His name was Squanto, Native American, enslaved in his childhood, forced to become Squire to seafaring royalty. In Spain he fled and through a series of harrowing and magical circumstances ended up in Plymouth Rock during a fateful winter. He saved the Pilgrims, taught them how to, fish, fertilize, plant crops, corn. Because of Squanto, the Pilgrims, we survived. I am thankful for the soul of a man who forgave a willful people and saw past the color of one’s skin to spirit. For me, Thanksgiving is the valor of his heart, his courage, his humility and his great, great ability to love.