The events of late and the feelings of the season have culminated in my call for Thanksgiving. A plea, really. A plea that we all take a moment and remind ourselves of the privilege we are afforded to learn and grow on a college campus, especially here at The University of Alabama. A plea that we can come to an appreciation of the complicated paradox that is the American South and be just a little less bitter about it.

This is not to say that the South or the University are free from problems of intolerance or political oppression — obviously, we are not. This is not to say we shouldn’t be critical of something we love — it is is in fact our duty. What I am saying is that we should take a step back, however brief, and realize just how lucky we are.

You see, I grew up in a crisp, white double-wide at the end of a red dirt road in extremely rural, poverty-stricken Perry County, Alabama. Most of you who have heard of Perry County are familiar with Marion, but I would challenge you to imagine Marion as a thriving metropolis, and you can slowly begin to envision the desolation beyond. Mobility (both economic and geographic) is a completely foreign concept to most of us.

Not so many moons ago, members of my family could scarcely dream of attending college — let alone this state’s flagship university. The children of sharecroppers with whom I shared my childhood Thanksgiving table certainly would not. These were folks who grew up in a dogtrot cabin (if you’ve never heard of one, give it a Google); folks who carved an existence out of the bare wilderness; folks who gave thanks in the face of any adversity.

Giving thanks is a skill, really — one that my great-grandmother, Annie B. Huey, taught me at a very young age. Mama B (as we affectionately knew her) came of age in the Great Depression — the youngest of 8. She never had much, but was she was appreciative of everything from the people in her life and the food on her plate to the lilies in her garden. I try to embody that spirit of joyful gratitude in my own life, but I’ve oft fallen short of her ideal.

When I arrived on campus fresh and green way back in the fall of 2010, I remember looking around and feeling a tide of jealousy and resentment swell within me. It seemed that everywhere I looked people were driving brand new cars, had endless money to blow, had easy-ins to the best parties, houses or the SGA, and I had … a double-wide trailer. I can remember the chip on my shoulder growing until the weight was unbearable. It made me bitter and it made me angry. It made me a worse person. It certainly dampened my ability to inspire or lead others.

Then, one day, out of nowhere, it slapped me across the face so hard I almost fell down. How incredibly infantile, selfish and petty had I been to moan? Sure, other people had advantages I did not. Sure, other people had resources I did not. That is life, and it is unfair. Get used to it. There is still an abundance to be thankful for (especially those of you who are reading this as you stroll beneath the campus oaks). All of the sudden, I realized how incredible it was that just a few generations removed from plucking crops out the field, a member of my family was harvesting a Master’s degree. So I challenge you; The next time you feel bitterness, resentment, and anger welling deep inside you, shut it down. Take a moment to find the things in your life that you are thankful for. Then, with humble gratitude and concrete resolve work your ass off to improve your situation or change the circumstance that led to your angst. But for now, pass the turkey and “taters”; let’s celebrate a not-so-bitter southern thanksgiving.

Landon Nichols is a graduate student studying public administration.