“Blue skies,” I sang, “smiling at me…” But no one was smiling. My classmates looked bored as they waited to rehearse (排练). It was just hours before the talent show, and my voice wasn’t sounding good. I sadly sat down on the floor. My act was too bad.

My parents were on their way. My mother had been my age when she started painting seriously, and had shown and sold work into her thirties. But her hands were now too busy washing, cleaning and making salad. Still, I kept hoping she’d start again. I gave her sketchbook (写生簿) every Mother’s Day and Christmas.

“Maybe I should read poems.” I found the show’s host and let her know.

“Next up, Sandra Beasley,” came the introduction.

No one had warned me about the spotlight (聚光灯). I squinted (眯着眼看), looking for my parents, but I couldn’t pick out either of their faces. My first poem was one to blueberries. Then I read a poem about chemistry class and found a rhythm, “This last one,” I said, “is for my mom.”

The poem described our laundry (洗衣) room, which had once been her studio. She was the artist. Where was her art?

“How can I learn,’ the poem finished, “if you do not teach?”

“Thank you,” I said. The audience (观众) gave a big hand. A friend took my arm as I left the stage.

“Wonderful” she said. “Jeez. Is your mom here?” My heart dropped. My mother had expected to hear me sing Blue Skies. Instead , she had been chastised (谴责) in front of all the audience.

When the house lights came up, I noticed my dad waving me over. “Well, hey,’’ he said. “That was something else.” She was standing on his other side．She could have said, “That’s not your story to tell.”

Instead she pulled me toward her. I laid my face to her shoulder so quickly that I’d never know for sure if her eyes were wet. There are some tears that a mother is not willing to show, there are some tears a daughter is not ready to see.

As a child, I got angry quite easily and was not good at communicating with others.

I still remember it was an early autumn. Some leaves started to turn yellow and the weather became cool. One day, as I was getting ready for school, my mother carelessly handed me my father’s vest（背心）instead of mine. At that time, I was getting to have a larger size than my father, so when I put on the vest, I felt as if I wasn’t be able to breathe! I realized that it was a small mistake which was made by my mother, but somehow（不知怎么地）the breathless feeling was so strong that it made me very angry. My mother said sorry with a smile, but I shouted at her without thinking much, I got it off my body so widely that I made a hole in it. I put on my own vest and rushed out of the house before my mother could stop me.

Later, my mother shared her bad feeling with my father, “See what your son has done.” Instead of saying he would scold（责备）or beat me, my father quietly asked my mother to mend the vest.

Later when my mother told me about my father’s response, I felt ashamed（惭愧的）of my bad behavior. My father’s gentle kindness taught me a lesson which I would never forget.

On that day, I decided not to let anger control me any longer. Of course, there are times when I am angry. However, whenever that happens, I will try to remember my father’s vest. It always reminds me to think about others’ feelings when I get angry.

I found it hard to communicate with my mother. Relations between us became difficult.

One day I ran away from home and stayed outside for a few hours. When I returned home at night, I saw all the pain, anger and disappointment on my mother’s face. We knew that we were in great need of talk. We agreed to have breakfast together the next morning. In the end, we decided to go to a restaurant.

On our way to the restaurant, I noticed my mother had two notebooks in her hands. I asked her what they were used for. She explained to me that sometimes it was easier to write down our feelings than talking about them. We should write down our feelings.

Our first topic was “Why am I so angry?” I wrote a half page, and my mom filled up nearly three pages. I saw the tears run down her face while she was writing. I never realized anyone could hide so much anger. After we finished writing, we exchanged our notebooks. As soon as I started reading my mother’s words. I began to cry and so did she. When we finished reading, we discussed our feelings. Finally, it felt like all the anger inside me went away from my body. Our talk helped me realize so many things I had never thought of before, not only about my mother but also about other people.

My mother and I continue using our notebooks as a way of communicating. We know that no matter how we feel about each other, our notebooks are a safe place to express our feelings. We have come to an agreement that we write “I love you” at the end of each letter.