P.S. to an Earlier Post

Another thought came to mind concerning my Mother. As an 8 or 9 year old little girl, I was perhaps impatient at times and had desires for certain things. I suppose this incident was the beginning of my understanding what compassion was. I doubt I had ever heard the word or at least never gave it a second thought as to it's meaning. It was near the end of the school year and as was the custom, we were preparing for an end-of-school program. It was Springtime and most of the other girls who would be in the program had new patent leather white slippers. All I had was some black patent leather what were quite worn, in fact they were worn to the extent that the black was all worn off the toes. There was no money for new white slippers and no way to travel 18 miles to the nearest town even if there were money. I shall never forget, when I got home from school the day before the program, my dear mother was outside working on the side of the porch. She had a bottle of white Shinola shoe polish and she was attempting to 'paint' my black slippers with the white polish so I would have white like the other girls. Of course, there was no way the liquid white polish would adhere to the shinny black slippers. I remember feeling concern for her and telling her it was OK that I would wear black ones. She was near tears because she could not give me what I wanted and I never forgot her effort and how she did the best she could with what she had.

Thank you Mother,
Dortha