During most of the 1970s it was a Vineyard ritual. Many of us spent Thanksgiving day with family and friends. Then Saturday came along and it was off to the horse races.

Americans have strong opinions on who belongs and who doesn’t.

Part of my summer ritual for the last 30 years is a final bike ride, coasting down the hill from our Oak Bluffs cottage.

Kib Bramhall is a member of a rarefied fraternity, he embodies the Vineyard fishing culture he embraced when he arrived on the Island at age 12 in 1945.

The first time I visited Montgomery was to introduce Vernon Jordan, a longtime Vineyard summer resident, as our speaker at the Clifford and Virginia Durr lecture series.

In the Greek fishing village of Nea Kios, where I traveled recently, there is a Psarotaverna, a fish tavern, that reminded me of home on the Vineyard.

Long before Cedar Tree Neck became the magnificent conservation area that it is today, it was a tucked-away refuge for summer visitors.

On a recent Saturday, determined to break free of my down-Island bubble, I decided to make the trip to Menemsha in winter — in other words, the end of the world.

I stand on the outside ring of concrete at the Baltimore airport (Friendship for the very oldest of you reading this), waiting for my son Adin.

It was impossible to not be moved by what took place on the floor of the Boston Garden last week.