As a young boy, I knew what people said was not always what they meant or were feeling. And I knew it was possible to get others to do what I wanted if I read their real feelings and responded suitably to their needs. At the age of eleven, I sold sponge rubber (海绵橡皮) door-to-door after school and quickly worked out how to tell if someone was likely to buy from me. When I knocked on a door, if someone told me to go away but their hands were open and they showed their palms, I knew it was safe to continue with my show because they weren’t angry or threatening although they may have a cold attitude. If someone told me to go away in a soft voice but used a pointed finger or closed hand, I knew it was time to leave.

As a teenager, I became a pots and pans (锅碗瓢盆) salesperson, and my ability to read people earned me enough money to buy my first house. Selling gave me the chance to meet people and study them close and to know whether they would buy or not, simply by watching their body language.

I joined the life insurance (保险) business at the age of twenty. And I went on to break several sales records for my company, becoming the youngest person to sell over a million dollars’ worth of business in my first year. I was lucky that the skills I’d learned as a boy in watching body language while selling pots and pans could be used in this new area, and were directly related to the success I could have in any business closely connected with people.

Having worked at a 7-Eleven store for two years, I thought I had become successful at what our manager calls “customer relations”. I firmly believed that a friendly smile and an automatic “sir”, “ma’ma”, and “thank you” would see me through any situation that might arise, from comforting impatient or unpleasant people to apologizing for giving out the wrong change. But the other night an old woman shattered my belief that a simple and plain response could smooth over the rough spots of dealing with all kinds of customers.

The moment she entered, the woman presented a sharp contrast to our shiny store with its bright lighting and neatly arranged shelves. Walking as if each step were painful, she slowly pushed open the glass door and hobbled (蹒跚) down the nearest aisle. She coughed dryly, wheezing (气喘吁吁) with each breath. On a forty-degree night, she was wearing only a faded dress, a thin sweater too small to button, and black slippers with the backs cut out to expose calloused (满是老茧的) heels. There were no stockings or socks on her blue-veined legs.

After wandering around the store for several minutes, the old woman stopped in front of the rows of canned vegetables. She picked up a can of corn and stared with a strange intensity at the label. At that point, I decided to be a good, polite employee and asked her if she needed help. As I stood close to her, my smile became harder to maintain; her red-rimmed eyes were partially closed by yellowish crusts (痂); her hands were covered with layer upon layer of dirt, and the unpleasant smell of sweat rose from clothes.  

“I need some food,” she muttered in reply to my bright “Can I help you?”

“Are you looking for corn, ma’am?”

“I need some food,” she repeated, “Any kind.”

“Well, the corn is ninety-five cents,” I said in my most helpful voice.

“I can’t pay,” she said.  

For a second, I wanted to say, “Take the corn.” But the employee rules flooded into my mind: Remain polite, but do not let customers get the best of you. Let them know that you are in control. For a moment, I even entertained the idea that this was some sort of test, and that this woman was someone from the head office, testing my loyalty. I responded dutifully, “I’m sorry, but I can’t give away anything for free.”

The old woman’s face collapsed a bit more, and her hands trembled as she put the can back on the shelf. She dragged her feet past me toward the door, her torn and dirty clothing barely covering her bent back.  

Moments after she left, I rushed out of the door with the can of corn, but she was nowhere in sight. For the rest of my shift, the image of the woman haunted me. I had been young, healthy and proud. She had been old, sick and desperate. Wishing with all my heart that I had acted like a human being rather than a robot, I was saddened to realize how weak a hold we have on our better instincts.

What makes a gift special? Is it the price you see on the gift receipt? Or is it the look on the recipient's face when they receive it that determines the true value? What gift is worth the most?

This Christmas I was debating what to give my father. My dad is a hard person to buy for because he never wants anything. I pulled out my phone to read a text message from my mom saying that we were leaving for Christmas shopping for him when I came across a message on my phone that I had locked. The message was from my father. My eyes fell on a photo of a flower taken in Wyoming, and underneath a poem by William Blake. The flower, a lone dandelion standing against the bright blue sky, inspired me. My dad had been reciting those words to me since I was a kid. That may even be the reason why I love writing. I decided that those words would be my gift to my father.

I called back. I told my mom to go without me and that I already created my gift. I sent the photo of the cream-colored flower to my computer and typed the poem on top of it. As I was arranging the details another poem came to mind. The poem was written by Edgar Allan Poe; my dad recited it as much as he did the other. I typed that out as well and searched online for a background to the words of it. The poem was focused around dreaming, and after searching I found the perfect picture. The image was painted with blues and greens and purples, twisting together to create the theme and wonder of a dream. As I watched both poems passing through the printer, the white paper coloring with words that shaped my childhood. I felt that this was a gift that my father would truly appreciate.

Christmas soon arrived. The minute I saw the look on my dad’s face as he unwrapped those swirling black letters carefully placed in a cheap frame, I knew I had given the perfect gift.