around to the reality that Bergoglio isn’t the pope. I’m thankful that Frank Walker is doing well. I’m thankful for God’s mercy. I’m thankful for the music of Karen Carpenter. I’m thankful!

On that last note… No matter what one may think of her musical stylings, Carpenter had one of the most haunting and amazing voices you will ever hear. She wasn’t a bad drummer, either. Her brother Richard is a musical genius to boot. Why do I mention them? I love their Christmas album in particular and I typically begin playing it on Thanksgiving. Then I feast and then close out the day by watching The Karen Carpenter Story – a 1990 made-for-TV movie about her life. Not gonna’ lie; I do this with a large plate of leftovers in front of me. But you already knew I was twisted.

On this day I always think of my dad. What a great man and what a blessing to be his son. The things he taught me in this life could never be found in any book. First and foremost, he taught me my faith. He was a man whose own parents had divorced when he was a child. That was in the 1940’s and that kind of thing simply was not done. His mother sent him to a Benedictine prep school where the monks taught him a devotion to the liturgy of the Church. He met my mom on a blind date. They married. He vowed to do better than his dad. So he stuck around. He brought sixteen of us into the world and faithfully provided for us and protected us. He was intelligent in ways most people cannot fathom. An actuary, he loved statistics and was known to comment on little things like why his own children didn’t have children on the same “schedule” as he and Mom had. It’s true. He literally made a spreadsheet and showed it to me. I was thirteen at the time. Never seen without a tailored suit and his signature pipe in his hand, he was revered by all.

He loved Thanksgiving for he had much to be thankful for. Even when I was a young boy of four and he lost three of his children in a house fire, he gave thanks to God for their lives.

He taught me his Thanksgiving traditions. He taught me all of his traditions. As his youngest son, it fell upon me to learn the craft of stuffing a bird and feeding an army on this day.

But the greatest single thing he taught me was this. With the exception of the last few days of his life on earth, the man was at Mass every single day of his life. People wonder where I get it from. His faith and his devotion to God took second place to no man. He went every day to give thanks. He went every day because he lived the virtue of religion. He went every day because he loved the Lord Jesus who died for him.

Thank you, Daddy.

And because of him, I will cut this post off here. It’s the feast of St. Clement I, pope and martyr, and I have to be at Mass.