When I was 12 years old, the Youth of First Christian Church had a picnic at Honor Heights Park in Muskogee, Okla. The good ladies of the church brought loads of potato salad, baked beans and coleslaw, but every child knew the real action was in the sack lunch Mom had packed with their favorite delight. Our mom had fried some chicken.
That was a real treat for us as she opposed fried food on general principle long before such health concerns were fashionable. I had the breast pieces, my younger brother, Robert, got the drumsticks, and sister Susan got the thigh pieces.
Just before the prayer was to be given, the Rev. Wilbanks made an admonition that went something like this: You young folks should not be greedily holding on to your own sack lunches; rather you should empty your sacks and contribute the contents to the common table — after all, sharing was the Christian way.
I was horrified. Nonetheless, along with all the other children, I pliantly obeyed the minister and surrendered my lunch. We then all bowed our heads in prayer and I did something I had never done — I impiously opened my eyes and slowly edged toward the picnic table. . . . (More)
(Hat-tip: My mom)