During the Great Depression, my dad, an Oklahoma preacher, announced that he had invited strangers for Thanksgiving at our house.
Mother looked stricken. "Charlie," she said, "how do you propose we feed those folks?"
"Mama," Daddy said, "there are hungry people out there and we need to let them know we care."
My stomach growled, causing giggles from my three older siblings. "Patsy," Mama said to me, "I got a beef bone today so you'll soon have soup." Daddy laughed. "See how the Lord provides?"
"Well," Mama said, softening, "I guess I can stew Harold, that pesky old rooster. He'll be tough, but tasty."
While Mama put an end to Tough Harold's life, my sister Glendora and I mopped the worn linoleum floor and dusted. Sixteen-year-old Charles was sent to forage for wild greens. Faye, my oldest sister, set the table. "Always set the table first," Mama advised. "That way people will think food is on the way." On Thanksgiving evening the aroma of Harold stew, bone soup and Mama's cornbread welcomed company.
Read the rest on AOL News.
By the way, Gina Misiroglu of Red Room put me in touch with the AOL people, which is one of the great ways she's bringing traffic to Red Room and getting attention for Red Room's authors.
Causes Pat Montandon Supports
PETA, Women for Women, Amnesty International, Children as the Peacemakers, Peace to The Planet