Now be thankful
a different take on the objects of gratitude
Expressing gratitude confers a lot of benefits. I recently did a search on ChatGPT and it listed nine benefits under the categories psychological, social and relational, physiological and cognitive. That is about six more benefits and two more categories than I could have come up with on my own. Cut and paste – and there’s my post about gratitude, done and dusted. Thanks, ChatGPT!
This got me thinking: Are there things I am thankful for that might not immediately come to mind? I came up with three: struggling farmer ancestor William Hickman; the locale of suburban Wilmington, DE in the 1950s-60s; and the skill of doing nothing.
Going back in time a bit, I give thanks for my great-great-great-great-grandfather, William Hickman. Records being what they are, it’s difficult to be absolutely sure, but this was a guy for whom things didn’t go well. My sister Martha composed a series of essays on our ancestors and it was there that I found the tale of one William Hickman.
This William was a farmer in Kennett, PA. He died in 1800, leaving his estate in a terrible mess. He had so many debts that his executors (brother Moses and another man) had to petition the court to sell off his land to finish paying his creditors and provide some support for his widow and orphans. The Orphans Court appointed Moses guardian of his numerous minor children, which included a son named William.
Son William turned things around. Once an orphan listed on the roll of “Poor School Children,” he appeared to have managed his adult affairs in such a way as enabled him to leave land and some wealth to his progeny.
I will never know for sure, but I would like to think that son William took a lesson from his father’s travails. There is some admiration in that. But I still want to give special thanks to the struggling senior William who left his estate in a “terrible mess.” He must have had to dig deep to look out on his lands each day. Maybe there was hope that buoyed him. Maybe when he looked out over those gentle hills of Chester County, he thought about future generations of Hickmans who would make better futures for themselves than he had managed to do.
A hundred and fifty-odd years later, I would come to life about 12 miles south-east from where those early Hickmans farmed. I am thankful for the place and time I grew up in. I have heard the era referred to as “the complaisant Eisenhower years.” The neighborhood was a cul-se-sac, safe and quiet. A few acres of forest here and there gave us diversion, entertainment and adventure. Two older sisters watched over me. Dinner was always at 6:30. Think of what we boomer Americans had going for us:
A self-contained neighborhood of some 35 houses with between 23 and 32 school-age children at any point in the decades
Open skies
A safe outside environments, by day and night
Other than school, only a few programmed activities
Freedom from privation, and most of all
Independence After school and before dinner few parents know exactly where anyone was
But I guess if there is one thing I am thankful for — that I don’t give enough attention to — is that when and where I spent those early years allowed my mind to wander. I mean really wander. The technique takes many forms — daydreams, imaginary adventures, turning something over and over in the mind without the intent of solving it, planning improbable adventures, going through lists, reconstructing an event or trip in as much detail as possible, remembering songs.
I can’t say I spent a lot of time looking up at clouds, but I know I spent some periods of time looking up at clouds. And stars, scanning the night skies. How else would I have seen little meteor showers, or seen Sputnik going overhead, or learned my major constellations? Or my cloud types? Or seasonal bird migrations?
Allowing the mind to wander, to just take in what it sees without judgment or purpose of any kind. If I have that ability — if it even is an ability — its origins are in those early years. As I look out on the current landscape of my life, I wonder if this is the kind of thing that is passed along to children and grandchildren.
I am thinking it is not. The world is too different. It would be like William Hickman the younger, thinking about passing along the farm through unimagined generations. None of us do that anymore. We don’t farm. We wouldn’t know how.
As for the value of spending time with my own thoughts… “I don’t know what you mean, Grandpa.”
Oh, what the letters, registers, occasional news articles and family bibles have to teach us about our ancestors! I love that you all were able to trace back as far as you can. Perhaps not coincidentally, I chatted at the Thanksgiving/Friendsgiving table last night with the mother of a 15 year old son, a young man who evidently came into her life when she was older than might be considered typical, she being roughly my age. As we talked about homeschooling, curiosity, kids having time and inclination to be imaginative, she bemoaned the loss of those things mostly due to the internet. You and I both have kids whose learning styles were mostly or fully "cooked" before the advent of the smartphone. Today's children? A whole 'nother can of worms.
(Oh, and in a related way - I hear congratulations are in order!!)