It was early evening & we were exhausted from spending a week in the wilderness portaging & paddling our two canoes & gear around Isle Royal National Park. It was a great time for bonding. A father, brother, son & grandson; the youngest 19 & the oldest, me, at 58. We loaded our car & headed back to Moms to get a hot meal & a nights rest before heading our separate ways back home. That evening Christel, my daughter, gave my mom a book of bed time stories that contained the one story we had all heard as children; my mom had told me, I had told my children & my children are now telling theirs. Among other things, this story has become a symbol & power of oral tradition. My mother had been looking for this story for years with no luck. On opening the carefully wrapped package, mom squealed like a teenage girl who had just been asked to her first prom. Quickly thumbing through the index to locate the page number, she began to read. As she read her children, grandchildren, & great grandchildren moved closer, lying on the floor at her feet. Mesmerized by the sound of a loving voice, we nostalgically returned to the simplicity of our childhood.

“The Queer Little Baker Man.” is a Thanksgiving story of another kind, a story that celebrates generosity & kindness while teaching the cost of greed & selfishness. This story & the people who told it to me have shaped my life & the lives of those I have told it to. On the floor at my mothers feet are three generations. I tell the story not as it was written but as I had heard & told it to my children. The official title of the story is, “The Queer Little Baker Man,” found in “The Children’s Story Garden.”

+ + + Thanksgiving Loaves + + + In a small village stood a little white schoolhouse with a single room where all the residents of the village had once been students. And today’s students were no different then those they replaced. At this time of year they began to peer out the windows in search of the little baker’s horse drawn wagon. He came every year about this time. The windows being open, the smell of the wonderful fresh baked bread would waft through the school calling every child to their annual treat. The children would get antsy in anticipation of the little bakers arrival, each having saved a few pennies for their purchase. Than it happened, just as it had always happened; the fragrance of fresh baked bread proclaimed the bakers arrival. Realizing their fidgety anticipation was the result of the bakers’ arrival, the teacher let school out fifteen minutes early. All the children ran as quickly as they could to the bakers wagon…that is to say, all the children that could run.

Little Johnny was on crutches & running was something he had not been able to do for a long time; Sally would walk with him. The children lined up in front of the window at the side of the wagon, each made a careful selection of the bun making certain they had enough pennies to pay for it. The children often pooled their pennies & shared a bun under one of the old oak trees. Sharing seemed to make the rolls all the sweeter.

George was one lad, however who never ran to be first in line. He was big for his age & simply pushed the other children out of his way as he made his way to the window. “I want that one…THAT ONE!”, he shouted as pointed to the biggest bun in the window. Tossing his nickel on the counter, he grabbed his roll & went off to eat it by himself. Not having even a penny, Tommy stood back from the wagon. But it wasn’t long before the other children realized he was with out & invited him to share their rolls.

All the children were laughing & giggling as they shared their rolls. They were oh soooo good. But just as others were enjoying themselves, George pushed a second time to the wagons window. “I WANT MY MONEY BACK!” He shouted at the little baker, “This bun is sour.” The little baker looked at George & said, “The sweetness of the bun is in the sharing”, and he pointed to the sign on the side of the wagon: Buy my loaves of brown & white, Molded for the child’s delight. Who forgets another’s need eats unthankful & in greed; But the child who breaks his bread with another, love is fed. George threw the rest of his bun on the ground & marched off.

A year had passed & nothing seemed to change, the little baker came just as he had always come. The children ran from the school just as they always did, & George came late & pushed his way to the front of the line just as he had always done. But this year something was different. When the window opened, George took out his silver coin & said to the baker, “Please sir give all my friends a bun for me.” And so he did. George then asked for one for himself…the only one left, the smallest but the sweetest of all. ~The End~

Infantile?, Naive?, Nostalgic?, Maybe, but for me, TRUE! How about for you? Happy Thanksgiving. ~ Fr. Bill ~