Big Box Stores and Gratitude

I remember when I actively realized that not everyone was raised as I was.  It was my freshman year of college. And, to be honest, it came late.  I mean, by the time I was a freshman in college, I had studied three languages and the cultures of those countries and traveled to the Soviet Union. Thanks to my parents, I had traveled extensively around the country on a variety of vacations.  While my high school was not a bastion of diversity, I certainly knew peers from different ethnic and religious backgrounds.  I don’t remember the incident that prompted my delayed epiphany, but I distinctly remember that I was walking down Dubuque Street in Iowa City toward Mayflower within sight of the Iowa River.  Something clicked in my brain and I actively, cognitively thought, “Not everyone grew up with two parents, a dog, siblings, and celebrating holidays.” 

The traditions of Thanksgiving are clear: eat, watch football, eat, be grateful, eat, see a parade, eat, hang out with family, and eat.  Or at least some incarnation of this.  Right?  That is what we all are meant to be doing on Thanksgiving.  The next day, of course, we all go shopping on the frighteningly monikered Black Friday. 

In the past few years, there have been more and more Thanksgiving Day Sales at stores and malls. The idea is to beat the crowds and rush of Black Friday (not to mention fatten the wallets of corporations).  This year, I am seeing a sort of grass roots movement  happening on social media that suggests that shopping on Thanksgiving is heretical. While I am not a big box store fan and I understand there are larger issues with such corporations, I see a problem with this logic. This movement equates shopping the “big box retailers” on Thanksgiving with enslaving the people who work at such stores.  The general thought is that if you shop on Thanksgiving, you are forcing the employees of these stores to work, and you are consequently ruining their holiday.  This line of thought continues: if we all band together and refuse to shop on Thanksgiving Day, then the corporate entities that are open on this holiday will be adversely affected, see the error of their capitalistic ways, and close their doors, allowing their employees the day off to spend with family.  And, that is precisely what all Americans want to do on the fourth Thursday of November, right?

The continuation of this boycott shopping-on-Thanksgiving movement equates shopping on Thanksgiving as being against raising the minimum wage and being against unionization. And, if you do not shop on Thanksgiving, you are somehow supporting those who are working for minimum wage in these retail establishments. I didn’t major in economics, but there’s a flaw in that reasoning somewhere. 

Actually, I see several errors in this whole line of thinking.  The first is that by shopping on Thanksgiving you are ruining an employee’s holiday.  What I know is that the day of the holiday is not nearly as important as how and with whom one celebrates it – if one chooses to celebrate it at all. If a person has to work on a holiday, it is possible to celebrate the holiday one day early or later that evening.  Folks, the holiday doesn’t create the meaningfulness of the day – the people with whom and the way in which you celebrate it is what counts.  We can have Thanksgiving on Wednesday or Saturday – who cares?  A celebration of gratitude and food and football can be on any day.  And, those who work on holidays often do celebrate on another day.  Furthermore, not everyone wants to celebrate Thanksgiving.  Some people are pleased to work on this day for their own reasons.  It might surprise us to realize that there are people in this country who don’t buy into the whole media-driven holiday celebrations.  There are families and individuals who celebrate in their own ways that might be foreign to you, but meaningful for them.  There are also families and individuals who choose not to celebrate for their own reasons, and, brace yourself, they are just as happy and well-adjusted as those who do celebrate.

Second, many establishments are open on the majority of holidays: hospitals, fire departments, the army, convenience stores, and restaurants.  A few years ago, the boys and I had just moved into an apartment from a house on a large tract of land.  I did not want to make a Thanksgiving dinner in a galley kitchen to eat at our tiny round table.  I just wasn’t in the mood.  So, we went to a local hotel that serves a glorious buffet all day long, and we enjoyed a hearty Thanksgiving dinner there.  It was wonderful.  I am grateful to this day for the service that everyone involved with the production of that dinner provided.  Almost 21 years ago, I had a premature baby two days before Christmas under emergency conditions.  I’m sure glad the hospitals were open and the doctors, nurses, orderlies, and food service workers did not express that I was ruining their holiday by being there.

