Turkey, Gravy, and a Good Helping of Humility

My younger son (The Silverback Chihuahua) and his fiancé will not be coming for Thanksgiving this year. They wanted to, really they did, and they are disappointed they won't be able to. 

They live in Los Angeles and my wife (Cruella) and myself live in Northern California. Though I asked them to come up, wanted them to come up, in some ways needed them to come up to celebrate a Thanksgiving like no other I have ever experienced before, he said they couldn't do it. Actually he said he wouldn't do it.

And I couldn't be more proud of him. 

He lives in South Central Los Angeles in a quaint California bungalow he has worked tirelessly to restore. His neighbors are a mix of African-American and Latino families, families where grandma and grandpa live with mom and dad and the kids. It's a beautiful vibrant neighborhood where the ice cream truck competes with the elote corn cart for kids who come charging out of houses and yards dollar bills clutched in their fists when either one announces their arrival via jingling bells and/or canned music. In fact music is everywhere. Men sit in front yards talking, complaining, arguing, women sit on porches and do the pretty much the same all while speakers strategically placed in windows blare out salsa, the blues, and rather incongruously Billy Joel.

That's in normal times. But these are not normal times.

South Central has one of the highest COVID infection rates in Southern California which has the highest infection rate in California and of course California is the most populous state in the country. Add to that the stunning statistic that the Hispanic/Latino population is ten times more likely to become infected than any other ethnic community. You do the math. 

So the not so young anymore son and his soon to be Mrs. don't feel they should travel 400 miles for basically one dinner that we will have to eat either outdoors or strategically placed around the dining room and with the door open. They don't feel they should because their chances of being carriers of the coronavirus are higher than normal. They don't want to potentially infect their (to them) elderly parents. They are disappointed, my son particularly because he'll miss his mother's turkey on Thursday and her artichokes on the Wednesday before. Disappointed, but accepting.

I couldn't be prouder.

Because I think this shows Cruella and I did a pretty good job raising our boys. We taught them to look out for the other guy, to be concerned not just with their own welfare but the welfare of the community as a whole. We taught them that sharing and sacrifice were worthwhile, beneficial concepts that made them better people. 

And as a consequence of that they learned to take disappointment with dignity and grace. Sometimes you don't get to do the thing you most want, whether that is to be with your whole family on Thanksgiving or have a second term as President. You accept that disappointment with humility and you graciously concede that what you wanted you did not get. Game hen instead of tom turkey. Presidential pension instead of second presidential term. These are the qualities that make a good person. 

Or in the language of my forbearers, a mensch.  

If you have any info on voter fraud I can arrange it
 so one of your buddies is dinner.