It was a sixth-grade Friday afternoon like any other. I was riding the bus home from school, sitting next to my friend Krystal, and both of us were happy that it was finally the weekend. At the bus stop before mine, a few boys I didn’t know very well walked past us.

“Bye, Big Nose!” one of them called, waving to us. He and his friends laughed and got off the bus.

Big Nose? Was he talking to us? I looked over at Krystal. Her nose was tiny. There was no way anyone would call her Big Nose. My cheeks flushed (脸红了) That must mean they were referring to me. I knew I didn’t have a cute nose like Krystal, but I had never thought of my nose as very big, either. When my stop came, I ran off the bus and into the safety of my mom’s car.

As soon as we got home, I raced upstairs and shut myself in the bathroom. I looked at myself carefully in the mirror and even saw a tiny bump (隆起) in my nose at the bridge. I imagined that everyone at school secretly referred to me as Big Nose behind my back. I wanted to hide in my room forever. A couple of days later, we were over at my grandfather’s house for dinner. My grandmother Auden had passed away when I was 4 and Grandpa Gramps never remarried. My family joined him for dinner at least once a week. Gramps always left the front door unlocked for us. I entered the house and found him in the living room, staring at a photograph in his hands. He looked up when I came in.

“Dally!” he said. “How are you, my girl?” I walked over and sat down on the sofa next to him.

“Is that Auden?” I asked, looking at the photograph. It was a photo of a beautiful young woman with blond hair (金发) and wide pretty eyes. She was smiling at the camera.

“Yep, that’s your grandmother. I was missing her a lot today and wanted to look at her. This photo was taken the year we met.”

“She’s so beautiful.” I said.

“The most beautiful woman in the world,” Gramps said. “Inside and out.” He looked over at me and smiled. “Next to you, of course.”

“Thanks, Gramps,” I said, but I knew he was just being nice.

She really did have the same nose as me.

Tomato Changed My Life

Doing things-without being planned was never my strength.

As a 14-year-old, I would refuse to go for walks around the block with my friends if I was the least bit behind in my schoolwork.

Unlike most teenagers, I lived not in my room, but in an unused kitchen upstairs where I spread my books and papers on a large round table. I spent considerable time there, working continuously for hours, and my mother worried. She would try to lure (引诱) me away. “Come and watch the parade!” she would call from downstairs. “All neighbors are out there!” She thought of all kinds of tricks-the swimming pool, ice cream, stray cats and turtles-to remove me from my -studies, but nothing ever worked.

Later, in college, the pattern continued. The library and my college dorm replaced the unused kitchen at home. When spring came along friends would stop by my dorm or peer into my library room to persuade me to play Frisbee on the lawn. “No, I would almost always say.” I have too much to do.

My college study days were gone, but not my need and love for schedules. My friends and sisters tried to keep me away from my plans, but they were hardly ever successful.

This summer, though, while house sitting for my parents, I was persuaded to change my plans in the most unexpected way. The sight of tomatoes growing in my mother’s garden lured me out of my tightly scheduled world. They drew me with the power of a lover’s gaze. Hundreds of them were turning ripe and red by the minute, decorating the garden like decorations on a Christmas tree.

“If I have time, I’ll make tomato sauce (番茄酱).” I told myself. But my long week in the house by myself was already filled with things to do: writing, and finishing a project that I brought home from the office.

Then, watching the fascinating tomatoes continuously falling to the ground in ever-greater numbers, again I mentally argued about all the things I had planned and needed to do.

I was born into a big family. As the fifth of seven children, I went to the same public school as my three older sisters and brother. Every year, my mother went to the same scene and had parent/child interviews with the same teachers. The only thing different was the child. And every child participated in an old school tradition — the annual plant sale held in early May, just in time for Mother’s Day.

Third grade was the first time that I was allowed to take part in the plant sale. I wanted to surprise my mother, but I didn’t have any money. I went to my oldest sister and shared the secret, and she gave me some money. When I arrived at the plant sale, I carefully made my selection and spent a long time inspecting each plant to ensure that I had indeed found the best geranium (天竺葵). Once I had taken it secretly home, with the help of my sister, I hid it in the attic (阁楼). I was very nervous for fear that my mother would find it before Mother’s Day, but my sister assured me that she wouldn’t, and indeed she did not.

When Mother’s Day arrived, I got up very early, went into the attic on tiptoe and carried the carefully-selected geranium to the kitchen, where my mother was preparing breakfast. “It’s for you!” I gave the flower to mum and hugged her tightly.

The year I was fifteen, my younger sister reached third grade. In early May she came to me full of wonder and secrecy and told me that there was going to be a plant sale at school, and she wanted to surprise our mother. As my older sister did for me, I gave her some money and off she went.

She arrived home full of nervous excitement.

My mother noticed me watching, and she gave me a soft, secret smile.