Of the people that are working on Thanksgiving, I’m sure that some of them hate it and want to be home.  I’m equally sure that some of them have rearranged their celebrations to accommodate their work schedules, and that there are those who don’t care to celebrate any way.  If you believe that boycotting such stores will be beneficial to the workers, you are entitled to think this and act on it. If you believe that not shopping on Thanksgiving will make the employees of the stores in question happier and make them feel appreciated, that’s your right as well.

How about, though, the next time you are in one of those huge stores and can’t find what you’re looking for, you talk to an associate politely?  I can think of so many of times I’ve been in such a store, seen shoppers huffing around and looking for assistance, then, when they finally find someone to ask the location of the Q-tips, the shopper treats that worker like a mangy dog in an alley.  Want to let the workers in these big box stores know you appreciate their job?  Be nice. Be patient.  Ask nicely and say thank you after they help you.  Here’s another idea: when you are pushing your cart with one box of microwave popcorn in it and an employee of such a store is pushing a giant dolly weighed down with hundreds of 18-count cartons of eggs that he can’t see over – get out of his way.  Don’t stand there, get offended, and mutter obscenity if you have to go around him to the next aisle. 

Real meaningful ways to show appreciation and gratitude to those who work in large retail establishments exist – and, maybe, just maybe, those ways have nothing to do with how or when they or we celebrate November 28, 2013.  Whether you are going to one of these stores this week to buy a turkey and stuffing; or whether you shop on Thanksgiving Day; or whether you never go the big box retailers, remember: not everyone marks holidays in the same way or at the same time.  If we all can appreciate and understand the lives of others, we all might have a bit more happiness this holiday season.  That’s something we all can be grateful for.

A True Friend

It is rare to find a real friend. The cliché is that a real friend will do anything for you.  I disagree.  There are all kinds of real friends. And, it has precious little to do with the number listed on your Face Book page.  (I have 1013 friends, according to Face Book - I beg to differ.)

And, I got to thinking:  what kind of friends are there?  I don’t believe in fair weather friends.  If a friend is only there for fair weather, he is no friend at all.  I took stock, and I have a few friend “types” based on my own experiences that may speak to your experiences, as well.  This is not meant to be all-inclusive, but rather a sampling that may inspire you to appreciate your friend groups as much as I do mine.

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Case #1:

The friend who will stay at your hospital bedside when you are both four hours from home. He has a wife who is wondering why he isn’t getting home from chaperoning a school trip, but he stays there with you while he comforts your 9^th grade son, who is worried out of his mind, and talks your husband into actually traveling because you are about to have emergency surgery.  This friend stays there and then borrows a car and drives your son home, both of them amped up on energy drinks, and he comforts your kid the whole four hours. 

We can also add that despite what seem like dire circumstances to you, this friend has the presence of mind to take a hilarious picture that lives on despite the fact that you were dying in the moment. 

(Yeah, that’s me in the bed.)

Case #2

This is the friend who was there in college.  You were both there and are both here now.  Perhaps one or both of you remembers more of college than the other, but you have a common history that is undeniable.  Perhaps that history has more than one narrative of unpleasant fraternity mixers and desperate study sessions.  Maybe you also have had a game or two of racquetball during which you both needed to blow off steam.  The kind of steam that can only be blown off if one yells the “secret” word to one’s sorority really loudly, really late at night in a really deserted athletic center. 

The cool thing about this friend is that she shows up years later.  And then even more years later.  And, in fact, you realize that she has been a strength and support even though you thought she was invisible.  It has actually been a mutual support.

Case #3

There is a friend who you never really thought was a friend, at least not in high school.  You were doing your thing and she was doing her thing.  And never the two did cross.  Except maybe in advanced English class or world psychology or some other esoteric subject whose teacher fancied himself rather fancy.  This is one of those friendships that takes up and puts down and keeps an even keel.  It’s fun.  It’s clever.  It finds common ground in adulthood.  It is as real as one that has been there all along.  In fact, it has been there – you just didn’t realize it.  Maybe she didn’t either.  But, no matter – it’s there now. 

Case #4

This is the friend who has always been there.  Through thick and thin.  Sure, you’ve let each other down, but you can pick up tonight even with a six month silence sitting there between you.  She talks.  Then you drink.  You listen.  Then you drink. Then you switch.  Then you drink some more.  This is the tried and true friend.  Perhaps since high school.  Perhaps since college.  Maybe since last year.  You know. She forgives.  She knows.  You forgive.  You have history.  it’s all there. 

