As I cried in a hotel room in Osaka, a phone pressed to my right ear, my father was giving me his final advice from his death bed in Ireland. The man who inspired me to become a travel journalist wanted to remind me I had the best job in the world.

While “don’t stop” was his last message to me, “won’t stop” could have been his motto (座右铭). Even as he entered his late 60s, badly affected by a physical disability, my father continued to travel. Not package holidays or lying in a hammock (吊床). Instead, he explored foreign cities on foot until they seeped into his pores. Adventures were what he desired.

Once I began traveling with my father 15 years ago, small talk invariably transitioned to discussion of our next journey. I loved few things more than surprising him with a new trip I’d booked for us. This was how our final adventure began.

In our Athens apartment, I found his feet swelled up (肿胀) enormously. His ankles had given him constant discomfort. Whenever I suggested we take a break, he’d say: “You can sit down if you want; I’ve got something I want to go see over there.” His physical limitations were simply overpowered by his desire to experience something new. He walked all over Bucharest, Athens, and Rome. By the end of the trip, his mind could no longer override his body. His left ankle was twice the size of his right. His chest was congested(充血的).

Dad spent weeks in hospital back in Ireland. He was completely paralyzed (瘫痪的), unable to see or talk or eat. Yet, he remained conscious. Doctors encouraged us to chat to him, even though he could not respond. Day after day, I sat by his hospital bed and talked about our funniest moments while traveling. Eventually, he came out of his paralysis. When doctors said he was almost ready to go home, I took the chance to fly to Asia for my journalism job.

Then, in the middle of a cold night, my phone rang. Our final conversation took place. Jokes were exchanged, and promises were made. Among them was my agreement that I wouldn’t stop traveling.

One evening last summer, when I asked my 14 year old son, Ray, for help with dinner, his response shocked me. “What’s a colander (漏勺)? ” he asked.

I could only blame myself. In the family, nobody else’s hands went in the sauce except my own. But that night, as I explained with a touch of panic that a colander is the thing with holes in it, I wondered what else I hadn’t prepared Ray for.

As parents, while we focus on our sons’ confidence and character, we perhaps don’t always consider that we are also raising someone’s future roommates, boyfriends, husbands, or fathers. I wanted to know that I’d raised a boy who would never ask the woman in his life, “What’s for dinner?” So I came up with a plan: I would offer Ray a private home economics course. I was delighted to find that he didn’t say no. For two hours, three days a week, Ray was all mine. One day, as his tomato sauce reduced on the stove, he washed and seasoned a chicken for roasting. Then he rolled out the piecrust (馅饼皮) and filled it with apples, all while listening to my explanation on the importance of preheating an oven.

I knew that he would rather have been shooting hoops in the driveway than learning to mend socks with his mother — he tried to beg not to have sewing lessons, even though I insisted that one day, someone would find the sight of him fixing his own shirt very attractive — but it couldn’t be denied that he was learning, and more than just housekeeping. “I appreciate what you do as a mom,” he told me one day. Ray now understands the finer points of cooking, and more importantly, he realizes there’s nothing masculine (男子气概的) about being helpless.

Now, not only can he make his own dinner, but he can make a big meal for his family. That’s what I call a man. I’m glad I prepared so great a present for my future daughter in-law.

I was with my mom one day as we took a walk while window shopping. We both knew we wouldn’t be buying much.

I remember I was looking up at the people we walked by. Ladies wore five-inch heels and bright clothing. Men wore expensive scents(香水)and creams that might wipe away the wrinkles (皱纹) on their faces. An uneasy feeling started to settle in my chest. I could deny it no longer; I was ashamed of my mother.

We were in a high-class neighborhood-I knew that. We lived in a small, overpriced apartment building at the edge of our county. Mom chose to move there because she knew the schools were good. I realized for the first time that we didn’t belong there.

I could see the heavy lines around mom’s eyes and mouth. She wore cheap clothes and worn-out shoes. Her eyes were tired from working long hours to make ends meet, and her hair was too gray for her age.

My mom is nothing extraordinary, yet at that moment, she stood out because she was just so plain. I didn’ t want to be seen with her, although there was no one important around to see me anyway. I felt embarrassed about being at her side.

We were standing in the middle of a high-end store, and mom was holding a sweater. She said, “This will look good on you. Do you want it?” It was much too expensive, but I almost thoughtlessly answered “yes”. Then I took a closer look at the small, tired woman with a big smile and a sweater in her hands, happy to be giving me something so nice. My words died in my throat.

Her clothes were worn and old because she spent her money buying me new ones. She looked so tired because she was busy working to provide for me. She didn’t wear jewelry or perfume because she was content with spending what little money she had on me.

Suddenly, my mom was beautiful and extraordinarily wonderful in my eyes.

I was no longer ashamed of her, but of myself.

“Do you want it?” my mom repeated.

“No, thanks,” I said.