Gospel Story Finder

That trust gave her strength when Brigham departed for a mission to Great Britain in 1839 just 10 days after Mary Ann gave birth to their daughter Alice. For the 20 months that followed, Mary Ann and their six children struggled with illness and poverty. They survived primarily on corn bread, milk, and a few garden vegetables.4 Mary Ann managed to find a little work to support her family. “It has been so difficult to obtain work,” she lamented. “But I am thankful for a comfortable Shelter from the Storm.” This attitude of thanksgiving even amid trying circumstances helped sustain Mary Ann while her husband was half a world away. “I will thank my Heavenly Father for all the blessings I receive and pray the Lord to continue his mercies with us.”5 Giving thanks and trusting in the Lord was a lesson she learned while Brigham was gone. It “is a great thing,” she wrote to Brigham, to “trust in the Lord.”6
While Brigham spread the gospel message on many missions away from home, Mary Ann furthered the work of the Lord at home, raising her children, running the household alone, and caring for her neighbors. Though it was challenging, she maintained her trust that Brigham was where he was supposed to be. “I well know the Lord has called you to go far away to proclaim his everlasting gospel,” she told him. So she relied on the Lord’s “assisting grace” and did not “feel to repine” at her situation.7
Instead, she rejoiced in Brigham’s efforts: “I am glad to hear the work of the Lord is prospering in England; it gives me much joy.”8 Like Alma in the Book of Mormon, she found a fuller joy in the successful work of others—a work to which she contributed (see Alma 29:14).

Some time ago I spoke with a priesthood leader who was prompted to memorize the names of all of the youth ages 13 to 21 in his stake. Using snapshots of the young men and women, he created flash cards that he reviewed while traveling on business and at other times. This priesthood leader quickly learned all of the names of the youth.
One night the priesthood leader had a dream about one of the young men whom he knew only from a picture. In the dream he saw the young man dressed in a white shirt and wearing a missionary name tag. With a companion seated at his side, the young man was teaching a family. The young man held the Book of Mormon in his hand, and he looked as if he were testifying of the truthfulness of the book. The priesthood leader then awoke from his dream.
At an ensuing priesthood gathering, the leader approached the young man he had seen in his dream and asked to talk with him for a few minutes. After a brief introduction, the leader called the young man by name and said: “I am not a dreamer. I have never had a dream about a single member of this stake, except for you. I am going to tell you about my dream, and then I would like you to help me understand what it means.”
The priesthood leader recounted the dream and asked the young man about its meaning. Choking with emotion, the young man simply replied, “It means God knows who I am.” The remainder of the conversation between this young man and his priesthood leader was most meaningful, and they agreed to meet and counsel together from time to time during the following months.
That young man received the Lord’s tender mercies through an inspired priesthood leader.

1 Over the mountains and through the desert to Grandmother’s house we go!
2 Abuelita (Grandmother)!
3 The day after Thanksgiving
Why haven’t you gone into town with your brothers and sisters and cousins?
Because I love you, and I don’t get to see you very often.
4 You’re a good boy, Ramón, and you’ll be a good man. I wish your grandfather could have known you.
I wish I could have known him, too, Abuelita. I’m trying to be good so I can be with him someday. I don’t always make it, though.
5 Neither do I, querido (dear), and he didn’t either. But he always tried to do his very best, and he always repented of his sins. If we do the same, I think we’ll be fine.
6 Now, can you find room for another piece of my candy?
I’ll do my very best.

Valerie Wilson, 19, Coventry Ward—I had heard that there was to be some kind of flag ceremony at the entertainment, and frankly I was doubtful. I should explain that the British as a nation are known for their lack of outward emotion. A show of patriotism in any form, short of standing to honour the Queen, is just not British! It may well be that Britain’s extraordinary history of power and influence had had the effect of making the self-conscious British loath to demonstrate their love of country in front of strangers for fear of offending them, and because of this Britishers have simply lost the habit. Whatever the explanation, that night was the first time I have ever heard “Land of Hope and Glory” played just for the sake of it, and it was a glorious moment. I saw girls march proudly, carrying the familiar flags of the United Kingdom. I joined in the cheers with everyone else as we expressed, for the first time in our lives, our deep and sincere love for our country.

