Happy Thanksgiving – my mom’s favorite holiday. She liked it best because the whole family would gather together, but folks didn’t need gifts. She could make everyone happy with just a great meal and a warm house.

Well, actually, she did worry about one gift: mine. See, my birthday falls on or around Thanksgiving. And my folks would celebrate my birthday when the whole family came for the holiday.

Sounds great; but you have no idea what it did to me as a kid. Honestly, I thought that parade was mine until I was 12!

I know, I know. It explains a lot. And I don’t know if she did it on purpose, but when I’d get under foot as my mom stuffed the turkey, she’d say, “Go downstairs and watch your parade.” So I’d trot off to our basement TV room and watch scores of floats and marching bands head down Fifth Avenue; no kid ever had a finer celebration.

I remember 1972 like it was yesterday. Running upstairs, spilling my glass of Tab as I turned the corner from the cellar stairs and shouting to my mom, “Ma! That’s not my parade! It’s some Macy guy’s!”

And there you have it, the first in a series of lessons that I wasn’t the center of the universe. Still, it does shed light on why a woman might run for vice president.

Anyway, I guess you could say that ever since those parade-watching days, I’ve been a bit of a “big picture” gal with a tendency toward the grandiose.

Well, this big picture gal got the treat of a lifetime this week. I met another holiday baby. She will celebrate her 99th birthday in a mere matter of days.

Bright, articulate and full of mischief, she and I encountered each other as she teased the living daylights out of her gray-haired grandson.

My own wonderful mom, the woman who convinced me that the entire country had thrown a parade in my honor, died nine years ago – and I still have so many questions about her lifetime. I guessed that my new acquaintance could probably answer as least a few of those questions.

So I turned to this beautiful woman whose existence marked two world wars, the advent of space travel, the civil rights movement, Sept. 11, the inventions of penicillin, chemotherapy, nuclear power and napalm, and I said to her, “What was the most amazing thing about your lifetime?”

I wondered if her answer would be girl-centric. Would she say women in the military, women getting the right to vote or women ordained as ministers and rabbis?

She responded with vocal cords she’s had since 1908: “The most amazing part of my life has to be how many diapers I’ve changed. What with my children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren and so on, if I’d gotten a penny for every diaper I’ve changed, I’d be a rich woman now. If I’d gotten a nickel I could buy anything my heart desired.”

She couldn’t have stunned me more if she had sprouted wings and flown around the room.

I wrested control of my face muscles, not wanting to stand slack-jawed staring at her.

This woman had made a contribution to society so great and at the same time so marginalized that no history book I’ve read even mentions it.

So I searched the Forbes job listings for diaper changers and found none. I did find that the top 20 jobs for women employ about half of all “working” women, and their average weekly income is a little over $500. Changing diapers comes under the category of hobbies, I guess.

Then I thought about a nickel for every diaper allowing her to buy anything she wanted, and I looked up the highest-paid women. Forbes has a listing of the highest paid CEOs but all of them were men. Conspicuously absent from any mention about these guys however: Every one of them – I’m certain – wore diapers at one time.

My new friend’s existence paid tribute to an invaluable contribution made throughout time and yet forgotten by our history books filled with wars, industry and politics.

This Thanksgiving, while I’m watching my parade, I’ll be thankful for the mammoth role women have played in our lives.

Pat LaMarche of Yarmouth is the author of “Left Out In America: The State Of Homelessness In The United States.” She may be contacted through PatLaMarche@hotmail.com.