To me, Thanksgiving is the gateway to the holiday season.

I know that it is supposed to be special in and of itself, and that I should be especially thankful, considering all that I have. These are tough times and there are so many with so little. Still, I find myself looking forward to Christmas and the New Year before I have even completed my gravy-laden feast. My typical Thanksgiving is one of eager anticipation. I give thanks, tell my loved ones that I, well, love them, and then go on my merry way to Santa and the fireworks. But this year was different.

My wife and I were married nearly 20 years ago. On that fateful day, we joined lives and families. It was a perfect union. First, she said "I do," then her family followed suit. On Nov. 29, two days after Thanksgiving, my second parents (I never call them my in-laws) celebrated 50 years of wedded bliss with 100 or so of their closest family and friends at a small Hilo restaurant.

Everyone was there, including a one-time Golden Glove champion, now 60-plus years old. Uncle remains light on his feet, seemingly ready for his next bout. But his hands had a more serious task that night as he cleared the way and helped his wife to her seat. The man who once distributed so much pain now gently held a treasure more precious than any medal or ribbon.

The hip-swaying, hand-twirling, hula-dancing aunty was there, too. She watched intently as my wife danced for the crowd, nodding her approval, knowing that the torch had been handed down from one generation to the next. The mo'opuna also watched between elbows-to-the-ribs from adults saying, "See, that's how you do it!"

Then there was the Bowling Alley Friend with the "supa-heavy" pidgin.

"Eh, boy, you deed one keella job az M.C., but you tawk funnykine fo' wun buggah from Wai'anae. You soun' moa like you from Montana den Ma'ili. Wot wen happen, you wen get abducted o' sumting? Come on, cuz, you gotta bus' 'em out like you from da 'aina, not one turis from Lahaina."

Speaking of tourists, even the Mainland cousin who spent every other summer in Hilo made it for the big event. She provided technical assistance and a semi-detached perspective of life in the Islands. She told tales of her carefree spirit and loose tongue, tempered semiannually by a seen-and-not-heard discipline that was destined for disaster. Still, her heart and her mother are on the Big Island even as her husband and profession are firmly rooted in Atlanta.

Attendees were pleasantly surprised when the matriarch of the family entered accompanied by her husband and daughter, both of whom function as primary caretakers. A shell of her former self, she suffers a silent battle with Alzheimer's as those around her struggle to cope with the loss of a loved one who remains among us. But on this night, on this occasion, there is much- needed laughter and even some respite.

Finally there's Mom and Dad. They listened to friends and family tell stories from the good old days and thankfully forgot their own age. They cut the cake and respectfully fed each other, sashayed for the money dance, and thanked the crowd for their love and support. Then they kissed- not a peck on the cheek or smooch on the lips, but a hot-blooded kiss; the kind normally reserved for the young.

In doing so, they let everyone know the secret to their success — a deep, unadulterated passion that knows no age limit.

Married now for just 20 years, my wife and I have yet to reach the halfway mark set by both her parents and my own, but we have much to be thankful for right here, right now. Still, if we make it to our golden anniversary it will be due to the recognition that we are loved and supported by others and that we are part of something much bigger than the two of us; and a hot-blooded kiss normally reserved for the young that we take with us through the years.

Michael C. DeMattos is on faculty at the University of Hawai'i Myron B. Thompson school of social work. He lives in Kane'ohe with his wife, daughter and animals.