Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day. Perhaps it might be premature, but I'd like to start the thanks giving now:

To professors who have canceled classes, so that the holiday's eve is a quiet night at home instead of a harrowing ordeal on a crowded bus, train or plane, thank you.

To kindly teaching fellows who will grade our hastily completely problem sets and papers with sympathy and understanding.

To roommates who keep us company as we pack through the night, wisely advising us to remove stacks of textbooks from our suitcases, lightening our physical and mental loads.

To whoever is in charge of the weather, thank you.

To mothers who have wept when their babies left for college, and who weep each time their babies return. To fathers who greet us with a gruff handshake, little siblings who meet us with incessant questions and pets that welcome us with a wet, sloppy kiss. Thank you.

To all the forgotten luxuries of home--from high-pressure showers to a working fireplace--and to all its forgotten necessities, like Mom's apple pie. To all the familiar nooks and crannies in our walls, the squeaky doors and creaky floors, the imperfections that make our homecoming perfect. To our parents for leaving our bedroom just the way we left it, thank you.

To all the hometown people who haven't forgotten our faces, from longtime buddies to childhood crushes. To our high school teachers who never change and our friends from Yale who never learn.