Potato

Pappy was born in nineteen-twenty-one. The family never wanted for anything. Grandma had owned three different restaurants in her days, though they never made money. She treated every one like family. Seconds? Thirds? No one walked away hungry.

I grew up with tales of The Great Depression.
Pappy told me a story about a fella that
lost consciousness on the job.

His coworkers roused him and
gave him water. They asked,
what had he eaten?

Fella pointed to his lunch pail.
They looked inside.

Nothing but potato peelings.

It was his daughter’s turn to eat the potato.

~
Some days, I bake a potato.

A little butter. A little salt.

And, appreciate this life.

Hamid : )