turnip

thought i had run out of stories...but not so. christmas brought to mind one more. at christmas of about 1917 when grampa was about 12 yrs old, he was told to harness the horse and hitch the cart , go down to the harbour, meet the boat , and fetch home his uncles that were on leave from the great war and coming home for christmas. this was great responsability and a proud errand for him...bringing the family warriors home for the christmas dinner!....on his way to the docks he past by the "poor homes" (irish catholics, i guess)...he saw a boy not much younger than him standing in a doorway eating a piece of raw turnip. grampa new that that piece of raw turnip was that boys christmas...no special dinner no preasants....just raw turnip!...the sight deflated the pride of his errand and his joy of that christmas...the rest of the story...when i was about 10 (1966) grampa was making christmas dinner...(gramma was sored up with ms and couldn't cook)...he was in the pantry and called me in; he gave me a slice of raw turnip...i ate it...it was sweet...he asked if i liked it...i said "ya it's good"....he then told me of his christmas errand and the boy with the piece of turnip...this world would be a kinder place if we all lived by grampas' example