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Thanksgiving 1983 was my first holiday away from family. I had recently turned 18 and was stationed at Naval Air Station Millington, Tennessee, just north of Memphis. It had only been a little over a month since I arrived, and I was still finding my place, slowly making friends with others on base. I had graduated high school and shipped off to the Marine Corps when I was 17, so this was the first time I would spend the holidays completely on my own.
When Thanksgiving rolled around, I knew I couldn’t make the trip home, so I decided to participate in a USO program that matched Marines with local families willing to host us for the holiday. The USO building was just outside the base, and I remember walking in, not entirely sure what to expect. Groups of us sat at tables, waiting for our names to be called. There was an uncertainty in the air, as none of us knew if there would be enough families to host everyone. It wasn’t quite like being picked for a team—it felt more like waiting for something deeply personal, like waiting to be adopted, though not nearly as weighty or life-altering.
Eventually, my name was called, and I was paired with a fellow Marine I had recently befriended—he was also from Pennsylvania. Two women Marines were added to our group, and together we were greeted by a family from Mississippi who had come to pick us up. They had driven a large vehicle to fit us all, and their warmth and smiles immediately put us at ease.
When we arrived at their home, I was struck by how beautiful it was—an elegant Southern home with rich woodwork, a glowing fireplace, and a large dining table set for the occasion. The family clearly had an air of comfort and stability, at least upper-middle class, but their kindness and hospitality stood out far more than their surroundings. They welcomed us into their home as though we were long-lost relatives, not complete strangers.
The day was nothing short of wonderful. We shared a delicious Thanksgiving meal, filled with all the traditional dishes you’d expect and more. The conversation flowed easily, and their warmth made it easy to relax. After dinner, we gathered to watch football, ate an impressive array of desserts, and continued to talk and laugh late into the evening. For a group of young Marines far from home, they gave us the gift of belonging and comfort.
At the end of the day, they drove us back to the USO. As I climbed out of their car and waved goodbye, I felt a deep sense of gratitude for what they had done. Over the years, I’ve thought about that family often, wishing I knew their names or had some way to thank them. They didn’t have to open their home to us, but they did, giving us a Thanksgiving filled with warmth, generosity, and kindness.
To that Mississippi family from 1983: thank you. Your selflessness and hospitality left a mark on me that has never faded. That Thanksgiving remains one of my most cherished memories, a reminder of the kindness of strangers and the true spirit of the holiday.
When Thanksgiving rolled around, I knew I couldn’t make the trip home, so I decided to participate in a USO program that matched Marines with local families willing to host us for the holiday. The USO building was just outside the base, and I remember walking in, not entirely sure what to expect. Groups of us sat at tables, waiting for our names to be called. There was an uncertainty in the air, as none of us knew if there would be enough families to host everyone. It wasn’t quite like being picked for a team—it felt more like waiting for something deeply personal, like waiting to be adopted, though not nearly as weighty or life-altering.
Eventually, my name was called, and I was paired with a fellow Marine I had recently befriended—he was also from Pennsylvania. Two women Marines were added to our group, and together we were greeted by a family from Mississippi who had come to pick us up. They had driven a large vehicle to fit us all, and their warmth and smiles immediately put us at ease.
When we arrived at their home, I was struck by how beautiful it was—an elegant Southern home with rich woodwork, a glowing fireplace, and a large dining table set for the occasion. The family clearly had an air of comfort and stability, at least upper-middle class, but their kindness and hospitality stood out far more than their surroundings. They welcomed us into their home as though we were long-lost relatives, not complete strangers.
The day was nothing short of wonderful. We shared a delicious Thanksgiving meal, filled with all the traditional dishes you’d expect and more. The conversation flowed easily, and their warmth made it easy to relax. After dinner, we gathered to watch football, ate an impressive array of desserts, and continued to talk and laugh late into the evening. For a group of young Marines far from home, they gave us the gift of belonging and comfort.
At the end of the day, they drove us back to the USO. As I climbed out of their car and waved goodbye, I felt a deep sense of gratitude for what they had done. Over the years, I’ve thought about that family often, wishing I knew their names or had some way to thank them. They didn’t have to open their home to us, but they did, giving us a Thanksgiving filled with warmth, generosity, and kindness.
To that Mississippi family from 1983: thank you. Your selflessness and hospitality left a mark on me that has never faded. That Thanksgiving remains one of my most cherished memories, a reminder of the kindness of strangers and the true spirit of the holiday.