Share

Mamma didn't teach many of her children to share it seems. Oh there were one or two who would, I suspect only because bully brother would beat the stew if they didn't. The children grew on into adulthood and had their own, and their own likewise would not share, much less care.
Each generation removed from Grand Mammy grew selfish as the giraffes, those long necks just standing out there in the rain.
My mamma taught me to share. Mrs Mary taught me to share the bread pudding. Angeline taught me to share Mr Langston's candy, Grandma Orander taught me to share the black cherries growing in her front yard, the raspberries off the East River Mountain. Oh, it took a long time. I didn't want any part in sharing what I had worked to pick, to pile upon my plate, or stolen from Langston's store.
But many spankings later it finally took hold and so today I share, if not from the heart, at least from the smart's.