I love this story that my mom Frieda is sharing today!
When I was four and my sister was only three, our family was very poor, though as children we didn’t realize it. This was between the Great Depression and the Second World War, and my Dad preached at a small mission in South Dallas and did whatever work he could find, which sometimes wasn’t much. Just before Christmas that year, Mother decided to make some of her famous lemon meringue pies, and sell them to get a little money to buy us each a present or two.
Imagine my mother making all those meringue pies without even a rotary hand mixer. She set all the pies out on the kitchen table to cool.
My sister and I were romping around the kitchen, which would have been the warmest room in the house since the oven was on. We started throwing up and trying to catch a rubber pig, one of those you squeeze and it squeals, probably one of our baby brother’s toys. I threw the pig up, and to my horror–of course you guessed it—it landed squarely in the middle of a beautiful lemon meringue pie.
Mother probably came to check on us when things got too quiet in the kitchen. “Sunny threw the pig in the pie,” I hastily exclaimed! I think little Sunny was too scared to protest, and she got a good spanking.
Jump forward two or three years. I remember very well one day when Mother was washing my hair, I said ever so casually, “Mother, I’m sure it doesn’t matter now, but you know that time Sunny threw the rubber pig in the lemon pie? Well, actually, that was me that did it!”
“Oh, so you don’t think it matters? Well, you will see that it still matters!”
My sister had been so small that she didn’t even remember the occurrence, but after living with my guilty conscience that long, my spanking was a great relief!