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Spudolph and His Many Eyes
by Tom Stubrich
09/15/06
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Once upon a time in a far away kingdom in the most faraway potato patch in the kingdom, there grew a beautiful potato plant. This potato plant had six beautiful baby potatoes and one funny looking, misshapen potato. This potato named Spudolph, was made fun of by all the other potatoes. They made fun of his eyes because they each had only two or three, while Spudolph was covered with them. Poor Spudolph wished that potatoes could cry, so that he at least would be good for something – watering the potato patch with his tears. But alas, poor Spudolph could not cry; his eyes were ugly and useless.
All the other potatoes would play games, but never let poor Spudolph join in any potato games. One of their favorite games was to pretend what each wanted to be when they grew up.
“I want to be a scalloped potato,” one of Spudolph’s sisters announced. “I will be in the same dish as the finest ham and have a place of honor at the Prince’s table.”
“I want to be French Fried,” his big brother boasted. “I will be taken to Pairs and be clothed with the richest ketchup.”
On and on they went, and poor Spudolph would just sit and listen with big sighs.
“By the time they cut out all of my eyes, there won’t be enough of me for mashed potatoes.” Spudolph grew sadder and sadder as summer turned to fall and harvest time grew near.
Then the day came when the Prince’s gardener came to harvest the potatoes and placed them into a large bin for sorting. One by one, each of Spudolph’s brothers and sisters were chosen.
“This one will make fine hashbrowns for the Prince’s breakfast tomorrow morning.”
With comments such as these, Spudolph grew sadder as one by one each of the others was chosen for special dishes – creamed potato soup, stew, parsleyed, buttered, baked, and so on.
Finally, Spudolph was left alone in the bottom of the bin and the lid closed one last time encasing him in total darkness. Months passed and Spudolph thought that he was just going to sit there and rot. But then one day when he heard the sounds of a spring robin, a flood of light filled the bin.
The light of the spring sun hit Spudolph’s eyes. It was then that Spudolph realized that green sprouts had grown out of each of his eyes! “Now, I will never be any good with these green things all over me,” Spudoph wished that he could cry.
“Ah! I thought we had left one in here,” the gardener proclaimed as he picked up Spudolph, “this one is perfect!”
Spudolph thought that he was dreaming – no one ever said that he was perfect!
Spudolph’s hopes revived from the dead. Would he be served in a fancy bowl of mashed potatoes?
“No, not with these green things sticking out of me,” he sighed and his hopes returned to the grave.
He watched as the gardener pulled out a knife and felt its blade begin to cut away at the green shoots.
“After he cuts them out, there won’t be enough of me left for anything,” Spudolph thought, as each cut buried his hopes deeper and deeper into their grave.
Spudolph was cut in pieces and strewn along the garden path. As the spring rains fell, he could only compare the honors that his brothers and sisters had received to his own miseries. “Oh, if only I could have had any place at the Prince’s table. I would even have been glad to be nothing but a mashed potato.” But it was not to be.
Spudolph resigned himself to his fate. Meanwhile the green sprouts grew larger and larger under the spring sun. Then one day Spudolph heard the gardener’s voice, “Just look at these fine potato plants; we are going to have the best potatoes in the kingdom from such fine plants as these.”
That was when Spudolph realized what had happened. He looked to his right and then to his left and all along the garden path was a row of healthy, strong potato plants. The green sprouts had blossomed, and underneath the warm soil beautiful potatoes had begun to form.
That Fall, Spudolph beamed with pride as the gardener exclaimed with each turn of the potato fork, “These are the best potatoes in the kingdom. The Prince will have many a fine feast with these potatoes this winter.”
Spudolph never did have his chance to be on the Prince’s table, but now it didn’t matter. Spudolph smiled with joy just imagining his sons and daughters being served along with the finest foods in the entire kingdom.


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Susan Johnstone 17 Sep 2006
I loved the name of the potato! Although I have seen variations of this allegory before it was well written and just right for the intended audience.




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