I’m a lucky man in most every way. I have a beautiful family, and we share a beautiful life together. I have a career that is entirely fulfilling and has allowed me to create new bucket lists all the time, previous goals, hopes and aspirations being eclipsed in ways I still find breathtaking.

In my life, however, I’ve too often made it a habit of taking my good fortune for granted, seeking instead thoughts of frustration, busy-ness and anxiety as indications of my trying circumstances.

I’m working on it.

And this, I suppose, brings me to Thanksgiving, my least favorite holiday. I’ve written before about my disdain for the day. I don’t like formal place settings. I’m not sure why anyone (a Pilgrim?) chose a Thursday for it. I think a Friday would be better and feel far less strange. Like, “Here’s a long weekend, not totally disruptive, but with THE weirdest dinner.” Not a whole weekday with distant relatives verbally dancing around politics and struggling to focus on the Lions-Bears Lame Duck Bowl or the proper consistency of gravy.

And a lot of people eat at, like, 2 pm. That makes it feel weird to me too. Morbid. Like a post-funeral brunch.

So, needless to say, I find it difficult to find gratitude on Thanksgiving.

In fact, there’s so much in the world, and this country, that I am not thankful for these days. An insurrection dimming the start of a hopeful new year. The political divide that seems to be descending into chaos and senseless violence, much of which is dismissed with a wink-and-a-nod, even by judges from the bench. The Karen’s and the mask- and vax-deniers. Movements for equality losing traction. Tragedies distilled down to town names for the sake of expediency. Minneapolis. Portland. Charlottesville.

Waukesha.

The overall harshness of our world.

Gratitude, on the whole, is once again in short supply for me. Now just imagine how difficult it is for our young people, many of whom I have the luxury of knowing well. They not only feel precious little gratitude, but a foundational component of thankfulness is missing for them: hope.

Consider the fact that the last two years of their brief lives have been hijacked by the pandemic, robbing them of every rite and ritual and connection and crush and awesome chance encounter along the way. That the world feels bleak and unpredictable to them. That childhood and adolescence have been truncated prematurely, innocence permanently lost.

Please trust me when I say that far too many of our kids feel hopeless. I hear it from them, more and more casually and matter-of-fact every day. Their futures look bleak. They’ll never be able to afford a decent lifestyle. They don’t think much of themselves, and they don’t see that changing. They feel sad and weighed down by the state of affairs, in their homes, schools, towns, the country, the entire planet. And they carry news of our abysmal nature in the palms of their hands.

We owe them hope.

So, this Thanksgiving, I would like to suggest a mandate for the adults out there: parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents, teachers, coaches, mentors and legislators. In order for our young people to be engaged, to be the kind, generous, loving people we want to raise, in order for them to feel even a modicum of gratitude, we need to supply them with hope.

So, show them your hope and your gratitude, honestly and authentically. Tamp down any hatred or bitterness you carry and express to them or toward them. They are not equipped to manage your disdain, nor is it their job. Listen to them when they express their feelings of sadness and hopelessness and despair and acknowledge those feelings. Provide a gentle space for them to express themselves in this harsh world.

And finally, follow their lead. Kids have energy, and with the faintest light, can be engaged. They want to be part of the good, of the solution. They want to express support for those with less, and anyone who feels marginalized. Encourage them to act and get involved. Join them.

Our kids long to be grateful.

Afford your kids hope, and gratitude will follow just behind.