It's that time of year, when towns all across this country trot out their worn and tattered Christmas ornaments and put them on display for all to see. And let's not forget the sad spectacle that is many of the small town parades. Local high school march bands blaring out bad versions of bad Christmas songs, competing with each other while the onlookers brave the cold and think about traffic. And we won't even talk about the horses and what they leave behind. All in hopes that some fat, local man, usually the mayor, in an old Santa suit will throw some hard candy your way.

Kids are really the only ones who enjoy Christmas parades. That's because they're still too young and stupid to see them for what they really are. You can't blame them. Or maybe you can, I don't know.

This year is odd. With all the patriotic fervor going on, it's hard to tell if it's Christmas or the Fourth of July. I saw Santa the other day dressed up as Uncle Sam.

And then there are those people who keep their Christmas decorations up 365 days a year. For a six week period, you can almost forget that these people are, well, let's face it, they're stupid and lazy. One year they decorated their house. And they never took them down. As winter took more of a fortress hold, they kept those decorations up. As Valentines Day came and went and St. Patrick's Day came and went, they kept those decorations up. As April 15 came and went, as the dogwoods bloomed and spring crept it, they kept those decorations up. As summer came and the 4th of July and then the start of school was upon them, they kept those decorations up. Year after year, they kept those decorations up. And you know the kind I mean. Those red and green lights from the 1970s that are as big as some spotlights. Blinking on and off... on and off... on and off... And then they have those two really big candles out by the door and the old weathered Santa up on the roof. You have to wonder when the last time was they cleaned out their gutters. (E-mail me off list and I'll tell you what part of Hawthorne Rd. in Lancaster, South Carolina right across from the street of house I grew up in you can see this house.)

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Thanksgiving was always my favorite holiday. Back when I was growing up, the whole maternal side of the family would come over to the house in Lancaster. For once in the year, the house would come alive. It would reverberate with fellowship, with laughter, with the smell of good food. Uncle John would either be proudly proclaiming another Clemson victory the weekend before or would be silent on that matter. (It was South Carolina -- 20, Clemson -- 15 this year!) Susan's laughter would literally fill the house. And the smokers would line the sidewalk after dinner out of respect to those of us who didn't wish to die a horrible death due to lung cancer. Dad would be sitting on the couch for once, instead of lying on it. Beth would be finishing off the one thing she thought she could cook, sweet potato pie. (The irony, of course, was that she was a wonderful cook, she just didn't know it.)

And that kid with the bad hair the sullen look on his face? Well, that kid was me. I know now that then I never appreciated it as I should have. But now I look back on those days and realize those were some of the better days of my life. Those days are gone now. My parents are gone, one of my sisters is gone. The rest of the family leads their own lives. Life, as they say, goes on.

Do you ever wonder what it's like for a Kennedy when Thanksgiving falls on 11/22? I'm guessing the touch football games are to die for.

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