I am pretty sure that you recall that I don’t generally celebrate (American) Thanksgiving.  My Thanksgiving is more in line of how and when the Pilgrims created the holiday.

You see, Thanksgiving is more related to the holiday of Sukot (Tabernacle),  the harvest festival.  Which makes the tradition more akin to Canadian Thanksgiving, which coincides with my holiday.  (Think about it.  What harvest would you be reaping in late November?)

[The first Thanksgiving celebration (it was not yet a holiday, nor did it have a set date)  occurred 402 years ago.  The first American President, George Washington, issued a proclamation (to celebrate that the Constitution was set and we had a government) declaring the holiday of Thanksgiving 231 years ago, the 26th of November, 1789.]

Last year, my non-celebration of Thanksgiving became the norm for y’all.   After all, the CDC had asked everyone to stay home and not travel the holiday, and most folks stayed put in their own homes, sticking with those with whom we live with to minimize the spread of the pandemic- and to ensure our loved ones can stay safe.

Now, this year, I do hope you shall give thanks.  That includes thankfulness that we survived the pandemic.

I will spend today thanking those folks who made a difference in my life.   Those who shared their wisdom, their time, and their love to help me become who I am. Not by making me a square box to fit a square hole. By helping me find the best (or at least pretty darned good) way to make my own way.

Just so you can recall their names- that means I am thankful for my grandfather- Sol Kuchlik, my junior high school teacher- Ms. Sue Katzman, my first employers- I(sidore) Harry Mazur and Cary Rollner, my first major benefactor- Samuel Ruben, and my mentor- Arthur Lipper III.

Here’s a little bit more about my first two mentors.   (You can find why Harry/Cary and Arthur were vital to me here.  More about Samuel Ruben is here. One of many pieces about Arthur is found here.)

My grandfather was the one who instilled my love of learning. Or, maybe even made it be. Because from the time I can remember (that’s pretty close to age 2), he grilled me on arithmetic. And, not just how much is 2+2. Because he wanted the answer as fast as he dished out the questions.  Instantly.  And, the math got far more complex.  As it turns out my grandfather didn’t always know the answers to the questions he threw at me. But, he knew me well enough to know if I were guessing or unsure. And, then, he’d be on me like white on rice. (Oh, and that was an expression he taught me, too.)

My grandfather also had a wonderful car, a full-sized Nash Rambler. Which he used to drive me to museums, to Coney Island, to the Canarsie Pier, all the while peppering me with math questions and information about the sights. (That included the now defunct Floyd Bennett Field on the border of Brooklyn and the Rockaways.)

He never doubted I would make that artificial kidney. But, his Parkinson’s disease made it impossible for him to continue our talks, despite his L-Dopa, despite having his brain frozen by Dr. Irving Cooper (St. Barnabus). While I was exploding outward, his thoughts were locked inward. Forever.

He’s why I have a living will.

Right about the time my grandfather was leaving this world, I met my next mentor.   I got to meet one of the scariest teachers (by reputation) of my school.   I had just about finished my 6^th grade year with Ms. Kessler.  Ms. Kessler was of the teachers who tried to push me just a little harder.  She even got me to write my first poem.  (I thought I had written an essay, but she showed me that the piece was written in perfect iambic pentameter.) And, I also produced a term paper about the USSR (83 pages written in very tiny letters) for her…And, now I was “requested” to appear in Miss Katzman’s office after lunch.

Miss Katzman (whose real name is Sue Finkelstein; Katzman was her nom de plume at school) informed me that she was to be my teacher for English and Social Studies (both) for the next three years.  And, that my habit of doing (not) enough to get by was over.  It was clear to everyone that I could perform and she would hear no excuses to the contrary.

She wanted to know what I expected from this yeshiva.  When I told her, she didn’t laugh.  She just said I had a far cry to go to attain that.  She was positive that I would earn that honor with more effort on my part.  My response was that this system was rigged and it would never happen.  She promised it would.  (I clearly remember that she never said could, but would.  Because it struck me totally odd at the time.)

So, I worked hard and she kept me busy for the next 3 years.  (That was among the biggest of problems for me at school… I was bored.)  I wrote many papers, including a thesis on the (then) only father and son in the White House- John and John Quincy Adams.  I learned a lot- in her classes and every other one I attended.

It’s where my system of taking notes in a lecture developed- simply writing down the first (non-article) word plus a key word in every sentence.  And, then going home to rewrite my notes (with two fountain pens; one with red ink, the other contained black ink) every night.  (Until I obtained my typewriter, which replaced my pens- as  did my computer replace the typewriter years later.)

Ms. Katzman and I had many discussions.  About colleges.  About my research (which included by then my hydroponic science fair submission and other ‘crazy’ concepts), my idea about going to college (early, since I planned to spend many years in post-graduate education), my volunteering to help register folks to vote and for other (then considered radical) activities.

Right before graduation, Ms. Katzman regaled me with a present.  An I.D. bracelet.  To remember her in the future.  (OK.  I am dating myself.  These were the tokens presented to members of the opposite sex as a demonstration of the bond that endures.  At least that was the way it worked for yeshiva “bochurs”.)

Her interest, her coaching, her helping me work out my goals clearly set me on the proper educational path for my life. And, for that I think of Ms. Katzman often.

Because Ms. Katzman didn’t just teach me academics.  She nurtured my concept to fight for those who get overlooked in spite of their actions, their abilities, and their rights.  Because she did it for me- and I know what it feels like to have something yanked away that you deserve.

Thankfully, I’ve been nurtured by a bunch of strangers- who became my intimate friends.

Thanks to them all.

Happy Thanksgiving to you all!

The video below consists of my Thanksgiving prayer this year…