When I was young, my grandma would watch me and my brother after school. Sometimes she would drive us a town away to a fast food restaurant with a playground. Every fast food restaurant almost looked the same. It was almost a habit for us. We would stand in line and wait to order. After getting our food, we found a nice shaded table outside to eat our food. It was so nice, and there was a cool summer. I loved the taste of the warm chicken nuggets(块) and the delicious hamburger. My brother and I liked to play on the playground.

“Finish all your nuggets first and then you can play.” She always smiled while saying that. My brother always managed to finish his food before me, but he was always nice enough to wait for me. Looking over the table, I saw my grandma eating her slices of fish, wearing her sunglasses.

As we left, I would stare at the playground and watch us drive away from the playground. My grandma was driving and said, “Don’t worry. We will be back again next week” and I knew we would be. During this time, I was a kid in an elementary school who did not have a care in the world, having a fun-filled childhood. As I’ve grown, I am no longer seven years old playing at the playground of a fast food restaurant. I am 18 years old, in college courses, living on my own. I am also the same happy person with a fun-filled life who loves her family. Looking back, I am happy to have had these beautiful childhood memories to hold onto.

It was Saturday morning. I heard loud noises of moving furniture in the next room. I could almost feel the excitement of John who was soon going to get a room of his own. I remember my own feelings when I was 13. I knew how much he longed for his right to privacy (私人空间) when he was sharing a room with his younger brother, Robot. He said, “Mum, Can I please have a room of my own? I could use Jeff’s. He won’t mind.”

It was true that Jeff had graduated from college and flown from the nest. But would he mind? The room was the place where I told him a thousand stories and we had a thousand talks. As close as we were, though, the time came when Jeff needed a door between us. His life was spreading into areas that had less to do with family. I no longer could-or should-know everything about him.

It turned out that getting Jeff’s permission was easy. He said, “Of course, Mum, it would be selfish of me to hold on to it.” Then his voice softened, “Mum, I won’t be living at home again---you know that.” Behind his glasses, his eyes were lit with all the love. There were no doors closed here---they had all opened up again.

As John and I were cleaning the room, I fixed my eyes on Jeff’s things around me and could almost touch the little boy who I knew was gone forever. I looked at the room and, in my heart, I let it go. To hold on would be, as Jeff said, selfish. Now it was time for John, shouldering through the door, his eyes bright with promise of independence, to disappear behind the door. It was time for letting go to happen again.

One spring, when I was 10, during one of my father’s layoffs (失业), I could tell my mother was unhappy. I decided to cheer her up by buying her a special Mother’s Day gift.

One day after school I rode my bike to the Agins, which, I learned years later, was known for its high-end fashions (时尚) and styles. I introduced myself to Sylvia Agins, telling her I was looking for a Mother’s Day present.

“Do you think she’d like a purse?” she asked. I told her. I thought she might.

She took out an Italian handbag made of leather. She asked me what I thought, and I told her that my mom would like it.

“How much money do you have?” she asked.

“Twelve dollars,” I said.

“You’re in luck,” she told me. “It’s only $11. You have a dollar left over for the card.” She gift-wrapped the purse and thanked me for my business, and I rode off home with the package under my arm.

When my mother opened the gift the next Sunday morning, she asked in an accusing tone, “Where did you get this?”

“I bought it at the Agins. It cost me $11.” I said.

My mother was shocked into silence.

It wasn’t until many years later, when I learned that the purse was worth several hundred dollars, that I appreciated just how wonderful Sylvia Agins had been to me. I always felt bad that I never had a chance to properly thank her.

“You know, my son, what really amazes me to this day,” my mother said, “Letting you have the purse for just a few dollars was unbelievable enough. But the fact that she let you leave the store with a dollar for the card was a touch of kindness that I’ll never forget.”