MOTHER, GRANDFATHER AND THE CRUST MAN
Whenever I remember my mother, I always think about an incident involving her, my grandfather, and The Crust Man. This incident affects me to this day.
I was about 7 years old and had just finished dinner. I hated the crusts from bread, and left the them under my plate. When my mother found them, she called me down from my room to come to the kitchen. I passed my grandfather in the living room reading the newspaper.
“Are these your crusts?” asked my mother.
“Uh–er–yeah,” I said.
“Why didn’t you eat them?” she asked.
“I don’t like them. I hate crusts!”
“You know,” she said, “there was a little boy about your age who never ate his crusts. Like you, he used to leave them under his plate. One day he heard a knock at the door. He opened the door and there stood The Crust Man. The Crust Man grabbed the boy, and ate him up!”
“Really?” I asked.
“Really,” she said.
Still not sure I ran to my grandfather reading the newspaper in the living room.
“Grandad, is it true that The Crust Man ate a little boy for not eating his crusts?”
Without missing a beat, and keeping a serious face, my grandfather said,” Oh yeah.” Then he started looking through the newspaper. “I think I saw something in the newspaper about it.”
Well! That was all the confirmation I needed. There was no way The Crust Man was going to get me. From that time on I ate bread crusts, the front and back pieces of loaves of bread, and pizza crusts. To this day, there isn’t a crust created that I won’t eat. All crusts are delicious!