…oup.” Once more I assured him it was my soup, I made it from the bottom of a bare spot, I told him. His eyes began to tear up and he said, (may I never forget) “I came to Canada almost 50 years ago, the last time I had this soup was in my Grandmother’s kitchen when I was still a boy. This is my grandmother’s soup. This cannot be your soup.” Then he pulled me into a bear hug and squ…
