Jack Stallard

It’s 5 p.m. on Thanksgiving evening as I write this, and I’m still so full from lunch I might not be able to eat again until dinner.

Christmas dinner.

I spent the day surrounded by people I love and then came home to a warm, dry house and two puppies who reacted to my arrival as if I had been gone four years instead of four hours.

My favorite NFL team won, and there are two more football games being played later in the evening if I decide to stay up late and watch them.

All of this happened the day after I visited the heart hospital for a routine “device check” to make sure the pacemaker I had installed a little more than three months ago is doing its job.

It is, and on top of that, I’ve dropped 20 pounds and my blood pressure is perfect so the nurse who took care of me Wednesday said to keep up the good work and don’t bother them again for another year.

If I never receive another blessing my remaining days on this planet I won’t complain, but for some reason the man upstairs continues to take care of me.

I know by the time most of you read this it’ll be a day or two past Thanksgiving and time to start stressing about Christmas, but before that happens please allow me to say thanks to a few people.

Nurses

The young lady who dealt with me at my checkup on Wednesday was tired and even mentioned that my vital signs were better than hers because she doesn’t always take the time to eat right or exercise.

That hurt my heart, because nurses are angels among us. They take care of us, often at the expense of their own physical and mental health.

I fussed at her a little and felt bad about it later since my checkup was probably one of the reasons she missed lunch Wednesday. My heart was in the right place though, but she already knew that.

Teachers

The first person who ever told me I was smart was my fifth-grade teacher, Mrs. Sutphin.

When she told me I was smart, it changed my entire attitude about school and I decided I wanted to make the honor roll for the first time.

When I missed it because of one class (math) each of the first five six-week grading periods, she didn’t let me give up.

When I stepped off the school bus the last day of school, she met me at the bottom of the steps, wrapped me up in a big bear hug, handed me my report card and loudly announced to everyone at the bus stop I was an honor roll student.

That was 46 years ago, and the confidence one teacher had in me still pushes me to take on any challenge that presents itself.

Coaches

I don’t know the exact number of live high school sporting events I’ve covered for three newspapers in a 37-year career as a sports writer in East Texas, but a conservative number would be around 8,000.

At about 7,999 of those events, I’ve heard “fans” who will probably spend an hour after the game looking for their own truck in the parking lot tell the coach of their team he or she couldn’t get a clue wearing clue Musk in a field full of clues during clue mating season.

I don’t always understand why a high school coach runs a certain play or does or doesn’t put a certain player in the game, but until I sit in on video sessions or look every kid on the team in the eyes each day — like coaches do — I’ll trust them to know what’s best for the team.

A lot more folks deserve our gratitude — firefighters, police officers and the people who make the Chick-fil-A drive-thru line run so smoothly to name a few — but you get the idea.

They don’t expect or ask for our praise, but I guarantee it’s appreciated. So, take a few minutes to reach out and say thanks occasionally.

It’ll do your heart good.