I’ve spent 9 Thanksgivings in the city. (One year my family went to Florida.) Yet I’ve never been to the parade, or even ventured to the pre-Thanksgiving event of watching the parade balloons being blown up.
By now, this activity has become like any free thing in NYC: extremely crowded. Luckily, I accidentally–seriously, I wasn’t trying to do this–got into the viewing area near the end instead of at the beginning, so I avoided both waiting in line (if there was one even as early as I went) and having to slowly maneuver my way around babies and cameras and adults who will stand right next to you to take a picture but not bother to actually say excuse me so you could just move out of the way. At least, I avoided having to do this for longer than the 5 minutes I stayed.
I’m sure there are many metaphors I could offer you about the inflating balloons: about how we can’t tell how something is going to turn out just by looking at one stage of the process; about how we shouldn’t judge things or people by what we see because we don’t know what’s going on inside; about how being trampled by tourists and having that be the biggest frustration of the day is actually a luxury.
But I don’t have time to sort through them because I have 2 dishes in the oven, both of which I’m not sure will make it to anyone’s table, and so instead I will just leave you with this:
I am thankful for too many things to put into words, and that is the thing I am thankful for the most. It has nothing to do with the parade balloons, but.