True value of a mother's sacrifice

I'm happy we have a day to recognize the women who always put family first

I was grinning ear to ear. Mrs Kellet, my all-time favorite teacher, had let me ride shotgun. Miss Roach, my second-grade and least favorite teacher rode in the back. She took out a Virginia Slims menthol cigarette, lit it up and proceeded to fill the Oldsmobile Cutlass with plumes of choking vapor. I started to gag on the combination of new car smell and tobacco smoke, but luckily we turned into my driveway just before I was about to heave.

My mother greeted everyone and led them to our dining room. She had laid out the table with white poached chicken, stir-fried vegetables and the much-anticipated bowls of huntun noodles. Being the 1970s and the suburbs, this was considered exotic. My teachers always looked forward to my mother's lunch invitations and it reflected in my grades. All along I thought it was me but now I know who the smart cookie really is.