Thanksgiving for me is usually spent at my parents’ house in Michigan with a warm fire and sumptuous dinner that consists of a mixture of Indian and American dishes. This year, I decided to stay in New York City to skip the strenuous holiday travel after exhaustion from my recent apartment move and an anticipated trip oversees coming up in December.
Yesterday, I took a walk in the brisk morning to go to the Macy’s parade. I was hoping to catch a bus, but the sun was shining and the beauty and quietness of it all made me skip taking the bus. It was a little eerie to see New York City so quiet, when the excitement and madness makes way to calmness. However, it wasn’t long before I could hear people at distance and I knew that I was getting close to the parade. Then, I saw people with strollers, grandmothers, couples, tourists, and locals eagerly walking in that direction.
As I continued walking, I saw a person crouched up on the side of the street with a few bags wearing a hooded old sweater. As many of you know, it is not an uncommon sight in the city to see a homeless person, and I don’t always stop. This time, something in me made me stop and go back. I couldn’t tell if the person was a man or woman since all I could see was a small part of the face; I felt I had to give something. The person looked up surprised as if awoken from a deep sleep, and it made me a bit sad.
At the parade, I saw the floats of Ronald McDonald, Snoopy, and Spiderman; people were screaming and laughing, little kids were perched up on their father’s shoulders, and tourists were looking at the floats in awe taking pictures of everything in sight (probably their first American Thanksgiving). My festive mood was tampered with the thought of the crouched up person in the street. It was a reminder to me that there are people who spend their Thanksgiving without a home, a family, or a smiling child next to them. It was a reminder to me to be thankful for my family, friends, and my home.
Beautifully said!
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