“Jane, hurry and get your coat. We’re going to the store,” Dad said. I ran to do as my father instructed. A shopping trip with Dad was a rare experience. He traveled a great deal of time, and I valued the unexpected chance to be alone with him. Once in the car, I asked, “Where are we going?” Dad only smiled, “You’ll see.” To my surprise, we didn’t take the usual turn to the area’s one department store.

Instead, we turned down an alley (小巷) where small houses lined the road. Dad parked the car, got out, and walked to the front door of the first house on the street. Within a few minutes, he returned with Connor, a boy from our school. I tried to hide my disappointment. I had wanted my father to accompany me. At that time, it looked as though I would have to share him with someone else. “Hi, Connor,” I said, only just able to keep the upset and unhappiness from my voice.

“Hi,” he replied. He looked as uncomfortable as I felt. Then, Dad drove to the store. Once inside, he led us to the boys’ clothing section. I was much unhappier. Not only did I have to share my dad, but I also had to look at boring clothes. “Connor will give a poem-reading performance in your school’s 40th anniversary celebration next Friday,” Dad said. “He’ll need a suit to wear for this big occasion. So we’re here.” Connor looked with wonder at the row of clothes.

Dad must have noticed my unhappiness.

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.                    

As I sat by the window of our schoolhouse that afternoon, my heart began to sink further with each passing car. This was a day I had been looking forward to for weeks. Miss Pace had kept a running countdown on the blackboard, and our class had almost gone crazy by the time the much-anticipated “party Friday” had arrived.

I had happily volunteered my mother when Miss Pace requested cookie volunteers. Mom’s chocolate chips were the best on our block, and I knew they would be a hit with my classmates. But two o'clock passed, and there was no sign of her. Most of the other mothers had already come and gone, dropping off their offerings of dessert. My mother was missing in action.

“Don’t worry, Robbie. She’ll be along soon,” Miss Pace said as I looked sadly at the street. I looked at the wall clock just in time to see its black minute hand shift to half past two.

Around me, the noisy party went on, but I wouldn’t leave my window watch post. Miss Pace did her best to comfort me, but I just stayed there, holding out hope that the familiar family car would appear, carrying my embarrassed mother with a tin of her famous cookies under her arm.

The three o'clock bell soon awoke me from my thoughts and I sadly grabbed my schoolbag and headed home.

On the four-block walk, I plotted my revenge (报复). I would slam the front door upon entering, refuse to return her hug when she rushed over to me, and never speak to her again.

The house was empty when I arrived and I looked for a note on the refrigerator that might explain my mother’s absence, but found none. Heartbroken and angry, I was lying face-down on my bed upstairs when I heard her come through the front door and mount the steps.

When she entered my room and sat beside me on my bed, I didn’t move but instead stared blankly into my pillow, refusing to acknowledge her presence.