The Oppenheimer Report 11/30/15

The American Thanksgiving has come and gone, and while I miss the experience of congregating in Buffalo for the Oppenheimer Festival of Bird, I’m getting used to the changes. As Joni Mitchell once wrote, “Don’t it always seem to go, that you don’t know what you’ve got 'til it’s gone …”. Generations of kids in my family grew up attending the Oppenheimer Thanksgiving supper, and it was always a joyful, well-attended event. The little kids sat at fold-up card tables and, in time, graduated to the grown-up table. I was recently in contact with my cousin in Oregon, who is about five years my senior, and he remembers sitting at the kiddie table for Thanksgiving dinner, at our first house in Kenmore, N.Y. Those family gatherings made for wonderful memories. Of course, there was always one crazy aunt or uncle, who would get sloshed and do something foolish, but who doesn’t have one or two of those in their family?

It is slowly soaking in that nothing lasts forever, and I have addressed this, ad nauseam, in past reports. As I mature (hah!), I am learning to recognize and to be thankful for all my good fortune thus far, and I strive to focus on this as I move forward. Now officially a sexagenarian, I still embody a trace of the irresponsible twenty-something, who drank too much, let chaos into my life, and took for granted all that was given to me. I am slowly letting go of that guy. It’s a natural process, but no change comes without some sacrifice. At some point, we all lose our moms and dads, and for those of you who have had a hard time letting go of the past (like me), one day it hits you like a brick. We grow up and we grow old. The former is our choice. It is only fairly recently that I have begun to appreciate what once seemed like a boring, uneventful life. Singer/songwriter Trace Adkins had a great song entitled, “You’re Gonna Miss This”, about all the joy we ignore when we fool ourselves by focusing on the “greener grass” of the future.

As I sat in Huntsville’s Family Restaurant last Thursday night, sober as a judge and eating a turkey club sandwich, (I know, pathetic right?) before heading in to the station to do my radio show, I was reminded of how life-changing it has been to have had all those happy Thanksgiving celebrations. Luckily, I have known great love. Some people have lousy parents, and/or completely dysfunctional families. From what I can see, it’s not that uncommon, and never is it more glaringly obvious than around the holiday season. There has been much discussion about Black Friday, that symbolic starting gun for the retail Christmas insanity, which will now litter our consciousness for the next four weeks. The tradition has recently bled into Canada. The other night, I watched a video of two men engaged in a fist fight, presumably over the last discounted Play Station in a Black Friday sale. Every year, I see some variation of the same video. Religion and Christmas are two things that should not inspire violence and pain, but somehow, they always do. Go figure. It’s easy to focus on this nonsense, but I am starting to turn away from all this. I reached out to some friends and family with whom I had shared past Thanksgivings. I taped and watched the Macy’s Day Parade, because for some reason, I never tire of watching an enormous floating Snoopy balloon sail down the main drag of New York City. Finding contentment is a journey, and while I realize it should be easier for me than for people who are less fortunate, that’s not necessarily the case. Rich or poor, we all struggle with the same demons, and, to paraphrase Firesign Theatre, I’m just another bozo on this bus. To me, the best part about this time of year, is that it provides an opportunity for family and friends to help. What the American Thanksgiving has been for me, I hope this holiday season can be for all of you.

 

And if Uncle Ralph throws up on the rug after a few too many Manhattans, try to capture it on video … believe me, those moments get better with time.  

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED