Those big holidays never quite turn out like you expected. Your aunt, despite her best efforts, did not ignite a tinderbox with political comments. The turkey was surprisingly tender, the champagne underwhelming but effective. Pleasant surprises and silver linings are all too welcome in this age of clouded uncertainty.

Something like that. But here's the dark meat:

Whatever your memory of this Thanksgiving feels like, no matter the bitterness or bliss, imagine this instead: for the first time in your life, there was no Thanksgiving dinner. No bickering family, no champagne to take the edge off. No warmth, no shelter from the elements at all.

Some people spent last night on the edge of hypothermia. If they slept by some divine mercy, they fell asleep uncertain if they would–or if they even wanted to–wake up the next morning. Among us are those who invite shivering souls into soup kitchens, who procure and prepare nourishment for the hungry on days deemed to be holy by religious and/or governmental authority. Obliged to kindness beyond the everyday, one or two days of the year.

Given the current state of human development, the fact that anyone volunteers time any day of the year to feed and share warmth with the destitute is miraculous. Yet there exists a small group within the population who serves the destitute every day, tirelessly. Tens of thousands of people fall into this charitable group of samaritans. On its heaviest days, this group will never weigh in over a whopping twentieth of a percent of the American population. The rest of us pay lip service at best. 

We are a modern nation. The most modern, some might argue. They would cite the relatively progressive character of our politics (a citation that will expire on 20.1.2017,) the might of our military, the behemoth that is our economy. 

Reality is, though, that we share a common thread of destitution with every nation we put to shame in so many other categories of development. This is a glaring inconsistency of priorities in the direction of our vast resources, capital and financial. Despite our ability to provide assistance and resources, we leave so many out in the cold at home and abroad.  

Yesterday was a warm day for me. I'd been out in the cold, metaphorically. A friend, a family took me in and showed me what family looks like, what warmth tastes, smells, and feels like. Laughing until our faces and bellies ached.

The Thanksgiving holiday is one marked by celebration of family and gratitude, and appropriately so. But today my belly is empty save for the fresh memory of fullness, and I cannot help but think of those people for whom a warm meal, family, and laughter are distant memories–if they are memories at all. 

The families with whom I spent this third Thursday left their mark. They carved love into the layer protecting me. The next morning I awoke sober, mind full of the hunger felt by 42.2 million Americans and more than 700 million humans. The yin to my holiday's yang, the acid bath for my metal surface. This mordant bites deeper the longer I am exposed, emboldening the pattern. If you pressed me like a die against the world, my surface would leave a relief depicting what I grew to know on November 24th of this year.