Even before my father left us, my mother had to go back to work to support our family. Once I came out of the kitchen, complaining, “Mom, I can’t peel potatoes. I have only one hand.”

Mom never looked up from sewing. “You get yourself into that kitchen and peel those potatoes,” she told me. “And don’t ever use that as an excuse for anything again!”

In the second grade, our teacher lined up my class on the playground and had each of us race across the monkey bars, swinging from one high steel rod(棒) to the next. When it was my turn, I shook my head. Some kids behind me laughed, and I went home crying.

That night I told Mom about it. She hugged me, and I saw her “we’ll see about that” look. The next afternoon, she took me back to school. At the deserted playground, Mom looked carefully at the bars.

“Now, pull up with your right arm,” she advised. She stood by as I struggled to lift myself with my right hand until I could hook the bar with my other elbow. Day after day we practiced, and she praised me for every rung I reached. I’ll never forget the next time, crossing the rungs, I looked down at the kids who were standing with their mouths open.

One night, after a dance at my new junior high, I lay in bed sobbing. I could hear Mom come into my room. “Mom,” I said, weeping, “none of the boys would dance with me.”

For a long time, I didn’t hear anything. Then she said, “Oh, honey, someday you’ll be beating those boys off with a bat.” Her voice was faint. I peeked out from my covers to see tears running down her cheeks. Then I knew how much she suffered on my behalf. She had never let me see her tears.

My six-year-old granddaughter stared at me as if she were seeing me for the first time. “Grandma, you are an antique（古董）,” she said. "You are old. Antiques are old. So, you are my antique.”

I was not satisfied to let the matter rest there. I took out the dictionary and read the definition（定义）to Jenny. I explained, “An antique is not only old, it's an object from earlier times. a work of art…a piece of furniture. Antiques are treasured," I told Jenny as I put away the dictionary. "They have to be handled carefully because they sometimes are very valuable. An antique is usually at least 100 years old." "I'm only 67," I reminded Jenny.

We looked around the house for other antiques, besides me. There was a desk that was handed down from Rone aunt to another and finally to our family. "It's very old," I told Jenny. “I try to keep it clean and I show it off whenever I can."

There was a picture on the wall bought at a garage sale. It was dated 1867. "Now that's an antique,” I said with pride. "Over 100 years old.” Of course it was marked（留痕迹）up and not in very good condition. "Sometimes age does that," I told Jenny. "But the marks are good marks. They are something to display with pride. In fact, sometimes, the more an object shows age, the more valuable it can become." I                                 believed this was important for my own self-worth.

Our tour of antiques continued. There was a vase on the floor. It had been in my house for a long time. I was not certain where it came from but I didn't buy it new. One thing about antiques, I explained to Jenny, was that they usually had a story. They'd been in one home and then another, handed down from one family to another, traveling all over the place. They had survived through years and years.

For a moment, Jenny looked thoughtful. "I don't have any antiques but you," she said. Then her face brightened. "Could I take you to school for show and tell?"

"Only if I fit into your backpack," I answered. And then Jenny's antique lifted her up and embraced her in a hug that would last through the years.

A woman came out of her house and saw three old men sitting in her front yard. She said, “I don't think I know you, but you must be hungry. Please come in and have something to eat.”

“Is the man of the house home?” they asked. “No”, she replied, “He’s out.” “Then we cannot come in”, they replied.

In the evening when her husband came home, she told him what had happened. “Go tell them I am home and invite them in!” The woman went out and invited the men in. “We do not go into a House together,” they replied. “Why is that?” she asked.

One of the old men explained that their names were Wealth, Success and Love. Then he added, “Now go in and discuss with your husband which one of us you want in your home.”

The woman went in and told her husband what was said. Her husband was overjoyed and he suggested inviting Wealth to fill their home with wealth. And his wife wanted to invite Success; but their daughter-in-law suggested they should invite Love so that their home would be filled with love. At last the husband said to his wife. “Go out and invite Love to be our guest.”

The woman went out and asked the three old men, “Which one of you is Love? Please come in and be our guest.”

Love got up and started walking toward the house.

The other two also got up and followed him. Surprised, the lady asked Wealth and Success: “I only invited Love, Why are you coming in?”

The old men replied together: “If you had invited Wealth or Success, the other two of us would have stayed out, but since you invited Love, wherever He goes, we go with him. Wherever there is Love, there is also Wealth and Success!”