A Thanksgiving Day editorial『社论』in the newspaper told of a school teacher who asked her class of first graders to draw a picture of something they were thankful for. She thought of how little these children from poor neighborhoods actually had to be thankful for. But she knew that most of them would draw pictures of turkeys or tables with food. The teacher was taken aback『吃惊；惊讶』with the picture Douglas handed in… a smile childishly drawn hand.
But whose hand? The class was captivated『迷惑；困惑』by the abstract『抽象的』image. “I think it must be the hand of God that brings us food,” said one child. “A farmer,” said another, “because he grows the turkeys.” Finally when the others were at work, the teacher bent『弯腰；屈身』over Douglas’s desk and asked whose hand it was. “It’s your hand, Teacher,” he mumbled『咕哝；含糊地说』.
She recalled that frequently at recess『课间休息』she had taken Douglas, a scrubby『身材矮小的』forlorn『孤独的』child by the hand. She often did that with the children. But it meant so much to Douglas. Perhaps this was everyone’s Thanksgiving, not for the material things given to us but for the chance, in whatever small way, to give to others.