I always think of my mother as a superhero, because she never runs out of room in her heart for anyone or anything.

I could write about all of the wonderful things she has done, but I want to focus on one project she does every year that has shaped my whole family and everyone around us: She saves money, and she puts it in a little jar (罐子) that we refer to as “The Charity Jar”. Every year, she takes this money and puts it toward something—an act of kindness, anything that can help someone. Sometimes, she buys something for an organization that needs it.

If you ask her about this tradition, she will tell you that she is carrying on something that her mother used to do around the holidays. If you ask anyone else who knows her, however, they will tell you that she has a huge heart. She manages to get our whole family involved (参与) in this movement every year. Last year, she helped an organization where I volunteered—Ruth’s Place—a homeless women’s shelter in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania.

I had been helping a professor run a writing workshop in the shelter when I noticed the wish list on the wall: warm clothes, a coffee maker and supplies. I told my mom, and within a day, she had already asked if our family wanted to help Ruth’s Place. We all agreed and decided that the coffee maker and supplies would be the best things for our family to work on together.

A few days later, Mom found a coffee maker online, and showed it to us. With a few clicks, it was on its way. She also baked(烘焙) fresh chocolate cupcakes for the women in the shelter. We gathered the rest of the supplies and called the shelter to find a day when we could deliver them.

That day I drove my mom to the shelter very slowly. _______________________________________________________________________

As we left, we were met with heartfelt thanks. _____________________________________________________________________________

“Alice, you spend too much time on your phone,” her father said. “You need to focus on your studies.”

“But Dad, I’m doing my best,” Alice replied. “I’m balancing my phone time with my studies.”

In the tense meal, Alice and her parents argued about her recent changes. They were focused on her increased attachment to her phone and its impact on her studies. Her parents were concerned that she was neglecting (忽视) her studies and worried about the impact it might have on her future. They felt that her attachment to the phone was taking her away from her studies.

Alice said, “I know you’re worried about me, but I’m trying my best. I just want to have some fun with my friends and take a break from studying sometimes.” However, her parents didn’t seem to understand or accept her explanation. They felt that she needed to focus more on her studies and less on the phone.

The argument escalated (升级) when Alice announced that she wanted to leave the science club she had been a member of for years to join a new social media club. Alice explained, “I’m not sure if leaving the science club was a right decision or not. I just feel like I need a change.” Her mother was shocked and said angrily, “You made this decision without thinking it through. You’ve done well in the science club, and you have a lot of potential to go further. You’ll regret it if you don’t keep going.”

After that argument, Alice, feeling increasingly frustrated, withdrew into herself and spent more time in her room. She started to avoid her parents as much as possible and didn’t want to talk to them about anything related to her studies or her future.

Her parents saw that the little girl who had come back laughing and talking was gone, and now they saw a face that was alternately angry and sad. She did spend less time on her phone, but she became increasingly unhappy.

One night, Alice’s parents knocked on the girl’s door and said they wanted to talk to her.

At this point, Alice seemed to see some hope of joining the social media club.

When I was about four years old, I started washing my face on my own. However, I always ignored the area behind my ears on purpose though my mom would often remind me.

One summer, in July of that year, my mom drove me to my grandparents’ house for our annual summer holiday visit. When we arrived, I was told that Grandma had gone on a trip with her friends and wouldn’t be back for another two weeks. Feeling a bit down, I went to the yard to play while my mom and grandpa caught up on some things. Although I couldn’t hear their conversation clearly, I had a strong feeling they were talking about me based on their gestures and expressions. Later, my mom returned home, and she would come back to pick me up two months later.

After dinner that night, Grandpa asked me to take a bath before going to bed. Since I loved taking baths, I happily agreed. With the bathtub (浴缸) filled with water, Grandpa reminded me, “Just make sure you clean the area behind your ears really well. You wouldn’t want potatoes to start growing there, would you?”

