Years ago, I invited both sides of my family to a Thanksgiving dinner. This meant that there were 25 little children from 1 to 9 years of age; we had to deadbolt the door lest any neighborhood children wander in. The adults were 27 in number, which included my brothers and sisters, our parents, various aunts and uncles—and there might have been a few strangers, but since they helped with the chairs, I didn’t complain.
Our house was small, and I do not mean in an abstract sort of way. I mean it was small—we set up picnic benches as tables in the lower level playroom, where the kids would be served, and everyone had to kneel on the carpeted floor to eat. (Perhaps this posture helped produce thankfulness.)
