My mother loved cabbage and I hated it. Ok, I concede this is not the most exciting of intros but hang in here with me because the tragedy deepens. Like so many other mothers raised in the post depression era, my mother followed the belief that food was a blessing and if you were fortunate enough to be served it - you better be grateful enough to eat it.
"Dear Lord,
We thank thee for food and remember those who are hungry.
We thank thee for shelter, and remember those who are homeless.
We thank thee for health, and remember those who are ill.
We thank thee for freedom, and remember those who are enslaved.
We thank thee for friends and family, and remember those who are alone.
May these remembrances stir us to service, so that thy gifts to us may benefit others. Amen."
So goes our traditional Thanksgiving prayer. My eldest daughter Ari memorized it at a young age and took great pride reciting it each year, that is....up until she turned thirteen.
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