My Story

Once upon a time there was a little boy. He was sitting on his mother's lap, and over and over he said, "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you." I don't know why he said that. He was mad about something, I suppose. You know how little boys can be. I think he even hit his mother on the arm with his little fist. She felt sad, but she loved him, and she held him in her arms.

Later, when it was bedtime, the boy's mother was tucking him into bed. With sleepy eyes he looked up at her, and this time he said, "I love you." She touched him on the forehead and said, "I know you do, honey. I love you too."

My mother is like the mother in the story. She loves people no matter what they say, and no matter what they do. Even if they're grown ups. That's the way she is.

-Written by Christopher Myers for his mother's 75th birthday.

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