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妈妈，我希望您会喜欢这些花。”
说着，他从背后拿出一束雏菊。
“噢，马特，”
我大声叫了出来，把他紧紧地抱在怀里，“我非常喜欢这些花！”
Iwashersentmeflowers.Ihadbeentakingtap-danglessonsforsixmonths，andtheschoolwasgivingitsyearlyrecital.Asaedmemberofthebeginners’e，Iwasawareofmylo>
Soitrisetohavemytheendoftheshowalongwiththeleaddaofindmyarmsfulloflongstemmedredroses.Istillfeelmyselfstandingonthatcasestage，blushingfuriouslyandgazihefootlightstoseemyfather’sgrinasheapplaudedloudly.
Thoseroseswerethefirstinaseriesebouquetsthatapahemilestonesiheybroughtasenseofambivalengcaughtbetweenpleasureandembarrassmehem，butflusteredbytheextravagance.
Notmyfather.Hedideverythinginabigway.Ifyousenthimtothebakeryforacake，hecamebackwiththree.OhertoldhimIneededaydress，hebroughthomeadozen.
HisbehavioroftehoutfundsforothermoreimportantthihedressiherewashewiIreallyheesI>
&imesIwouldbeangrywithhim，butn.Iablyhewouldbuymesomethihme.ThegiftarentlyanofloveheotverbalizethatIwouldthrowmyarmsaroundhimandkisshim—anadoubtedlyperpetuatedhisbehavior.
Thehbirthday.Ityo.Iwasfatandhadnoboyfriend.Andmyarentsfurtheredmymiserybygiviy.AsIehediningroom，thereoableomycakewasahugebouqueterthananybefore.
Iwaohide.NoweveryohinkmyfatherhadsentflowersbecauseIhadodoit.Sweet16，butIfeltlikeg.Iprobablywouldhave，butmybestfriend，Phyllis，whispered，“Boy，you’reluckytohaveafatherlikethat.”
Astheyearspassed，otheroslikebirthdays，recitals，awards，graduationsweremarkedwithDad’sflowers.Myemotionsuedtoseesawbetweenpleasureandembarrassment.
WhenIgraduatedfromcollege，though，mydaysofambivalencewereover.Iwasembarkingonanewdwaseobemarried.Dad’sflowerssymbolizedhispride，andmytriumph.Theyevokedopleasure.
NowtherewerebrightemumsfivingandahugepiChristmas，whiteliliesatEaster，ayredrosesforbirthdays.Seasonalflowersiscelebratedthemovetoourfirsthouse.
Asmyfrew，myfather’swahisgiftsofflowersueduntilhediedofaheartattackafewmonthsbeforehis70thbirthday.Withoutembarrassment，Icoveredhiswiththelargest，reddestrosesId.
&hedozenyearssiaogooutandbuyabigbouquettofillthelivingroom，butIneverdid.Ikwouldhesame.
Thehday，thed.IwasfeelingbluebecauseIwasalone.Myhusbandlayinggolf，andmytwodaughterswereaway.My13-yearoldson，Matt，hadrunoutearlierwitha“seeyoulater”
，ioningmybirthday.SoIrisedtoseehislargeframeinthedoor.
“Fotmykey，”
hesaid，shrugging.“Fotyourbirthdaytoo.Well，Ihopeyoulikeflowers，Mom，”
hepulledabunchofdaisiesfrombehindhisback.
“Oh，Matt，”
Icried，hugginghimhard，“Iloveflowers！”
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