A Thanksgiving Day editorial in the newspaper told of a
school teacher who asked her class of first-graders to draw
a picture of something they were thankful for. She thought
of how little these children from poor neighborhoods
actually had to be thankful for. But she knew that most of
them would draw pictures of turkeys or tables with food. The
teacher was taken aback with the picture Douglas handed
in...a simple childishly drawn hand.
But whose hand? The class was captivated by the
abstract image. "I think it must be the hand of God that
brings us food," said one child. "A farmer," said another,
"because he grows the turkeys." Finally when the others were
at work, the teacher bent over Douglas' desk and asked whose
hand it was. "It's your hand, Teacher," he mumbled.
She recalled that frequently at recess she had taken
Douglas, a scrubby forlorn child, by the hand. She often did
that with the children. But it meant so much to Douglas.
Perhaps this was everyone's Thanksgiving, not for the
material things given to us but for the chance, in whatever
small way, to give to others.
