Happy Thanksgiving

Emory has been a pressure cooker these past weeks, and the thought of breathing air outside of academia calmed me. I rolled down the window of my Dad’s Bonneville and began to smell the countryside. The smell of wet wood, rustled leaves, and chimney smoke met my nose, that calm smell of fall. A burnt quality resided in the air, suggesting every inhabitant was nestled in blankets around a fireplace. White smoke billowing from the interspersed houses told me this was true. My dad and I were somewhere in the rolling hills of Tennessee en route to visit my grandparents.

I’ve come to expect certain things when visiting my grandparents. My grandpa makes at least one racial joke, my grandma is taunted for her short height, and the fridge is undoubtedly stocked with coke and snack pack pudding. I’ve yet to be disappointed. A couple neighborhood friends came over for Thanksgiving. The same jokes and stories are blurted among the family. We all laugh anyway. I must say, I am thankful to laugh.