It’s Wednesday. The day before Thanksgiving and I’m at Walmart picking up a prescription. Yes, I’m sick. Feel like crap. I figure I might as well get milk while I’m here even though the pharmacy is at the front of the store and the milk is far, far away at the very back of this huge place.  As I trudge from one end of the store to the other, I notice men with lists. Some alone, but mostly men in pairs.

I spot a dad and teenage boy in the baking aisle. Dad holds the list while the teen searches the selection of instant puddings. “Here’s butterscotch. How many?” he asks. Dad reviews the list, “Says four big boxes.”

A pair of millennial hipsters work both sides of the spice and condiments aisle. “I got the sage,” said one, “Here’s hot sauce,” announced the other. They huddle over the list for a moment before setting off in search of the next item.

Parked in front of the aluminum roasting pans were two stately older black gentlemen.  “Do we need ones with lids?” one wondered out loud. “We’d better find out. I’m calling,” said the other with cell phone in hand.

I felt happy thinking these men happily volunteered to go shopping to help those who are cooking Thanksgiving dinner. It also occurred to me that some might have been handed the list and ordered to get going.  Or maybe some of the men were working their own list and shopping for the meals they are cooking today. It’s all good.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

I feel blessed to live in a diverse community. Thank you for not being offended by my use of ethnic descriptions.