The Young Man and a Bag of Potatoes
He could hardly contain his excitement as he tightly held the bag of potatoes on his bicycle. He and his family were hungry.
He was seventeen years old and Dutch. It was the winter of 1945. It was WWII. They were trying to stay alive during the famine of Hongerwinter (Hunger Winter) in Holland.
On his way home, he was stopped abruptly by German soldiers. They took the bag of potatoes and allowed him to carry on. He tells us of the fear he felt, his body shaking, and the pain of hunger in his belly even more fierce.
He remembers those war years vividly, at his home near the Hague in Holland. He felt incredibly fortunate to have celebrated his seventeenth birthday with a piece of bread spread with honey and sprinkled with sugar, provided by Red Cross volunteers.
"To this day," he says, "I have a very hard time hearing people say, 'Oh, I'm starving.' No you're not, I want to say to them. You don't have any idea what it's like to be starving." His voice was gentle, not angry.
He's grateful none of his family members perished, but war took its toll on the land and its resources.
In 1953 he and his wife of two days boarded a ship and were welcomed in Canada to start a new life far away from their war-ravaged homeland. His gratitude for freedom and for his full life in this new country was deep and wide, reflective, genuine, ever present.
My husband and I heard this beautiful story in front of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, Confederation Square, in Ottawa, ON, Canada, several years ago. We met the now elderly Dutch man in this sacred place, showing his respect and honor to those who fought for his freedom, a yearly tradition he upheld without fail. He told this story, and we talked some more. His wife had died two years prior to when we met him and his eyes welled with gratitude as he talked of her and their marriage.
I mentioned that my Dad had served with the Canadian Armed Forces in WWII and had helped liberate parts of Holland. His head lowered and tears fell.
"Can I give you a hug?" I asked him. "Yes of course," he smiled. "Thank you for sharing your story with us," I whispered in his ear. He hugged me tight.
As I recall this exchange, I reflect on my own life. Feeling gratitude every day is now a ritual for me, despite anything life throws my way. It helps me rise out of some sad days and shed light on a joy that's always underneath.
What do you feel deep gratitude for? What joy does it bring you?
With gratitude that you're here with me,
“To be human is to have a collection of memories
that tells you who you are and how you got there. ”
~ Rosecrans Baldwin