For most of the world, today is just Thursday. But for those of us in America, it is Thanksgiving. I’m aware of the extremely problematic nature of the first Thanksgiving in a way that I wasn’t when I was younger. If you’re reading this and you are Indigenous, I have so much empathy for you and your families, and hope you have support and love to surround you on this day.

In my family, Thanksgiving was never about the history of the holiday. We’ve always used this day as an excuse to get the extended family together to have a tasty dinner and enjoy each other’s company. My family was and still is a very welcoming one, and we always made it a point to donate extra to food pantries and clothing drives around this time of year, even though we donate food and clothing to various charities in our area all year round.

My father spent his teenage years as a refugee who survived a genocide. He was liberated from the Nazis by the Russian army when he was 14, and spent the next few years in a refugee camp before they were able to move to the new state of Israel. By the time he came to America and settled down, he had seen a lot of the world, and saw both the absolute best and absolute worst in people. He never shied away from sharing his history with me, and I’m grateful for having the upbringing that I did.

One lesson my father taught me was to be grateful for what I have, rather than looking at what I didn’t have: I have a hilariously zany family that has grown to include a whole new generation of kids, health issues that I’m able to get treatment for, stable housing, health insurance with good coverage, nutritious and healthy food, an education, family members that I also choose to have as friends, and some of the best friends I could ever want. And as if that isn’t enough, I have three dogs that make me laugh on a regular basis and sense when I’m having a rough time, whether physically or mentally, and love to cuddle up to me.

My father’s belief was that the best revenge he could ever get was to live a long, happy, comfortable life and grow his family. He came from a small family, and only had one brother. My father had four children who gave him headaches, but also brought him joy. I’m the only one of my siblings who doesn’t have children (at least, not the two-legged kind) and my father was able to meet two of his great-grandchildren before he passed away. My father enjoyed the simple pleasures in life, and he taught me to do the same.

On this Thanksgiving day, I’m so grateful to my dad for everything he taught me, and for being the man he was. His life was saved by several kind individuals who stood against a tsunami of hate, and I honor him every time I do something kind for another person. Because that’s the kind of man he was – he survived a genocide and it didn’t shake his faith or his moral compass. Today, I do my best every single day to make him proud, because I fully believe that he’s watching over me.

Happy Thursday to all of you, no matter what you do today, and I hope you are surrounded by love.