“Potatoes?” I stopped in my tracks and turned back to look at him. “Yes, potatoes. If you don’t clean the dirt behind your ears, potatoes might actually sprout (发芽) and grow there,” he explained, causing my eyes to widen in surprise. “But I don’t have any potatoes behind my ears, Grandpa,” I said as I ran my fingers along the back of my ears. He took a quick glance and replied, “Oh, I see a couple of sprouts: starting right there!” He urged me to get into the bathtub immediately and scrub (擦洗) them away thoroughly.

I nodded, still in disbelief. This was the first time I had ever heard such a thing. Why hadn’t my parents warned me about this before? I wondered, but couldn’t find an answer. Nonetheless, I felt shocked by Grandpa’s warning.

I hurried to jump into the bathtub, carefully scrubbing behind my ears.

“What are you looking at behind your ears?” Grandma asked me curiously.

I was fifteen when my world took a hopeless turn for the worst. My mom was diagnosed with cancer again. She had undergone surgery and beaten the cancer. Then the cancer came back. However, there was more to worry about than the disease that my mom was battling. My dad had left us years before. Besides, because of the mounting medical bills she was paying for her previous cancer, we were on the edge of financial ruin. I was too young to get a job.

That winter was the worst. We didn’t have money to pay for electricity. Our neighbor, Sophia, allowed us to use her electricity so that we could have one lamp on in our home. The gas stove in the living room was the only heat in our house. My mom slept in her cold room, with as many blankets as we could pile on her.

Thanksgiving Day came. I searched our cupboards for food and there wasn’t much. I started slamming doors as I looked through the cabinets for a can of food we might have missed. The more I searched, the angrier I became. The noise must have woken my mom, because she came to the kitchen wrapped in a blanket. She looked worried at me and asked, “Baby, what’s wrong,” I retorted, “I’m hungry. I’m freezing to death in our own house,” I wasn’t angry at her. I was angry at our situation.

She opened her arms toward me and said, “Come here. Right now things are hard, but hope is always there. Whatever difficulties we meet, we should be strong. All you have to do is have faith. Why not believe we can be better by using our own hands?”

I was deeply ashamed of what I had done and said.

Just as I wondered what to do to spend the night, Sophia knocked at our door.

I had been going through some difficult times not so long ago dealing with the pressures of growing up and trying to communicate with my parents, particularly my mother. Our relationship had suffered because of this. When I got angry, it seemed like we would end up fighting with each other and not talk about what we were really feeling. Luckily, I have solved those problems now after we had a heart-to-heart “talk”.

A while back I ran away from home so that I could be far enough away to cool down. I stayed away for many hours, well into the night, before I finally decided to return home. When I walked through the front door, I immediately saw all the pain, anger and disappointment on my parents’ faces, especially my mother’s. For days to come, my mom and I experienced a lot of suffering. Everything we did or said was filled with tension until we were unable to control our feelings. We knew we badly needed to have a talk. We agreed to have breakfast together the next morning. That morning will remain fresh in my memory forever. It was a turning point.

We decided to go to a local café. On our way to the table, I noticed that my mother had two notebooks and some pens. I asked her what they were for. She explained to me that sometimes it was easier to write down our feelings rather than try to talk about them. She then handed me one notebook and she kept the other. The rules for that talk were that she would pick a topic, and we would write down our feelings, and then exchange our notebooks. It could be as long or as short as we wanted.

Our first topic was: “Why I am so angry.”

We exchanged our notebooks and read the words.

Grandmother Bonnie called out to Amy as she finished setting the table and served them dinner. When Amy didn’t respond, Bonnie went to the young girl’s room and pushed the door open. Amy sat at her desk with her headphones on, drawing a picture.

“Are you drawing those strange pictures again?” Bonnie yelled. “Have you finished your homework? Your teacher called me today and told me you’ve been ignoring her homework!” she shouted angrily.

Minutes later, Amy walked into the kitchen and quietly sat at the table. They began eating dinner in silence. Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

Bonnie answered the door to see a man in his early 40s standing outside. It turned out to be Mr. Henderson, a famous New York-based cartoonist. He explained to Amy he received a letter with some pieces of her artwork and was so impressed with her talent. In fact, he wrote Amy letters, but never got an answer.

