Out of a jam
It was 1933. I had been laid off from my part-time job and could no longer
make my contribution to the family larder. Our only income was what
Mother could make by doing dressmaking for others. Then Mother was sick
for a few weeks and unable to work. The electric company came out and cut
off the power when we couldn’t pay the bill. Then the gas company cut off
the gas of ours. Then the water company did too. But fortunately the Health
Department made them turn the water back on for common sanitation
reasons. The cupboard in my house got very bare all the times. We had a
vegetable garden planted by our whole family long also, so we were able to
cook some of its produce on a campfire in the back yard.
Then one day, my younger sister came skipping home from school saying
with mom, “We’re supposed to bring something to school tomorrow to give
to the poor.”
Mother started to blurt out, “I don’t know of anyone who is any poorer than
we are,” when her mother, who was living with us at the time, shushed her
with a hand on her arm and a frown.
“Eva,” she said, “if you give that child the idea that she is ‘poor folks’ at her
age, she will be ‘poor folks’ for the rest of her life. There is one jar of that
home-made jelly left for saving. She can take that to her class.”
Then grandmother found some tissue paper, together with a little bit of pink
ribbon picked up one day. Then, she wrapped our last jar of jelly with all the
materials, and Sis tripped off to school the next day proudly carrying her
“gift to the poor” that her grandmother prepared by herself. After that, if
there ever was a problem in the community, she just naturally assumed that
she was supposed to be part of the solution.
- Edgar Bledsoe
Persons thankful for little things are certain to be the ones with much to be
