Magic Shoebox

Paul rang the doorbell and said , “Follow my lead. It’ll be fine.”

His mother opened the door and cried out, “Paul! It’s so good to see you!” Ada embraced him.

“Too long, Ma. Too long.” He introduced his girlfriend, Abigail. Ada sized her up and smiled.

“Wonderful! Come in! Meet my Dad, and the others. You’re right on time. We’re about to sit.”

“Something smells good!”

Ada whispered, “She’s so petite, Paul. I thought you liked the tall ones.”

“Cut it out, Ma…”

They entered to see family gathering around the table. The smell of good food filled the air. Paul introduced Abigail, to his Grandfather, Jack, his brother Tom and Ada’s husband, Ed.

“Forgive me if I don’t remember everyone’s name.”

Tom said, “No worries. I grew up with the guy who brought you and I still can’t remember his name.”

Ada said, “I know it’s not Thanksgiving, but a reunion like this demands a feast.” She directed everyone where to sit and brought steaming food from the kitchen. Abigail offered to help. “No, sit. Relax. Get acquainted. Too many cooks, you know.”

Ada’s husband, Ed, placed the turkey filled platter on the table.

“Serve yourselves…” Plates passed. Food piled onto food.

Abigail paused. “If those are mashed potatoes, what’s this?”

Paul said, “Delicious rutabagas. Mom’s famous recipe, handed down for generations.”

Everyone watched as she served herself. Tom murmured, “Gentlemen, start your engines…”

Abigail took a bite and her face lit up. “Wow! These are great. Where have they been all my life?

Tom said, “A family secret...” He offered her gravy. “Mom, when did rutabagas become a family tradition?”

Jack leaned in.

Paul said, “Are you really doing this?”

Tom said, “There a problem? She asked.”

Aware she was the topic of discussion, Abigail looked at Paul.

He said, “You opened a favorite debate.” She looked doubtful. “Nothing wrong. They counted on it.” She wondered what the punch line would be. “Watch and learn. Like I said, they’re big on teasing.”

Ada smiled. “Didn’t one of Paul’s girlfriends bring some to a dinner one year? What happened to her, Paul?”

Exchanging glances with Abigail, Paul shrugged as if to say, ‘See?’

He said, “As you know, we lost contact years ago. A case of she came, she saw, she rutabagaed.”

General laughter ensued.

Tom said, “I always thought the store ran out of potatoes, so we had those instead.”

“The least bad choice?”

A chorus of protest arose.

Ada passed the bowl. “Eat up. Who cares how it started?”

Paul and Tom, interrupted each other. Tom said, “Go ahead. Age before beauty.”

“Thanks. Pearls before swine.” Everyone groaned.

Tom countered, “You’ll Rue-tabaga the day you said that…”

“I yam what I yam…”

Abigail touched Paul’s arm. “Are they a kind of pumpkin?”

“Turnips. Swedish for ‘root bag.’”

She nodded. “Makes sense. Ruta-baga.”

Tom said, “I heard archeologists found them in the pyramids…”

Ada said, “I thought they were Peruvian.”

Jack interjected, “Aren’t they Irish…?”

“You’re thinking of potatoes.”

Jack continued, “…Imagine, those Spanish galleons returning to Europe, filled with potatoes.” He held up his hand. “Nope… Hold the gold… We want spuds.”

“Sure they’re not Finnish?”

“Finnish? I’m done.”

“Enough with the puns,” said Jack. “Poor Abigail wants to know about the noble rutabaga.”

Tom said, “I asked on her behalf…”

Jack continued, “By way of historical context, let me tell you about the Irish Potato famine…”

Tom said, “That might make sense if we were Irish. I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck…”

Jack countered, “Tom, I couldn’t care less where you graduated from.” Everyone laughed.

Paul whispered to Abigail, “The tradition is the banter. It doesn’t have to be about rutabagas. If you switch sides or agree, he’ll still argue. The key is never to agree.”

She watched as everyone sought their chance to interject with a joke or comment. Did anyone even listen?

Paul said, “I thought we were French.”

Jack continued, “…Nothing is more nutritious than a potato. During the potato famine, that’s all they had. They grew strong.”

“That was a hundred years ago.”

“A famine. No one had potatoes.”

Ada caught Abigail’s eye, “Don’t mind him. He loves disputing. That’s the tradition. One year I made only potatoes, and he demanded rutabagas.”

Paul added, “Once someone mentioned kumquats. You should have heard how he got to the potato famine from that.”

Tom took the floor. “If the Irish were at the first Thanksgiving…”

Jack interrupted, “They weren’t. Irish and Pilgrims together? They never would have made it to Plymouth Rock.”

Ada asked, “Did the Indians have rutabagas?”

“Only the Swedish.”

Tom added, “The Vikings gave them to the Indians. And told them about football too.”

Abigail became restless. She murmured to Paul, “Maybe we should go?”

“Sure…”

Ada spoke up, “Please don’t go… have some more rutabaga. We haven’t had a chance to talk. What do you do, Abigail?”

“Oh, writing, stand-up, this and that.”

All eyes were on her.

“That sounds interesting…”

“Are you funny?”

“Make us laugh…”

“I’m Irish. I never considered mass starvation a humorous topic… It isn’t all Leprechauns, St. Patrick, and Guinness. ”

Several at the table stared at their plates.

Abigail said, “My ancestors were poachers. When the famine hit, the choice between starving or hanging narrowed. They came to America. Became dog handlers. They said, ‘from poaching to pooching.’”

She drew them into her story. Wine glasses re-filled.

“Everyone keeps a little shoebox filled with all their cartoon biases. We meet someone and out comes the little box filled with everything we think we know.”

No one spoke. She had them. Abigail stepped it up a notch. She extended her hand as if meeting them. “’Hi, I’m a sandal.’ Women think, oh, I could wear her. Men think, oh, I could wear her.”

A few chuckles escaped.

“Actually, I’m Ethiopian.”

Tom said, “You don’t look Ethiopian.”

“Have you ever seen an Ethiopian? How would you know if I weren’t?”

No one spoke. Were they stumped?

“Actually, I’m Scottish.”

“Do you golf?”

“See? Open the magic shoebox.” Tom seemed to shrink. “Ethnic jokes aren’t PC… But anyone loves hearing a Jew tell a Jewish joke.”

Everyone nodded and smiled.

Abigail said, “About all most people know about Sweden is – Ursula Andres.”

Ada fidgeted. Tom tried to think of anything else Swedish.

“What about Volvo?”

Abigail nodded. “Of course, Volvo. And now rutabagas. Not many have seen La Dolce Vida, recently, but everyone’s seen pictures of Ursula’s fountain dance. ‘Yo, Cheech! You see those rutabagas? Wow!” The men smiled. “If Sweden wants to boost rutabagas, they need Ursula. Sales will skyrocket.”

Abigail sipped her water.

Ada asked, “So, where can we see you perform?”

“I don’t. I’m a secretary, downtown.”

Everyone turned away. Talk moved to other things. Ada began clearing the table.

“There’s more rutabaga here. I have more than enough. Let’s finish them up. Take left overs if you like. I’ll get dessert!”

Paul and Abigail stood to leave. No one took notice.