To the Editor:

As a child, Thanksgiving was my favorite holiday. Sure, for most kids, Christmas in the ‘50s and ‘60s was special; however, the holiday season was spread out, and it seemed to focus on everyone. Thanksgiving, although a national holiday as well, felt more intimate and personal, as if it was just for you and your family.

Having been brought up in an Italian family, the word “feast” goes without saying: the variety and quality — not to mention quantity — of food was prodigious. But, more than the meal, the ambience and rituals are etched solidly in my memory.

The ‘50s were a special time for family, and on the morning of Thanksgiving, visits from and to relatives were a given. Fresh-baked bread ruled.

In the early ‘60s, I was part of a championship high school football team. Midday dinner was also a celebration for our morning victory.

Then, Thanksgiving Eve came to be anticipated as the first break from college to return home and meet up with high school friends at any and every bar for miles around.

Those memories will never fade...

But other moments rise up as well.

From my poem, “The Playing Fields” (1996):

“… And while we were growing up before our fathers’ eyes,

They were growing old before their time

It was November 22, 1963, and I still remember

Practicing in silence on the Friday

That President Kennedy was shot.

Normally, my favorite holiday, but that year,

The saddest of my life. I was 16, and I realized,

Not only for the first time — but for all time —

That no one was safe,

That anyone could die

At any time…”

This year, Thanksgiving falls on November 22. While I am still grateful, I still mourn the abrupt loss of innocence 55 years ago.

It still matters…

Michael Luzzi

173 Boggs Hill Road, Newtown         November 20, 2018