Picture this: you get ready to make your sandwich and there is a brand new loaf of bread. It's still soft. There's not even a slight chance it might have been sitting in the back of the cupboard so long that it's moldy.
You open it up and immediately there is a decision to make: Do you take the first slice of bread or go for the second one? There are two schools of thought on the purpose of that first slice of bread that is 1/2 bread 1/2 heel: you either leave it there the whole time you are working on consuming said loaf, you know, kind of like a body guard that keeps the rest of the bread fresher, or you power through it and eat it because it was in line first.
If you belong to the "body/bread guard" school of thought, you will have two decisions to make at the end of the loaf. When there are only those two slices left, do you eat a sandwich completely composed of crusts of bread, or, after ensuring a proper burial of these two soldiers, do you decide to eat a salad tonight?? Important questions.
Well, then there is the third school of thought on the ends of bread loaves. I am not sure that anyone else belongs to this school except for my dad. See, he spent the majority of my childhood actually fighting for the chance to eat that crust of bread. He had (has) us all convinced that he actually prefers the heel of the loaf to the softer and more edible pieces in the middle. Instead of being faced with the dreaded 1/2 crust grilled cheese sandwich, we would happily say that we should save that part for Dad, since that's his favorite. For a short amount of time, some of us kids actually jockeyed for that piece (much like we would fight over the front seat in the olden days). I bet some of my siblings reading this might experience some shock at the idea that Dad may not actually have a love affair with the leathery texture of the loaf-end. He was so convincing.
Fast forward 30 or so years.
I was having a discussion with one of my daughters who was mourning her loss of a showdown over the front seat with an older sibling about a key principle for being happy in life. "Don't fight to have the highest position!"
As we were discussing this, I remembered the parable our Lord tells us in Luke 14: "Do not recline at table in the place of honor. A more distinguished guest than you may have been invited by [the host], and he who invited both of you may approach you and say, ‘Give your place to this man,’ and then you would proceed with embarrassment to take the lowest place. Rather, when you are invited, go and take the lowest place so that when the host comes to you he may say, ‘My friend, move up to a higher position.’ Then you will enjoy the esteem of your companions at the table. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted."
Retelling this story to my husband later, I suddenly recalled how my Dad would always fight for the crust of bread. It only now occurs to me that in a gentle way, maybe my Dad was teaching me that same lesson. Ironically, I still think that even if Dad didn't actually like the crust in the beginning, he so enjoyed the jostling and game of winning the piece that he still eats the crusts with a smile today.
My parents didn't write articles about their brilliant ideas for instilling Gospel values in their children, they just lived it. But it goes to show that the simple ways that parents live their faith have life-long effects on their children... And hey, it turns out this article did have a Eucharistic sense after all. This memory of Dad's simple and joyful sacrifice continues to teach me to lay down my own selfish desires in order to serve others. Thanks Dad (and Happy Father's Day!)
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