At first I was happy, grateful even, as I opened up the lid of the Thanksgiving leftovers my mother had lovingly packed for me to take back to school. Potatoes, yams, turkey, ham—there was so much of it, and it was beautiful. I ate that first leftovers meal with gusto and the blissful joy that only reheated mashed potatoes and meat can give.
But in that first meal, I underestimated the sheer volume of ham that I had been blessed with. As I transferred the leftovers onto a plate, I picked up the ham only to discover that there was another, even more glorious layer of ham beneath that brown sugar glazed porky goodness. I was in awe. I was touched. A single shining tear gleamed in my eye as I realized that my mother had given most, if not all, of the delicious leftover ham to her poor college student daughter so that she would not have to live on just canned ravioli and ramen for her last days at school. That right there is love.
