by Patricia Mallicote Albert

Created on: December 13, 2008

HAVING ENOUGH IN THE FIFTYS.

It was that time of the year again. A day for families to gather and feast on the greatest of food. I was the eighth child in a family of ten children. Four of the older ones were married, some with children of their own. One of our brothers had married an uppity girl and I had overheard my mother say that she was dreading the holiday because food was scarce this year. She just knew "the uppity girl" would turn her nose up at the simple fare we had to put on the table for Thanksgiving.

We lived just blocks from the center of our growing town, and it was the habit of my younger sister and I to go to the corner drug store to spend a few hours reading comic books from their magazine rack. When you didn't have money, you invented your entertainment. Darla was a skinny seven year old and I was the same only more mature at the age of eleven. We didn't know it but our Thanksgiving was just about to get better.

When we passed one of the four churches that lined what was known as "church circle", a scurrying of people carrying saran wrapped plates of cookies, cakes and pies caught our attention. As we overheard their excited chatter we realized they were going somewhere to have a bake sale to help the needy. Oh how we wished we could afford some of those sweet smelling goodies, but alas we seldom had money in our pockets.

We didn't dwell on the wish for cookies and cakes for long as we had finally arrived at our destination and the reading of the latest comic books. But first we had to read the new sign that had been attached to the magazine rack. It said in big bold letters, Do not read magazines until they are paid for. Now how about that, our afternoon was ruined. We would have to come up with other things to do. With heads down, we walked back home the same way we came. What would we do to use up our hours until the family gathered for that Thanksgiving meal that most likely wouldn't even have the turkey in attendance.

As we arrived at the spot where we had passed all the bake sale people, our attention was drawn to one bundle on the back side of the biggest tree there. Our eyes darted to the bundle and then to each other and then repeated the process. We kept walking without saying a word. We walked right past what we both knew must be one of those sweet smelling cakes. We kept walking, our eyes darting, but not for long. Suddenly we both stopped at the same time. We didn't speak a word, we knew what we had to do. We picked that cake up and ran toward home as fast as our skinny little legs could take us.

As Mother served the cake to our brothers uppity wife, she had the beginnings of a smile just at the corner of her usually worried mouth. When our brothers uppity wife asked for a second helping of our cake from heaven, Jane and I looked at each other and our smiles showed just how thankful two skinny little girls were for absent minded church members on a Thanksgiving Day in the fifty's.

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