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Where Are the Mints?

By Lillian Fitzpatrick

Christmas 1942 was a struggle with 14 children, as was every day. Our dad was a hard worker and wanted to supply his family’s needs.
I remember a gift he long desired for us, electric trains.
Dad was excited too, and struggled to make a row of houses from cardboard for the platform. He was not an artist, just a hard-working, wonderful guy.
As an afterthought, when he placed the houses on the platform, he thought it looked bare. He spent 29 cents for a bag of white mints.
For the finishing touch to make the scene, he diligently placed the mints at each house to make it appear as a driveway.
He was pleased with himself, and on Christmas morning after a lot of labor of love he woke up to see the five boys’ approval.
But he was in for a surprise. For every mint had been eaten. As it was Christmas, I need not repeat what he said. 
Fitzpatrick, who will mark her 94th birthday Dec. 25, writes from Seaville. 

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