From the time each of my children started school, I packed their lunches. And in each lunch I packed, I included a note. Often written on a piece of small paper, it might be a thank-you for an unusual moment, a reminder of something we were happily expecting, or a bit of encouragement for the coming test or sporting event.
In early grade school they loved their notes. But as children grow older they become self-conscious（有自我意识的）, and by the time he reached high school, my older son, Marc, informed me he no longer enjoyed my daily notes. Telling him that he no longer needed to read them but I still needed to write them, I continued until the day he graduated.
Six years after high school graduation, Marc called and asked if he could move home for a couple of months. He had spent those years well, graduation from college, completing two internship（实习）in Washington, D.C., and finally, becoming a technical assistant in Sacramento. However, he had lived away from home except for short holiday visits. With his younger sister leaving for college, I was especially happy to have Marc back. Since I was still making lunch for his younger brother, I packed one of Marc, too. Imagine my surprise when I got a call from my 24-year-old son, asking about his lunch.
“Did I do something wrong? Don't you love me any longer, Mom?” he asked.
“Of course I love you, dear!” I laughingly said. “What's wrong?”
“My note, Mom,” he answered. “Where's my note?”
She gave them a note .
