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Growing up I was envious of friends who were born into a strong family, one rich with heritage, traditions that brought forward large gatherings of extended family with tables filled with food cooked for the celebration, those recipes handed down from one generation to the next with the origin of the dishes resting somewhere in lands with exotic names, names with syllables that began in the back of the throat and spilled forward and touched the tongue in places English never did. I wanted that, longed for that and at times resented the fact that I didn't have it, didn't have it in my genes, didn't have it in my history. My history was bland. It has taken time, time for me to see the beauty and richness of my history, my heritage. I saw it today. I saw it this morning when I sat with my sister and lifelong friend and talked and laughed and enjoyed our time together with four generations of a family. I saw it in the laughter, I saw it in the food, I saw it in my sister. Later in the day I saw it again as we gathered around our table and celebrated another year of life for my granddaughter, my daughter and for me. Surrounded by our family, our extended family, this group of people who make up our lives with love and laughter and kindness and joy and all that goes along with life, we stood together and sang and talked and smiled and ate and wished for another year of life, another year of success, another year. This is my heritage, my history. It is one of rich tradition, one of joy. It is all the things I longed for, what I thought I was missing, what I couldn't see. This is my life and I am thankful.