Case #5

There is a friendship sprang from professional endeavors; we work together.  We have common interests in (choose one or more):  politics, children, spouses, social agendas, social interests, books, music, movies, TV shows.  We have drinks when we can.  We text.  We chat.  Sometimes we compare parenting notes, but often we are on different pages there.  Sometimes we have different books.  Still, we respect each other’s approaches and ideas on family life.   

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I appreciate each of my friends – as individuals, as types in a category, as just plain friends.  In Russian there are many words to designate “friend” – it all depends on the person’s relationship and perceived relationship to the speaker.  Of course in any language, there are as many “types” of friends as there are days in a year.  But, no matter what categories you use – or, if you give everyone their own category, it’s the time of year to take stock.  In the end, it is the friends and the relationships that make our lives. 

Independence and Strong Winds

Yesterday my eldest son called me from college to lament the fact that with half the summer now gone, he finally found a summer job.  The deal we had was that he could go to summer semester if he paid his own living expenses, hence the need for a job.  After a month of sweating it, this looks like it will pan out.  However, he noted that he was going to have to go to class most of the day, then work all evening, and then he’d have to get up earlier to study for class.  His whole day would be taken up with – gasp – work!  Either class work or work-work or working out (which he has to do to stay in shape for his ROTC scholarship).  He went on to tell me that real life wasn't like this: you didn't have to work your job and then work after your job, too.  (I chuckled.  Out loud.) He was lamenting not because he is incapable.  Not because he’s a spoiled baby.  He was lamenting simply because he has been hit on the head with the brick of adult life.  

Last week at a conference in Iowa, the coordinator gave strict instructions to the attendees:  if there’s a tornado warning do not follow the people from Iowa.  Why?  Because the people from Iowa would not take shelter, they would go out to see the storm.  When I was little, the sirens could send me, my sisters, and mom to the basement in the late afternoon or even in the middle of the night.  I remember more than one basement sleep out due to the Ozian conditions outside.  Well, I actually don’t know what the conditions were because I was relegated to the basement.  However, I do remember realizing that Dad was rarely in the basement with us.  He was on the porch, watching the storm do its thing.  I suppose he wanted to see the beast that was to sweep us all away or maybe he was simply giving instructions to the wind, “Okay, that’s good.  Now, move on so I can go to bed; I have work in the morning.”  I do clearly remember the first time I was allowed not to be in the basement – I was about in 5^th grade, and the sirens were blaring outside and the weathermen were predicting wind-induced apocalypse.  Mom trundled my sisters downstairs, and I slipped through the living room to join Dad on the porch.  The wind, the rain, the dark clouds were all thrilling.  “This isn't going to amount to much, Laura,” and Dad walked around the garage to make sure the garbage cans hadn't overturned.  From that time on, I didn't have to go to the basement.

Maybe such feelings of being grown up are not really true.  The fact of the matter is:  my dad was right there.  I felt independent, and of course I lorded it over my sisters the next day that I didn't have to cower downstairs.  But, in retrospect, it wasn't the standing on the porch that made Dad a grown up  - it was that he righted the garbage cans before he went back inside.  That’s the stuff grown-up, independent life is made of, as my eldest is finding out this summer.  

Compared to many of my peers, I have been a late bloomer in the traditions of growing up.  I bought my first car at age 42.  I bought my first house at age 43.  Sure, I've been employed ever since I had a shopper newspaper route that I complained vociferously about every week.  And, I've been a mom for 20 years. But still, although I've been watching the tornadoes pass since 5^th grade, I have only recently taken on these major adult signs of independence.  It’s overrated.  I’m ready to get rid of some of them, just as my eldest son is taking stock and adjusting his sails to adult winds. 

Independence is what we celebrate today, and the thing that I am reminded of on this day is that with independence comes responsibility.  Without going down some patriotic path, it behooves me to remember that the bricks of adult life – whatever they may be for each individual – are what we build our lives with.  And, dad isn't always going to be on the porch with us.  We have to tend to our own garbage cans.  The summer jobs, the classes, the relationships, the places to live, the hobbies, the games, the friends, the things we fill our time with – these are the independences that our lives are made of.  And, yes, indeed, if any wind is going to try and sweep things away, I do want to meet it.  In the meantime, though, I will try to help my son choose his bricks wisely while reconsidering my own.