One day, when my son in his fourth year of elementary school returned home, he said all of a sudden.
“Mom, I want to prepare a meal for you.”
“Did you have a cooking class at school?”
“No. You’ve set the table for me so many times, but I’ve never made a meal for you. So I want to cook something for you.”
My son said he would make fried rice wrapped in a thin omelet. I asked him if he knew how to do it. Then he said he would make it according to the recipe on the Internet. I taught him how to use the gas stove and make the dish, and then left for the hospital. He said he needed to buy some vegetables, so we came out together. I gave him some money to shop, and we parted.
I went to the hospital, and it took much longer to see the doctor than I’d expected. So I could not finish even until my husband got off work. When I called my husband, he said he was waiting in the parking lot, saying that our son asked him to enter home just ten minutes later. My husband and I met together and stayed outside a little bit longer to give him enough time to cook.
When we went into the house, my son had set the table with two plates of the dish. He said he had already eaten while cooking and asked us to enjoy the meal. It looked good and tasted delicious as well. Having the dish my son cooked for the first time, my husband and I were moved greatly.
At that moment, I was really sorry to my parents, thinking about if I had ever touched their hearts by doing something for them. Parents are happy when their children try to do something, though small, to please them. Come to think of it, I always made my parents worried rather than moving their hearts. That day, I was soaked in emotion and regret while having the meal my son had made with his little hands.