Amy noticed Bonnie moving nervously in her seat, and realized why the letters had never reached her. Her grandmother kept them hidden from her.

“I’ m here with an offer for Amy,” Mr. Henderson continued. “We are accepting applications for our arts training program this summer. I would personally teach the students the art of cartoons and everything related. For that, Amy needs to pass a test, and then she’ll have to spend her summer in New York learning under me. If everything goes well, she will be able to join my team later and seek her dream of art.”

“Really?!” Amy was so excited. But Bonnie refused because she promised Amy’s late parents to raise their child well and make her an educated person. Mr. Henderson sighed and pulled out a file from his bag, “It’s a test. I know your Granny is against it, kid. But if you manage to finish it and hand it over to me by 10 a.m. the day after tomorrow, I can take it to my manager,” he added as he gave Amy an encouraging smile and left the house. Amy decided to finish the test after school the next day.

The next evening, Amy found her drawing tools were gone.

Entering the house, Amy found Bonnie holding her drawing tools, crying.

“Hurry and get dressed, Shelly,” Mom said. “The sun is shining. Let’s go riding!” Her cheerful voice went through the closed door to my room.

Mom knew I was on the phone with one of my friends. The last thing I wanted to do on that Sunday afternoon was ride a horse with my mother. “Why can’t she just stay out of my life?” I thought. She came to every one of my volleyball games. She even taught at my school. Wherever I went, there she was. When I was little, I liked it when Mom was protective and when she took part in my activities. But now I didn’t like it. I was sixteen years old now! I didn’t realize that I came to an age when a teenager could easily rebel (叛逆).

That afternoon after hanging up the phone, I was sitting there thinking, “What is all this horseback-riding business? Mom isn’t even a horse person! She just wants to know what I’m doing every minute.”

Halfheartedly, I pulled on my riding shoes, and then went over to the bedside table. My hand touched the necklace that Mom had given me for my last birthday. “I’d better wear this, or she’ll ask where it is,” I thought. Although I wasn’t interested in it, I picked up the necklace marked with words: Sweet Sixteen. Then, I put the necklace around my neck.

By the time I got to our farm, Dad had already put a saddle (马鞍) on our horse, Charcey. And Mom was climbing onto the horse’s back. “Mom, what are you doing?” I said. “You’ve never ridden Charcey before! She is a big horse.” “I cannot believe her!” I thought. “She’ll do anything to be part of my life. And I just want her out of it!”

With great efforts, Mom finally climbed onto the horse’s back. Before Dad could give her guidance on how to ride, Charcey was out of control and suddenly ra n away. Too frightened and inexperienced, Mom couldn’t control Charcey.

The horse ran faster and faster.

Then, Mom flew high into the air, and landed on the ground.

An Unexpected Call

It was a Wednesday. I had just gotten home from work and was getting dinner ready when suddenly I wanted badly to call my grandmother for I felt something was wrong with her.

Having freed my hands from all things, I dialed her number quickly and waited with a growing sense of fear as she did not answer. That was extremely unusual because she always answered, her cell phone always by her side. I called again. “Pick up! Pick up!”

I knew reasoningly she could be out or was away from the phone but as I dialed again and again, getting no answer each time for over two hours, I began to panic. She had no car, she lived alone, she only took short walks around the neighborhood.

I knew she needed help. I didn't know how I knew; I just did. Focusing on what might have happened to my grandma, I called my sister and my father and told them I thought something was wrong and we needed to drive one state over to my grandmother's house to check on her. I was out the door before either of them could text to me any disagreeing idea.

I picked them up and we headed forward. “She's probably at church,” my father kept saying. “Maybe she's taking a nap,” my sister got a word in, but I just stepped on the gas and a half hour later we pulled into my grandmother's driveway.

The gate was shut, and not a ray of light could be seen inside. Now, sensing I was right, my father began knocking on the locked front door. My sister leaned on the doorbell and although we could hear the clock ticking away there was no other noise inside. I pressed my eye against the window of the dining room.

Attempting to see inside the darkened room, I could just make out a pale hand on the floor.

After she woke up, she told us what had happened to her.