Folan: Gratitude finds its way home
Thanksgiving is a time steeped in tradition, and for many, the dining room table serves as the heart of these cherished gatherings. Dr. Peter F. Folan reflects on the profound significance of this familial space in his poignant article, where he recounts the memories forged around his parents’ table on Munroe Street. For Folan, this table was more than just a piece of furniture; it was a sanctuary where love, gratitude, and identity blossomed. From his childhood memories of his mother, the “Martha Stewart of Munroe Street,” meticulously preparing meals to the lively debates and heartfelt stories shared among family and friends, the table bore witness to the full spectrum of life’s moments—joyous celebrations, solemn farewells, and everything in between.
This year, however, marks a significant change for Folan and his family. After 45 years of Thanksgiving celebrations in that beloved home, they have moved, leaving behind the dining room that cradled so many memories. Yet, he poignantly reminds us that while the physical space may change, the essence of home—rooted in love and gratitude—travels with us. Folan emphasizes that true hospitality transcends mere meal preparation; it is about honoring the people we gather with, creating a space where they feel valued and welcomed. His mother’s enduring practice of gratitude, even in challenging times, serves as a powerful reminder that Thanksgiving is not just a moment in November but a daily habit that enriches our lives with appreciation for the good that surrounds us.
As Folan prepares to celebrate Thanksgiving around a new table, he carries forward the traditions of love and laughter, ensuring that the spirit of gratitude remains intact. His reflections inspire us to cherish our own gatherings, reminding us that the bonds we create and the love we share are what truly define a home. This Thanksgiving, as we come together with family and friends, let us embrace the spirit of gratitude, honoring the connections that shape who we are and how we belong. 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
