Our family went through a time of extreme poverty. All our wood furniture had been burned for fuel. We had no refrigeration. We stole coal from the tops of parked train cars during the night, to heat the house and cook our food. Sometimes we only gathered enough to cook with. Hunger was a constant.

There were eight of us plus our parents. My stepfather was disabled and only received a small stipend a month. My mother couldn't find work. Things were pretty tough.

One day one of my brothers came home with a paper sack. He plopped it down on the formica topped kitchen table, obviously very excited. His eyes sparkled as my mother and several of us children gathered around to see what his prize was.

He delightedly told us his teacher had sent it home with him for us. He opened the bag and we all crowded around to peer into the paper sack. There laid a huge mound of spaghetti with tomato sauce. I remember being amazed that it hadn't wet through the sack.

My mother took one look and became very upset and angry. She said, "This is what we have come to! People sending us their garbage to eat! Throw it away! We haven't sunk that low!" With that she stalked out of the kitchen.

We children all looked at each other and without a word dug in. We used our hands. It was the best tasting spaghetti I had ever had.

Now, whenever I see spaghetti and sauce in a bowl, I think of that day and chuckle. When I share it with people they usually get a horrified look on their face. They are particularly appalled that I laugh.

I realize that if such a scene was played out in a movie or play, it would be heart rending and yet I still laugh.

That bag of spaghetti represented shame to my mother, but to us it was a blessing. It tasted good and if filled our tummies and we didn't care that it came in a paper bag. I think she probably knew when she walked out of the kitchen that we would eat it, but she couldn't bear to watch.

What was a blessing to us was a symbol of shame to my mother. Now, a mother myself I understand her reaction and would have the same one myself. But from this memory I have learned to look for the blessings in life and not turn my nose up at from whence they came or the spirit they come with.

That teacher could have found a nicer package to send home the leftovers. It wasn't very gracious of her but at least she sent it. What her thoughts were or intentions were I don't know, but this I do know, that spaghetti was a blessing.