Folan: Gratitude finds its way home
Thanksgiving is a time steeped in tradition and familial bonds, and for Dr. Peter F. Folan, the dining room table has always been a sacred space where love, gratitude, and identity flourish. In a heartfelt reflection, Folan shares his memories of Thanksgiving gatherings at his parents’ home on Munroe Street, where the aroma of his mother’s cooking and the warmth of family filled the air. His mother, a meticulous hostess, embodied the spirit of hospitality, ensuring every guest felt welcomed and cherished. The table, adorned with gleaming china and polished silver, became a witness to the family’s journey—celebrating milestones like birthdays and graduations, while also providing solace during times of grief, such as the quiet dinners preceding his parents’ funerals. This sacred space not only served meals but also nurtured the family’s collective identity, shaping who they were as individuals and as a unit.
However, this year marks a poignant turning point for Folan, as he faces his first Thanksgiving away from the family home he cherished for 45 years. The act of moving carries an emotional weight, evoking nostalgia and a sense of loss as he reflects on the memories embedded in each corner of the house. Yet, he finds solace in the understanding that a house is merely a structure; true home is carried within the heart. The love and gratitude cultivated around that table are not confined to a physical space but are part of the legacy he will continue in a new setting. As he prepares to gather around a new table this Thanksgiving, he emphasizes the importance of honoring guests not just with food, but with genuine hospitality that acknowledges their worth and presence.
Folan’s message resonates deeply, reminding us that gratitude is not just a seasonal sentiment but a daily practice that enriches our lives. His mother’s example taught him that even amid challenges, such as her battle with leukemia, the act of setting a table with care and intention is a powerful expression of love and appreciation for life’s blessings. This Thanksgiving, as he dons a dishtowel and gathers loved ones around a new table, Folan aims to continue the tradition of sharing stories, laughter, and warmth, ensuring that the essence of home—rooted in love and gratitude—remains steadfast. In a world that often feels transient, his reflections serve as a reminder that the connections we forge and the love we share are what truly define our sense of belonging. Happy Thanksgiving!
Every Thanksgiving, as kitchens fill with the scent of roasting turkeys and cornbread cooling on the counter, I’m reminded that the dining room table has always been more than a place to eat. It’s where we learn who we are — where gratitude takes root and love takes shape. In my family, our table didn’t just serve meals; it built our home.
For as long as I can remember, Thanksgiving meant gathering in my parents’ house on Munroe Street. I can still see myself as a kindergartener, while my father, a World War II Navy veteran, and my mother, the Martha Stewart of Munroe Street, welcomed family, friends, and neighbors.
My mother always wore a fancy apron and kept a dishtowel draped over her shoulder. She was the last to sit — only when everyone else had what they needed. The china gleamed, the Waterford sparkled, and the silver was polished. Around that table, we shared stories, laughter, and the kind of lively debate that usually ended in grace.
Over the years, that table witnessed every chapter of our lives — birthdays, graduations, Christmas mornings — as if the chairs remembered our names. There were solemn gatherings too: quiet dinners before each of my parents’ funerals, when the air was heavy, but love held us up. Our table knew our joy and our sorrow.
When I married and had children, life came full circle. I bought my childhood home when my oldest was in kindergarten. A new table, the same dining room — the same rhythm of gratitude and belonging continued. But this year is different. For the first time in 45 years, my family won’t celebrate Thanksgiving in that house. We moved. The room that held so much of our story now belongs to someone else.
Change, as it always does, tugs at the heart. There’s an ache in closing a door for the last time, but I’ve come to understand that a house is only the frame — home is what we carry within it. The love that filled those rooms doesn’t stay behind; it travels with us. Gratitude turns any house into a home.
When we host others this season, let’s remember we’re called not just to feed them, but to honor who they are. True hospitality isn’t about impressing anyone; it’s about making room for them.
Gratitude was something my mother practiced long before I understood the word. It wasn’t a moment before the meal; it was the way she moved through the world. Even when life was difficult and she battled leukemia, she still set her table with care. Thanksgiving isn’t something we feel only when life is easy. It’s a daily habit that helps us see how much good surrounds us.
This Thanksgiving, I’ll sling a dishtowel over my shoulder, and we’ll gather around a new table, laughing over old stories and sharing new ones. Though the table may be different, what gathers around it hasn’t changed: the people, the laughter, and the way love builds a home.
With every meal we share this year, may gratitude find its way home, reminding us of who we are and how we belong.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Dr. Peter F. Folan is the Head of School at Dexter Southfield
