Proof The Bible Is True

Huckleberry Hound’s lazy drawl drifted into my kitchen that Saturday morning in the fall of 1959. His antics would keep my two young children occupied while I cooked some oatmeal for breakfast. The television was a poor babysitter, but what other option did I have?

 

My husband had left us. We got no support from him, financial or otherwise. We’d lost everything we owned in a fire and had to start over from scratch. There wasn’t much assistance for single mothers back then, so the free entertainment the television offered was a big help.

 

I opened the cupboard to see what I could make for dinner later. Not much. Some nights I felt like I was trying to conjure a meal out of nothing. I cooked little more than beans, spaghetti, macaroni and tuna casserole.

 

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