Courtney’s Opinion: Gratitude is more than a seasonal sentiment
Hilton Head Islander Chris Schembra started a movement in 2015 – the 7:47 Gratitude Experience. What began with 15 friends around a dinner table has now surpassed 700 dinners and today his vision is all aglow smack dab in the middle of Manhattan’s Times Square.
Chris’ focus is on human connection. As a prompt he asks, “If you could give credit or thanks to one person in your life that you don’t give enough credit or thanks to, who would that be?”
And that question has rolled around in my head a lot lately – especially as I sit in my office at Bluffton Self Help, and we prepare to provide Thanksgiving meals to more than 600 families, and then holiday meals and toys right on the heels of turkey day. I am very grateful. I believe at this time of year, the fortunate among us experience an influx of gratitude and hopefully generosity in turn.
But separate from the day dedicated to giving thanks and the season of giving, do we focus on our gratitude as a daily ritual? I haven’t been doing that.
In September, I lost my Dad. If he was here, he would make a joke that he wasn’t lost or missing. He’d say, “I’m dead, Cour.” I inherited his sarcasm. In going through his things, I’ve learned that we are more alike than I ever knew. He wrote. Constantly. I found poems, stories, and a screenplay. I am grateful for these discoveries.
He was sentimental. He had decades of pictures of friends and family. Newspaper clippings of me, from the early 2000s. His offer letter from Irvington Fire Department, circa 1969, in pristine condition. Nary a wrinkle.
He was spiritual, despite his jokes about the Catholic school nuns. We buried him with his rosary alongside his parents, while a bagpiper played “Amazing Grace.”
Of course, I am currently reflecting on our father-daughter relationship something fierce and finding ways to insert a tidbit about my father into every conversation (or column). I was in line to get coffee and bumped into a friend who asked what was new and I blurted out, “My Dad died” in attempt to create space to talk about it.
As we began to clean out his house, I combed through a lifetime of cards from me that he saved – in each one, I thanked him. I am grateful that he knew that, and that he held on to those reminders – because I had forgotten them. The more I think about it, I realize my father was by my side not just when celebrating, but in those moments when I was at the bottom.
When I was struggling at college, he got in the car and drove – overnight – from New Jersey to West Virginia University so he could be in the lobby of my dorm when I returned from my 8 a.m. class. He sat beside me in a courtroom while I tried to get a restraining order against an abusive partner. When I made poor relationship decisions (too many to list here), he was always “Just Dad” and supportive while others questioned my choices.
Dad struggled with mental health issues for most of his adult life, and our relationship was complicated because of it. We were not close when he died, which has made the grief insurmountable at times. As I grappled with the initial shock, one of my dear friends said, “Relationships are complicated, love is not.” And she was right.
In the end, it’s just love. And for that, I am beyond grateful.
Barry’s Opinion:I give thanks to my frothy friend named Beer!
I begin, my condolences to Courtney on the loss of her father. She recently told me she was still in her “Dad Loss Grief Era,” but I hope she knows that era really never ends. It does, however, get less painful by degrees over time.
My dad’s been gone for 15 years now, and I probably have at least three conversations with the man a week. More during football season, especially this year with the Steelers having Justin Fields in the quarterback room.
I’m glad she has this space to thank her father since, although I never met him, I can see from who he raised that he was an exceptional guy, and the world is a poorer place for his absence.
But that leaves me with a few hundred words to fill with my own sentiments of gratitude. Which is tough, since I’m generally kind of a prick – that previous sentence notwithstanding. So let me start by thanking my family, just to lull you, the reader, into a false sense of security that I intend to take this assignment seriously.
From here I’d like to shift gears and give my thanks to beer.
There are a lot of people out there whose presence in my life is a source of inspiration. These are the folks I pal around with in the cul de sac, the folks who show up to my trivia gigs, the ones whom I might run into only at festivals and funerals, but who always leave me feeling happy to have seen them. They exist in the wide spectrum between “dear friends” and “casual acquaintances,” and I treasure them all.
But then there are the jerks. And they are legion. These are the folks who haven’t figured out how to drive on the Bluffton traffic circle, who can’t help but let everyone know who they voted for whether the conversation is political or not, who insist on turning every situation into some kind of Real Housewives-style drama fest. They don’t all realize how irritating they’re being, but they sure seem to thrive on it.
And I give thanks to beer because beer is often the only thing possible that allows me to live on the same planet with those jerks. Sure, I could always get even in some way, but the South Carolina criminal code is pretty restrictive about revenge. I could just grin and bear it, but that only lasts so long before all that aggravation comes spilling messily out, leaving me permanently barred from yet another establishment.
Is beer a perfect solution? No, of course not. For starters, the bar doesn’t open until 3 p.m. But during those dry hours, I’m grateful for my family and all the dear friends, casual acquaintances, and yes, even co-columnists who serve as a constant reminder that, as legion as they are, the jerks will always be outnumbered.
If you look for the good people, you’ll find them. You don’t need to look for the jerks; they’ll find you. And I hope they’ll wait until after 3 to find me.
