Way back when (early sixties), my father was an over-the-road truck driver, and he called home one year right before Christmas to tell us he was snowed in around Seattle and wouldn’t be home for awhile. My mother did her best to hide this from us kids, but we were definitely penniless in N.J.. He had a very good paycheck and no way to get it to us.
I still remember taking the last piece of bread for the last bit of peanut butter and eating it. Still can’t even stand the smell of peanut butter any more after that, used to love it. We didn’t eat any thing for two days after that, but I guess word got out, and one night there was a knock at the door, and in came a couple dozen people, each with a paper bag full of food, Christmas presents, even a tree. The local church we attended had heard and was there.
memyselfnie 