The Pie

The funeral parlor was crowded with family and friends who braved the snow storm on New Year’s day to say farewell to my Mother. As my brother, sister-in-law, and I navigated the crowd, in walked a very attractive woman about my age.
“You don’t know who I am, do you?” she asked.

It was a childhood friend of mine, whom I hadn’t seen since high school. She said that my Mother was someone she admired. Coincidentally, she had spoken of her in a lecture to her Sociology class just weeks before. She was discussing people who influence our lives.

The story she told dated back to when we were children. It was before Thanksgiving, my Mother had baked some pies, and placed them on the stairs to cool. My friend and I were running up and down the stairs, and she accidentally stepped in one of the pies.

She said there was not even a hint of anger on my Mother’s face. That was something my friend always remembered when raising her own children. Whenever mishaps would occur, she would remind herself: It’s only a pie.

And that is the Moral of the Story… It’s only a Pie.

My Mom

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