Bertha, a faithful listener, is sharing her wonderful war time thanksgiving story.  “October 8th 1945 was, without a doubt, a life-changing day for us.  I had just turned five and, as mother and auntie prepared Thanksgiving supper, in walked a man wearing a soldier’s uniform.  When mother first caught sight of him, I thought something horrible had happened.  She burst into tears and nearly collapsed where she stood.  I was frightened.  But the man rushed to her side and scooped her up in a warm embrace, and within moments she was overwhelmed with joy – as was auntie Bet after whom I was named.  That’s the day I met my Daddy.  I knew I had a father.  I also knew from Sunday School friends that some children’s fathers would never come home from the war.  Mother and I would pray for him every night before bed.  We prayed that he would come home alive and with all his limbs.  We prayed that he would still be the kind and gentle man who had left when I was a baby.  Daddy was all those things and more.  Even though this massive man was a stranger to me, I was clearly known to him and loved by him.  His return changed every thanksgiving from then on.  Soon three brothers and a sister were added to our number.  And now, though my parents are long gone to heaven, it is still tradition in our home that a place be set for each at the family thanksgiving table. “ [Bertha M. Price/Cochrane Ontario]