My restaurants are never opened on Thanksgiving; I want my staff

"My restaurants are never opened on Thanksgiving; I want my staff to spend time with their family if they can. My feeling is, if I can't figure out how to make money the rest of the year so that my workers can enjoy the holidays, then I don't deserve to be an owner." With these words, Michael Symon lifts high a standard of leadership and humanity. He declares that the worth of an owner, a leader, or a master is not measured by endless gain, but by the honor he gives to those who labor beside him. His voice rises against the endless hunger of profit, reminding us that family, rest, and fellowship are treasures greater than wealth.

The origin of this wisdom can be traced to the ancient bond between master and worker, lord and servant, commander and soldier. In every age, the greatness of a leader was not measured merely by conquest or profit, but by the care given to those who bore the weight of toil. The Romans honored their generals who brought spoils, but praised even more those who shared the spoils with their legions. In like manner, Symon shows that a true owner is not the one who wrings his workers dry, but the one who grants them the dignity of shared joy and time with loved ones.

History gives us vivid examples. During the Second World War, some factory leaders in America, though pressed by the needs of production, would allow shortened hours on holidays, urging workers to be with their families. Though they could have gained more by keeping the wheels turning, they understood that morale and human dignity were essential to victory. By sacrificing immediate gain, they sowed loyalty and strength. Symon’s principle echoes this timeless truth: that profit without humanity is hollow, but humanity enriches both spirit and labor.

In his words lies a rebuke to the relentless culture of consumption that drives many to open their doors on sacred days, when the heart longs to be home. He reminds us that if a leader cannot prosper without robbing his workers of their rest, then he is unworthy of his title. This is not weakness, but heroic clarity: to say, “I do not deserve to be an owner” if I cannot provide such freedom is to place responsibility above greed, and people above profit.

The lesson here is profound. Thanksgiving, and indeed all sacred days, are not merely about the table of food, but about the table of hearts gathered together. To deny a worker that table is to deny him the very essence of the holiday. Symon teaches that leadership is stewardship, and stewardship means safeguarding not only wages, but the deeper wealth of time, rest, and belonging.

Let us understand this teaching for our own lives. Whatever role we play—whether as leaders, parents, teachers, or friends—our worth is measured not by how much we take, but by how much we protect the dignity of those around us. If you hold power, use it to create space for others to breathe, to rejoice, to gather. If you hold responsibility, wield it not with chains but with generosity.

And the practical action is this: in your work and in your life, seek balance. Do not drive yourself or others endlessly, forgetting the sacred pauses. Create room for family and rest, not only for yourself but for all who depend on you. Measure your success not only in profit, but in the flourishing of those around you. In this way, you will not only build wealth but also cultivate loyalty, honor, and love.

Thus, Symon’s words echo as a commandment of the ancients: to be a leader is to be a protector. Those who cannot provide joy and rest for their people have gained only hollow power. But those who grant freedom and fellowship will be remembered as true guardians of the human spirit.