For Thanksgiving I read a wonderful story by Truman Capote, turned into a lovely children’s picture book.  The Thanksgiving Visitor was originally published in 1967, and this edition with illustrations by Beth Peck was published in 1996.

The book shows, through Peck’s paintings and Capote’s words, his years as a young boy living with eccentric but loving relatives in the Deep South.  Young Buddy is happy with his old aunt for his best friend; the only unhappiness is the torture Buddy  endures almost daily at the hands of the school bully, the impoverished and undereducated Odd Henderson.

Buddy always refers to his old aunt as “my friend”  as if there were no other friend,  just like a child talks of “my mother”; she is his one and only friend, irreplaceable and precious.  She is the only one who can teach a lesson in respect and humility, kindness and compassion, by her own example, and by her gently admonishing words when Buddy seeks revenge on the bullying Odd.

Portraying a South that no longer exists, Capote is yet demonstrating that the traits of goodness persist; he reminds us of the importance of tolerance and respect and compassion, at a time of year when we may be especially open to hearing what he has to say.

I had my own Thanksgiving visitor last night, in a dream  It was my sister, who died three and a half years ago.  I was in Cambridge, England (anticipating my next book about Sir Isaac Newton) at the Wren Library and I ran into my sister.  “I’ve been reading so many books lately.  I don’t what to read next, a sixteenth century philosopher or the new edition of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales that just came out.  What do you think?”  “I’ll have to think about that.  I’ll get back to you,” she answered.  And I know she will.  Thank you for the visit.  It is a comfort knowing you are still be there for me in my dreams.