Column: Human beings, including me, are rarely grateful for life’s gifts

A few days ago my wife, Hedy, and I took our 4-year-old grandson, Judah, to the Santa Ana Zoo at Prentice Park.

It was a cool, invigorating morning.

We take Judah there periodically. He loves the freedom afforded by the zoo’s “pathways.” He can chart his own course during our visit.

“Where do you want to go now, buddy?” is our constant inquiry.

Judah particularly loves to ride the train (the Zoofari Express) and visit Monkey Row.

Have you been to the Santa Ana Zoo lately? I remember when it was an eyesore in the 1970s and ‘80s. I took my kids there … maybe twice. As I recall, the zoo had a flea-bitten bear and some monkeys.

Hedy began taking our grandchildren there a few years ago. Frankly, I didn’t want to accompany them due to the toxic memories I’d filed away.

I finally relented a couple of years back. Talk about a makeover! The 20-acre zoo has become a jewel in an urban setting. Today it focuses on the animals and plants of Central and South America.

The grounds are creatively landscaped and immaculate. The docents are enthusiastic and helpful and offer a treasure trove of information.

Back to our recent visit with Judah.

My heart was swelling with gratitude. I was feeling blessed. I can’t give you a reason why. Maybe it was the poached egg I’d eaten with my morning coffee, or perhaps it had to do with the approach of Thanksgiving. But it felt like a “God moment.”

Such fleeting sensations are precious.

Walking a few paces behind Hedy and Judah, I offered a silent prayer as I watched them: “Thanks, Lord, for a wonderful life. I’m so undeserving. I’ve done nothing to earn this. So, thanks.”

Simple, but heartfelt. I felt completely contented.

How often do I pause to offer thanks to my God for my life, for my loved ones and for my blessings? I’ll be honest. Rarely, almost never. What an ingrate I am. Instead, I busy myself with grousing and complaining.

Russian writer Fyodor Dostoyevsky wrote in his 1864 novella, “Notes From Underground”: “(Man), if he is not stupid, is monstrously ungrateful! Phenomenally ungrateful! In fact, I believe that the best definition of man is the ungrateful biped.”

Guilty as charged!

It’s nearly Thanksgiving, fella, I lecture myself. Be thankful!

How about if I begin by giving thanks for my wife of 43 years, Hedy, the most wonderful sweetheart and best best friend a guy could have? Good start.

How about for my son and my three daughters who’ve filled my life with inexpressible joy? Uh-huh.

How about my eight grandchildren (two boys and six girls)? What a treasure they are. They give old age meaning. Ah, yes.

And how could I not be enormously grateful for my wonderful parents, my inspirational siblings and my extended family? It goes without saying.

And for my friends, my career, my associates, my hometown, my schools and teachers, my health, my everything! I’m thankful for a wonderful life — all of it, even the difficult parts.

I invite you to join me this season in being courageously and sonorously grateful. Make a deliberate effort on Thanksgiving Day to give thanks in a manner in which you feel comfortable. It’s good to express gratitude.

Thank God and Jesus Christ, or Allah, or Vishnu, or the Great Spirit, or the Vast Void, or the Flying Spaghetti Monster, whomever you wish, for your blessings. You cannot account for those blessings yourself. No matter what you believe, you didn’t do any of it. Nor did I.

Who set your heart to beating, your lungs to inhaling oxygen and expelling carbon dioxide, and your digestive system to grinding and absorbing? Thank that one.

“Look around you,” writes Christian author, Michael O’Brien, in his book, “Sophia House.” “Do we not live and move and have our being upon the face of a miracle? We have ceased to notice what a marvel it is.”

Take notice in this the season of marvels. Relish your blessings.

Happy Thanksgiving!

JIM CARNETT, who lives in Costa Mesa, worked for Orange Coast College for 37 years.