Mark was a successful lawyer. Since graduating from law school, he seldom went home. Although he loved his mother deeply, he was too busy with his work.

One Saturday when driving to his company, Mark suddenly remembered it was his mother’s birthday. But being occupied with his work, he couldn’t make time to visit his mother who lived 200 miles away. Just then, he spotted a flower shop, thinking the flowers were the best solution.

Mark parked in front of the flower shop where a girl was standing outside. Since Mark was thinking about the note he would send to his mother, he paid no attention to her. After chatting with the shop owner, Mark bought some pink roses and asked the shop owner to deliver the flowers to his mother. “Happy birthday to my mom; love you,” he wrote on the note.

Mark then walked out of the shop, thinking his mother would get the flowers later tonight, and felt satisfied. When walking to his car, Mark saw the girl again. She was crying. Mark couldn’t help asking,“Hey, are you OK? Are you lost?” The girl shook her head. Mark later knew the girl was Mandy, who was eight and lived nearby. Feeling a little worried about her, Mark asked gently, “Can I help?”

Mandy said she wanted a rose for her mom. But she couldn’t afford it. “The flower lady said my coins could buy a daisy, but my mom loves red roses,” she added. Touched by the girl’s words, Mark went back into the shop and bought a bunch of red roses.

“Here you go,” he said. Mandy took the roses, smiled brightly, and thanked him. “Anything else I can do for you?“ Mark asked. Mandy hesitated. Then she said, “Could you take me to my mom? It’s not far but I’m not supposed to go on my own.” Mark nodded. “Sure, lead the way!" Mandy took his hand and walked with him down the street. As they passed by a graveyard, Mandy stopped.

To Mark’s surprise, Mandy directly went inside the graveyard.

After dropping Mandy off by her house, Mark went back to the flower shop.                    

I suppose everyone has a particular childhood Christmas that stands out more than any other. For me, it was the year that the Burlington factory closed down. Small child as I was, the events of that Christmas will live forever in my heart.

My father, who had been employed at Burlington, never, let us know that we were having financial difficulties. We knew only that our daddy, who usually worked long, difficult hours, was now home more than we had ever remembered.

Mama, a homemaker, now sought work in the local textile mills, but jobs were scarce. Therefore, daddy’s unemployment check would now be our family’s only source of income. I don’t know for sure how they managed, but some how they did. They made sure they scraped together enough money to buy each of us a Barbie doll. For the rest of our presents, they would rely on their talents, using waste materials they already had.

While dark, rough hands sawed, hammered and painted, flexible fingers fed dress after dress after dress into the sewing machine. Barbie-sized clothes for every imaginable occasion pushed forward from the old machine. Where we were while all of this was taking place, I have no idea. But somehow my parents found time to pour themselves into our gifts, and the excitement of Christmas was once again born for the entire family.

That Christmas Eve, the sun was just setting over the distant horizon when I heard the roar of an unexpected motor in the driveway. Looking outside, I could hardly believe my eyes. Aunt Charlene and Uncle Buck had driven all the way from Georgia to surprise us. Packed tightly in their car, as though no air was needed, sat my three cousins. I also couldn’t help but notice many gifts for all of us, all neatly packaged and tied with beautiful bows. They had known that it would be a difficult Christmas, and they had come to help. The next morning we awoke to more gifts than I ever could have imagined — mountains of gifts among all that excitement and laughter.

Daddy decided not to give us his gifts.

They were wooden boxes that can be used as a house to store a Barbie doll.

When parents take part in our school events, it is usually embarrassing. A few weeks ago, it was my mom who played the embarrassing parent role.

While my mom and I were shopping, we ran into my teacher, who mentioned that the school didn’t have a music teacher to help our class put together a performance for Winter Fair. And, right then and there, my mom said, “I know the perfect song-and-dance. I’ll teach it to the kids!”

Before I could say “Please don’t,” my mom had agreed to come to my class every morning at 9:30 for a week. Oh, and just to be clear, she is not a professional entertainer at all; my parents run a small grocery store.

“Um,” I said on our way home, “Are you sure this is such a good idea?”

“Of course!” she said. “We’ll have fun!”

“OK, guys,” my teacher said at 9: 28 on Monday. “We’re going to stop silent reading a little early because a special guest is here to help us with a performance for Winter Fair. Let’s welcome Arizona’s mother.” I looked up and discovered my mom standing at the front of the room wearing the world’s funniest big hat.

“I’m super excited to be here with you!” my mom said. “I’m going to teach you a fun little song-and-dance I learned a few years ago, when I did some theater in college. Here it goes!”

“Oh, please, oh, please,” I said over and over in my head, “let there be a fire drill, or an urgent meeting, or a power cut, or anything to stop my mom from completely embarrassing herself—and me!”

But apparently, my mom was not at all concerned about looking silly. She turned on some background music and started singing and dancing away.

I closed my eyes, covered my ears, and sank as low as I possibly could in my chair.

After a while, though, I summoned up enough courage to uncover one ear and look through a half-open eye.

“I’m really glad you helped my class.” I said to my mom.