11/02/2026
I've spent years helping people find houses. But some of my strongest memories of home have very little to do with the houses themselves.
Growing up, there was always enough food at our Thanksgiving table. The number of chairs was another matter.
Some years we had empty seats. Other years, we were scrambling to find folding chairs.
Mom invited everyone. Family, friends, and sometimes people we'd never met before. My uncle might arrive with his children, or he might bring a few friends who needed somewhere to spend the holiday.
Everyone was welcome.
We've continued that tradition in our own home.
One Thanksgiving, we welcomed a coworker and his family who had recently arrived from India. It was their first American Thanksgiving. Around that table, we shared more than a meal. We talked about traditions from different countries and learned a little about one another.
Mom moved to Heaven about eight years ago, but her example remains part of every holiday we celebrate.
I've come to believe that a welcoming home isn't measured by how many people fit comfortably around the table.
Sometimes it's measured by how many folding chairs you're willing to find.
Who taught you what hospitality looks like?
