My father’s favorite holiday was Christmas. He approached it with childlike glee, throwing himself into the joy of buying and wrapping gifts, his eyes gleaming with delight as he devised a new game each year to help us find the “big” gift. The entire process was a production—complete with groans from us kids—but it always ended in laughter. For my father, giving was more than a tradition; it was his love language.
In contrast, my mother’s favorite holiday was Thanksgiving. She was never more at home than when she was preparing a feast for friends and family. Everything she made—every pie crust, every casserole—was created from scratch and infused with love. Thanksgiving wasn’t just a meal for her; it was a reflection of her nurturing spirit.
My father, a United States Air Force veteran who served more than 20 years, carried his giving nature beyond the family. Wherever he was stationed, he invited single airmen and airwomen to join us for holidays. “Anjie,” he explained, “these young men and women can’t go home to their families, so we’ll be their family.” And so they became our extended family, filling our table and our hearts until their next assignment took them elsewhere. Even in his church work as a deacon, my father headed the Benevolent Committee with the same compassion. He ensured families in need received not only Thanksgiving and Christmas baskets but also enough food to sustain them beyond the holidays. “If a family is hungry on Thanksgiving or Christmas, they’re hungry the day before and the day after,” he’d say, reminding us all of the ongoing nature of need.
My mother, meanwhile, was the embodiment of adaptability and kindness. She handled our habit of inviting guests at the last minute with grace, effortlessly stretching meals by adding side dishes or sending us to fetch more food. Her generosity extended beyond planned gatherings; if she received a late-night call about a family in need, she’d raid her own cabinets to help. When I once lamented my inability to give as much as I wanted, she told me, “Anjie, give what you can, even if it’s just a smile. A smile costs nothing, but to someone else, it might be the best thing they’ve received all day.” Her wisdom shaped my understanding of generosity: “Do what you can, while you can, and let God take care of the rest.”
Though our family didn’t always have much, my parents were endlessly grateful for what they had and eager to share it with others. They taught us that family isn’t defined by blood but by love and connection. As a result, my chosen family has grown even as my blood family has shrunk over the years. Much like the home I grew up in, my house today is often filled with people who aren’t related to me by blood but who are family in every other sense. We laugh together, cry together, eat together, and celebrate together. For that, I am profoundly grateful.
As the holiday season approaches each year, I think of the lessons my parents taught me—lessons rooted in love, gratitude, and the joy of giving. Although both of my parents passed away during the holidays they loved most, they left me with a treasure trove of memories and values that continue to guide me. For my parents, the holidays were not an exception but a continuation of how they lived their lives year-round. Through their actions, they showed me the true meaning of giving and the importance of thankfulness. I do my best to honor their legacy by living those lessons every day.
