Millie Smith and Lewis Cann learned that they were having twin baby girls, but one of their babies had a fatal condition—anencephaly (无脑畸形). After 30 weeks of a high-risk pregnancy, Smith delivered identical twins, Callie and Skye, the latter who lived only three hours.

Born premature (早产的), Callie had to stay in NICU (新生儿重症监护室). “As time passed, everyone acted as though nothing had happened, meaning the families around me had no idea about our situation,” Smith recalled.

One morning, a stressed mother whose twins were also in NICU, harmlessly said to Smith that she was “so lucky” to not have twins. “What she said was completely innocent,” Smith continued, “but it nearly broke me.” It was at that moment Smith realized she had to create something that would speak for parents who had just lost a baby, ensuring the misunderstanding never happened again.

“A simple sticker would have avoided the misunderstanding,” Smith designed a poster for the NICU explaining to people that-any incubator (恒温箱) with a purple butterfly on it means that one of the twins was lost. “I chose the butterfly, as I felt it was fitting to remember the babies that flew away, the color purple because it was suitable for both boys and girls,” said Smith.

The purple butterfly concept has spread to hospitals in several countries around the world. “The more support groups we can set up and put things in place like the stickers, the better it will be,” Smith said. Losing a child of any age can’t be easy for a parent and the world is blessed with people like Millie Smith who’s aiming to help others.

I wonder if I'm getting to be transparent. I can see waiters, but they can't see me. Ticket agents look right through me at the person next in line. I have the same feeling when I try to catch the attention of salesgirls, taxi drivers and my wife.

I'm substantial enough, maybe a little too substantial in places. And there's an undeniable air of authority about the way I stride (阔步) into a restaurant, pull my neck tie into place and signal the headwaiter. The headwaiter's glance sweeps my way, then comes to rest on a section of flowered wallpaper directly behind me. He considers it for a moment, and looks away. Five minutes later I manage to catch his eye. He strides in my direction, takes a menu from the pile at my elbow (肘) and walks back across the room. Another 10 minutes pass, and our eyes meet head-on. His face lights and he hurries toward me, saying to the couple right beside me: "This way, please."

Maybe I could arouse interest by pulling off the tablecloth. Maybe the best plan is to get up and start out of the restaurant without paying---a trick which never fails to earn me the whole attention of every waiter in the place.

On the other hand, people have no trouble making me out when I don't want them to. I never can avoid a friend who's been having a little bad luck lately and who would like to borrow some money. I'll spot him half a block away, and cross the street to the other side. He crosses at the same time. I stop and stare at a store window until he has passed, but his eye encounters mine in the reflection of the glass. I lend him the money, but from the moment on he can't see me.

When I was 17, I read a magazine article about a museum called the McNay, once the home of a watercolorist named Marian McNay. She had requested the community to turn it into a museum upon her death. On a sunny Saturday, Sally and I drove over to the museum. She asked, “Do you have the address?” “No, but I’ll recognize it, there was a picture in the magazine.”

“Oh, stop. There it is!”

The museum was free. We entered, excited. A group of people sitting in the hall stopped talking and stared at us.

“May I help you?” a man asked. “No,” I said. “We’re fine.” Tour guides got on my nerves. What if they talked a long time about a painting you weren’t that interested in? Sally had gone upstairs. The people in the hall seemed very nosy (爱窥探的), keeping their eyes on me with curiosity. What was their problem? I saw some nice sculptures (雕刻) in one room. Suddenly I sensed a man standing behind me. “Where do you think you are?” he asked. I turned sharply. “The McNay Art Museum!” He smiled, shaking his head. “Sorry, the McNay is on New Braunfels Street.” “What’s this place?” I asked, still confused. “Well, it’s our home.” My heart jolted (震颤). I raced to the staircase and called out, “Sally! Come down immediately!”

“There’s some really good stuff (艺术作品) up there.” She stepped down, looking confused. I pushed her toward the front door, waving at the family, saying, “Sorry, please forgive us, you have a really nice place.” Outside, when I told Sally what happened, she covered her mouth, laughing. She couldn’t believe how long they let us look around without saying anything.

The real McNay was splendid, but we felt nervous the whole time we were there. Van Gogh, Picasso. This time, we stayed together, in case anything else unusual happened.

Thirty years later, a woman approached me in a public place. “Excuse me, did you ever enter a residence (住宅), long ago, thinking it was the McNay Museum?”

“Yes. But how do you know? We never told anyone.”

“That was my home. I was a teenager sitting in the hall. Before you came over, I never realized what a beautiful place I lived in. I never felt lucky before. You thought it was a museum. My feelings about mv home changed after that. I’ve always wanted to thank you.”