Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, is the biggest shopping day

The words of Steve Doocy—“Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, is the biggest shopping day of the year, it's also the biggest leftovers day of the year.”—may sound lighthearted, yet they capture the curious dual nature of modern life: the pull of commerce on one side and the pull of family tradition on the other. He speaks of Black Friday, a day of frenzy when people rush to buy what they do not yet have, and of leftovers, the humble and enduring abundance of what was already given. In this contrast lies wisdom, for it reminds us to ask: will we chase endlessly after what is new, or will we savor what has already been placed in our hands?

The ancients also knew of such tensions. In Rome, the Saturnalia festival was marked by both feasting and frenzied exchange, as gifts were traded in excess, while families also gathered to enjoy the remnants of their celebratory meals. Even then, human beings balanced gratitude for what they had with desire for more. Doocy’s words, though modern in reference, echo this timeless truth: that every feast gives us a choice—to treasure what remains, or to be consumed by endless seeking.

History provides vivid examples of this truth. During the Great Depression, there were no great shopping frenzies after holidays, for families had little to spend. Instead, the leftover meal itself was the treasure. A roasted chicken stretched into soup, bread into pudding, scraps into sustenance. For those families, gratitude was not found in stores, but in the kitchen pot. Doocy’s jest reminds us that leftovers are not merely food, but symbols of continuity, of meals that stretch beyond one day, of blessings that endure past their first taste.

There is also a deeper meaning in his humor: the day after Thanksgiving reveals the character of a people. Some rise before dawn to stand in lines, to fight for sales, to chase after fleeting bargains. Others return quietly to the table, reheating turkey and pie, gathering again to share what remains. Neither choice is inherently wrong, yet the contrast is clear: one path runs outward, seeking more; the other turns inward, savoring enough. This is the eternal conflict of human desire—between gratitude for what we have, and hunger for what we lack.

Doocy’s reflection, though playful, invites us to consider balance. It is not wrong to shop, nor to seek what is new, but it is dangerous to forget what is already before us. The leftover meal teaches us that abundance is often found not in new purchases, but in what remains from yesterday’s gifts. The turkey sandwich, the reheated stuffing, the slice of pie eaten cold from the fridge—all remind us that joy does not always require novelty, only remembrance.

The lesson, then, is clear: cherish what you have before you grasp for more. Leftovers, in their simplicity, teach us that yesterday’s blessings are still alive today, that abundance can last if we are wise enough to preserve it. In a world that urges constant consumption, leftovers are an act of quiet defiance, a reminder that enough is already here.

Therefore, let your actions be these: savor the leftovers of life. Do not rush so quickly toward the next purchase or the next desire that you forget to enjoy the blessings already given. Sit again at the table, share again in gratitude, and teach your children that joy is not always in what is bought, but in what is remembered.

Thus, Steve Doocy’s words, though spoken in jest, carry timeless weight: the day after Thanksgiving may be the biggest shopping day, but it is also the greatest reminder of abundance that endures. Let us not lose ourselves only in chasing what is new, but also pause to treasure what remains—both the food upon our plates and the love within our homes. For in these leftovers lies the truest wealth.