WhenIsatatthedesk,tryingtowritetheessay,Ifoundithardtosetpentopaper.StaringatthetopicIdeliberatelychoseformyself"mymother",Ifeltthememoryof20yearswithmymothersuddenlyturnedintoahaze,blurringmyeyestodiscernthepast,withnothingtowering,nothingflaring,nothingimpressiveorspecialenoughasalandmark.
Thehazegraduallyclearedaway,revealingtheimageofanamicablewoman.Irecalledalinefromthefamousmovie"SleeplessinSeattle".TheradiocolumnhostessaskedSam,"What'ssospecialaboutyourwife?"Heanswered,"That'smillionsofsmallthings."Right,trivialandcommonplace,likeobscurebeans,yetwovenintothemostspectacularnecklacebythepoweroflove.
Mymotherisordinary,butinmyeyessheisspecial.
Mymotheristhegreatestpersonintheworld.Shetakescareofthefamilyanddoesallthehousework.Ineverwanttomakeherangry.
ButsometimesIwilldosomethingletherdownandwhenIseeherupsetface,Ifeelpainful.
SoIamverystricttomyself,Iwanttobeanexcellentgirlandletherbeproudofme.So,Icanseehersmileoften.