When we still were babies, a weak cry from us would make the parents nervous, worrying that we were hungry or felt something unfit or just need the care from the parents; a small smile on the face would make the parents be happy for a long while, thinking that the baby was good physically and mentally. When we grew older to start the learning of walk, the parents always were after us, encouraging with words while protecting us from tumble with two hands. I believe that these sweet memories will be in the inner heart of everybody for a whole life. After we went to school, the most worried thing of parents could be our academic results because in china, excellent study means the attendance of key university, getting a good job and the start of a successful life.

When I face this situation, I am never angry and shout at other people. I try to explain to my leader why this problem happen and how to solve it this time and avoid it next time. If it is my duty, I will take it bravely.

Sure enough, she popped her head in every morning around 10:00 A.M. to say “hi” or, more important, to check out the toys and coloring materials I had stashed in my office. Several steps behind, CC’s grandmother, also called Mommie, since she served as her guardian, would trail in as she tried keeping up with CC’s anxious pace.

CC was not the least bit interested in hearing more about her cancer or her hair loss. When she walked into the department, it was time to socialize with the staff, who became her instant friends, and to see what kind of masterpiece she could color for Mommie before she was called back for her treatment.

I was taken aback by the love CC had for Mommie. Whenever I asked her about home life, school work or how she was feeling, every response referred to her time spent with Mommie, the funny stories they shared and how much she loved her. On numerous occasions, CC made it clear that Mommie was the center of her world.

When CC was first treated with radiation therapy, the therapists told her that they would give her a quarter each day if she promised to keep her head still on the treatment table. Certainly, after six weeks of therapy, she had a pocketful of quarters! So on the last day, the therapists wanted to know what big toy she was going to buy with all her change. CC replied, “Oh, I am not going to buy a toy. I am going to buy something for Mommie because of all the nice things she does for me.”

At the age of sixteen, I went on my first volunteer project in West Virginia. On the night we arrived, we discovered that “our family” was living in a trailer that was in poor condition, no bigger than two parking spaces. A crew had been working on it for two weeks, but every time they finished one problem, another surfaced.

The staff soon decided that the only reasonable solution was to build a new house-something highly unusual but necessary under these circumstances. Normally the goal is to repair existing homes. “Our family” was overjoyed with their new house that was 20×30 foot with three bedrooms, a bath and a kitchen/family room.

On Tuesday of that week, while we all ate lunch together, I asked “our family’s” three boys, Josh, Eric and Ryan, “What do you want for your new room?” Anticipating posters, toys and other gadgets that children usually ask for, we were surprised when Josh, the oldest, responded, “I just want a bed.”

We were stunned. The boys had never slept in a bed. They were accustomed only to foam pads. That night we had a meeting and unanimously decided that beds would be the perfect gift. On Thursday night, a few adults in our group drove to the nearest city and bought beds and new bedding. They arranged for everything to be delivered on Friday.

Only this year, things were different. Our father had passed away November 26, and this was our first Christmas without him. Mother was doing her best to be the gracious hostess, but I could tell this was especially hard for her. I felt a catch in my throat, and again I wondered if I should give her my planned Christmas gift, or if it had become inappropriate in my father’s absence.

A few months earlier I had been putting the finishing touches on portraits I had painted of each of my parents. I’d planned to give them as Christmas gifts. This would be a surprise for everyone, as I had not studied art or tried serious painting. There had been an undeniable urge within that pushed me relentlessly to do this. The portraits did look like them, but I was still unsure of my painting techniques.

Once upon a time,I own this happy time like this and we are also very poor, there is no delicious food ,no beautiful clothes,no spacious house,only a poor family.But we all live together every day.