Raised in a fatherless home, my father was extremely tightfisted towards us children. His attitude didn’t soften as I grew into adulthood and went to college. I had to ride the bus whenever I came home. Though the bus stopped about two miles from home, Dad never met me, even in severe weather. If I grumbled, he’d say in his loudest father-voice, “That’s what your legs are for!”

The walk didn’t bother me as much as the fear of walking alone along the highway and country roads. I also felt less than valued that my father didn’t seem concerned about my safety. But that feeling was canceled one spring evening.

It had been a particularly difficult week at college after long hours in labs. I longed for home. When the bus reached the stop, I stepped off and dragged my suitcase to begin the long journey home.

A row of hedge (树篱) edged the driveway that climbed the hill to our house. Once I had turned off the highway to start the last lap of my journey, I always had a sense of relief to see the hedge because it meant that I was almost home. On that particular evening, the hedge had just come into view when I saw something gray moving along the top of the hedge, moving toward the house. Upon closer observation, I realized it was the top of my father’s head. Then I knew, each time I’d come home, he had stood behind the hedge, watching, until he knew I had arrived safely. I swallowed hard against the tears. He did care, after all.

On later visits, that spot of gray became my watchtower. I could hardly wait until I was close enough to watch for its secret movement above the greenery. Upon reaching home, I would find my father sitting innocently in his chair. “So! My son, it’s you!” he’d say, his face lengthening into pretended surprise.

I replied, “Yes, Dad, it’s me. I’m home.”

One out of many important things for the whole family to do is to have dinner together. Researchers began reporting the benefits of family dinner about a decade ago, focusing mainly on how it affects children. Studies show that those families who eat dinner at least 3 or 4 times a week together, benefit in many ways.

Eating together helps families achieve open communication and build stronger and healthier relationships. Children have better grades at school and are better adjusted as teens and adults, and the entire family enjoys healthier nutrition. For many families, eating dinner together proves to be a good and effective way to reduce the risk of youth rates of addiction, and helps to nurture healthier children. It is also a great time to share the events of the day, discuss news and ideas and just be together and enjoy each other’s company.

During dinner time parents have better opportunity to show that they are the prior to their children. Sitting at the same table and sharing meals is where and when parents can find out more about their children’s school performance, daily activities and attitudes toward life. When parents have all this information they can better direct their kids toward positive things in life. They also have better chance to reduce the possibility that children will get involved with alcohol, tobacco, and illegal drugs.

However, family researchers say that the benefits of family dinner by no means can be considered as automatic. Parents can sit down to dinner with their kids every day and achieve nothing. Family dinner may not benefit if there is too much arguing going on, if there is no meaningful conversation or, what is even worse, if there is just plain silence during gathering.

When I was a freshman, on Christmas break I went home and looked through the bags of clothes Mom intended to give away. I took a baggy red shirt, for I needed something to wear in art class. Mom was surprised. She wore that when she was pregnant with my younger brother.

The red shirt became a part of my college wardrobe. After graduation, I wore the shirt the day I moved into my new apartment and on Saturday morning when I cleaned. When I became pregnant, I wore the red shirt during big-belly days. I missed Mom and the rest of my family. But that shirt helped. I smiled, remembering that Mother had worn it when she was pregnant, 15 years earlier. That Christmas, thinking of the warm feelings the shirt had given me, I wrapped it in holiday paper and sent it to Mom. When Mom wrote to thank me for her “real” gift, she said the red shirt was lovely. She never mentioned it again. The next year, when my husband and I moved the kitchen table, I noticed something red taped to its bottom. It was the shirt! And so the pattern was set.

On our next visit home, I secretly placed the shirt under Mom and Dad’s mattress. Two years passed before I discovered it under the base of our living-room floor lamp. The red shirt was just what I needed now while refinishing furniture. The walnut stains added character.

Years later, my husband and I divorced. With my three children, I prepared to move back to Illinois, depressed. Suddenly I saw the stained red shirt. I smiled. After unpacking in our new home I visited her, and I hid it in her bottom dresser drawer. Meanwhile, I found a good job at a radio station. A year later I discovered the red shirt hidden in a rag bag in my cleaning closet. The shirt was Mother’s final gift. Mother died three months later.

I was tempted to send the red shirt, faded but in decent shape, with her to her grave. But I’m glad I didn’t, my older daughter is in college now, majoring in art. And every art student needs a baggy red shirt to wear to art class.