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By JOEY SPRINKLE
Traveler Sports Editor
sports@arkcity.net

It's Thanksgiving, and that means it's time to give thanks.

Of course, it also means turkey and gravy, and stuffing, and mashed potatoes -- and it also means football.

We often overlook the real meaning of "the holidays," and I am certainly no exception. This can be a depressing time of year for those of us who struggle to pay bills and put food on the table, all the while trying to fulfill our life's dream of trying to make sure our kids have it better than we did.

What we often overlook, though, is that in many ways our kids do have it better than we did.

As I look back at my childhood, I am constantly reminded how my children have it better than I did, and immediately I realize what it means to truly be thankful.

My father died when I was 12 -- a sore subject for me this year because my son just turned 12 and ironically, I am the same age as my father was when he passed away. But my father was a sickly man; blind and a true albino, my father often was mistaken for my grandfather.

I can remember playing catch with my father exactly once. He was usually too ill to perform such a token little exercise that I often take for granted with my own son.

My Christmas presents often came from the Salvation Army, including a stuffed dog I received on my fifth Christmas that I have to this day.

My parents all-too often reminded us how our Uncle Walter drowned and rarely let us out of their sight. Therefore, Little League, scouts, swimming -- all were out of the question during my childhood.

I look at my son Brett and can't believe how much he looks and acts like me. Effects of Asperger's syndrome, ADHD and ADD keep us hopping from dawn to dusk, trying to keep up with the little bugger.

Like me, Brett is small for his age, and like me, he is a sports junkie. It pains me to see him struggle on the field of play against much bigger kids that are his own age. My eyes well up whenever I see the defeated look in his eyes every time he falters.

I could pity my son for the rest of his life, all the while trying to hide him from the evils of the world. I could easily say, "This is the way I was raised, and it's for your own protection."

But I would be wrong.

For every disappointed look he gets in his eyes at his own shortcomings, I have the ability to make his eyes light up like no other. All I have to do is pull myself away from the computer, or the television, and take my son outside to play catch.

That's when I crawl out of my pity party and start to become thankful. For I am thankful that, despite the aching knees and metal rods in my back, I am still able to play catch with my son.

I am thankful that I can allow my son to participate in baseball, basketball, soccer -- whatever it is that interest him. It might take some sacrifice here and there, but it is worth every bit of it.

I am thankful for my son's youthful exuberance and enthusiasm. I love the way his eyes light up when he gets excited.

I am thankful that my son looks up to me and not some money-hungry, egotistical professional athlete. To him, I am indestructible.

I am thankful for the giant hugs I get every time I come home from the office or from covering a game. I am thankful that he is still small enough to fit on my lap.

I am even thankful for some of his idiosyncrasies -- always making sure everyone is buckled up, chastising me every time I curse, telling me how scared it makes him when his mother and I argue.

Just thinking about my "little buddy" makes it easy to see how much I have to be thankful for.

I have a job I love -- I get to watch sports and write for a living. I have a wonderful 16-year-old daughter with enough soccer talent that it might pay for her college education.

My kids have it much better than I did. They have parents who love them, support them and haul them to practices and games. They have toys I could only have dreamed of. They share their bedrooms with no one, and are encouraged to participate in activities that interest them. The word "college" isn't a dirty word, but something that will be expected of them.

Everything I am, everything I do, I do for my kids. So in that regard, I have much, much to be thankful for.

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Sports editor Joey Sprinkle can be e-mailed at jsprinkle@arkcity.net.