> > Geraniums of Love > > 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 pageant 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. I agonized over that > decision, inspecting each plant to ensure that I had indeed > found the best geranium. Once I had smuggled it home, with the > help of my sister, I hid it on the upstairs neighbor's porch. I > was very afraid 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 was bursting with pride when I > gave her that geranium. I remember how bright her eyes were, > and how delighted she was with my gift. > 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. Like my older sister did > for me, I gave her some money and off she went. She arrived > home full of nervous excitement, the geranium hidden in a paper > bag under her sweater. "I looked at every plant," she > explained, "and I know I got the best one!" > With a sweet sense of deja vu, I helped my little sister > hide that geranium on the upstairs neighbor's porch, assuring > her that our mother would not find it before Mother's Day. I > was there when she gave my mother the geranium, and I watched > them both bursting with pride and delight. It was like being in > a dream I had already dreamed. My mother noticed me watching, > and she gave me a soft, secret smile. With a tug at my heart, I > smiled back. I had been wondering how my mother could pretend > to be surprised at this gift from her sixth child, but as I > watched her eyes light up with delight as she was presented with > that most precious gift, I knew she was not pretending. > > By Harriet Xanthakos > Reprinted by permission of Harriet Xanthakos (c) 1999, from > Chicken Soup for the Parent's Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor > Hansen, Kimberly Kirberger and Raymond Aaron. > > »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§« You're Just Jealous Because The Voices Are Talking To Me Richiele Sloan ICQ #63829109 (Missi) »§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«:*´`³¤³´`*:»§«