The Thanksgiving Tree

So there it was. In black and white, actually in color, but that is not the point. And my wife and I were nowhere to be found in the image that stared mockingly into my eyes.

My granddaughter's teacher had created a Thanksgiving tree on a piece of paper. From the branches hung those things, person or place, for whom our little two year old treasure was most grateful.

"Mom and dad" was a given. Her uncle, with whom she had a special closeness, also caused me no consternation. I could understand " the playground" and "school" might have been a combination of true sentiment and a little urging from the one who was placing the words as leaves that remained affixed through all seasons.

But "cheese sticks" was a bridge too far. I mean, I know food is needed to sustain us and I always have my own stash of cheese sticks at the ready, but couldn't my wife and I have slipped in ahead of this delicacy. Or even behind it. For there was no evidence on this tree of our existence, our importance, in this little person's life. 

I fully recognize there will come a day when the presence of grandparents is an intrusion. When the events of life are far more pressing, the friends far more important, even the foods far more interesting then these two old people populating your living room. But I was sure that day was some time in the distant future. That, at least in the moment when asked the Thanksgiving day question, we would have been a rung or two above cheese sticks.

This does not in any manner diminish my joy at being in the presence of this little beauty. My smile plastered on my face, my laugh accompanying virtually everything she says or does.

With one exception. Kid, put our names on the damn tree.