His regal bearing is not at all overbearing. He treats people like a beloved grandfather would—with kindness, lots of love, and not the slightest hint of superiority. Yet, as a retired colonel of the Paraguayan army, he seems to be just as comfortable mingling with the country’s top government and military leaders as he is with his family and friends or while serving in his Church assignments. Held in highest esteem by members and nonmembers alike, he is often referred to respectfully as “mi coronel.”
Thirty years ago, in 1963, Luis A. Ramírez was serving as a young major in the Paraguayan army. One day he found a copy of the Book of Mormon on the table in his home in Asunción. He had never seen it before and didn’t know where it had come from. But he opened it and began looking through the pages. “It said it was ‘the word of God,’” he remembers. “That phrase—the word of God—penetrated my mind profoundly. So I began to read. And a great interest was awakened within me.”
The timing was perfect. “For about three months, I had felt the need to get closer to God,” he says. He wasn’t satisfied with his own religion, but had begun to attend his church every Sunday anyway, hoping to find some answers. “And I began to pray to God—not the kind of prayers I had been taught to pray, but very similar to what the missionaries later taught me. This continued for three months. Then I found the book.”
“Who brought this book?” he asked his family. A fifteen-year-old relative said that two missionaries had given it to him a couple of days earlier at a friend’s house. “I continued reading it, and it interested me even more. So I said to the boy, ‘When you see the missionaries again, invite them to come here.’”
When the missionaries came a few days later, Luis had just about finished reading the Book of Mormon, and he had lots of questions. For the next three weeks, the missionaries taught two discussions every week to Luis and his wife, Hortensia. The Saturday following the third visit, they were both baptized. As a result, friends and relatives also became interested in the gospel and were baptized. Soon “the major” became “the president”—of the Moroni Branch in Asunción.
At one point in his military career, Brother Ramírez was serving on foreign soil, away from his family for fifteen months. During that lonely, difficult time, “the gospel helped me a lot,” he says. “I prayed and fasted frequently and felt very close to my family. And I felt an absolute assurance that I would be all right. I felt the help of the Lord through the Spirit.”
In 1969, six years after his baptism, Brother Ramírez was advanced to the rank of colonel. He taught in the military college until his retirement in 1975, never hiding the fact that he was a Latter-day Saint. Over the years, some of his students became interested in the Church and were baptized because of his example.
After retiring from the military, Brother and Sister Ramírez took their family to Utah for five years, where he earned a degree at Brigham Young University. Soon after returning to Paraguay, he was called as the first Paraguayan ever to serve as a mission president. And his mission field was his native country.
Since his release in 1984, Colonel Ramírez has continued to serve as a counselor to mission and stake presidents, strengthening members and helping to establish the Church in outlying districts and branches. In addition, he has continued to serve as an adviser to the Church in its relations with the Paraguayan government, opening doors that possibly no one else could have opened. With characteristic humility, he downplays his role in that regard: “Perhaps I’ve been able to help a little,” he says. But those who have served with him know of his great ability to make friends for the Church and to be an ambassador of good will among national leaders.
Some of his former students and colleagues, now in positions of responsibility in the country, remember and respect Colonel Ramírez as a Latter-day Saint. “Sometimes I’ll see my students who are now majors or colonels, and they will stop and ask me, ‘How’s the Church coming?’ I tell them it’s coming along very well.”

Examples: “One of my best friends grew up with a strong Buddhist background. At first, I doubted that she would join the Church. But I mentioned it from time to time, and gradually she became curious about the gospel. She prayed daily. She read the scriptures. But she had so many questions I began to feel she might always have some belief in the Church but not join it. Then one day she told me she had decided to be baptized, that she had felt the witness of the Holy Ghost that the Church is true. I was very happy then.
“Another of my classmates studied for a long time and had a testimony, but she didn’t want to be baptized because she was afraid of water. She couldn’t imagine standing in the baptismal font. So we prayed and decided she should try her faith. The baptismal date was set. Even the day before she was still scared. So we prayed again. About 11:00 P.M. that night, she called me to say she had found peace about it and would be baptized.
“There have been many others. Each time I saw one of my friends standing in the baptismal font, I think I was as happy as they were. Once again I could see someone become a member of the kingdom of God.
“Now, even though we are members of different wards, we all keep in touch with each other. It is wonderful to know they have become happier and that they now want to share the gospel.”
Mei Ling regularly writes in her journal, too. And she serves as chorister during her ward’s sacrament meetings.
And even though schoolwork is a high priority, she finds time to join the other Latter-day Saint youth of Taipei for Aaronic Priesthood and Young Women activities.
“I love to take my guitar to the hills and sing, or go to the beach to swim. I like horseback riding at the youth park, or ice skating. And of course it’s only that much better when it’s a Church activity and friends and classmates come along.
“During the mid-autumn festival this year, we’re planning a party at the park. We will build a fire and sing and enjoy the beauty of the moon, which is an old Chinese custom.”
When Mei Ling thinks of future activities like that, she also thinks about things even further in the future.
“It is said that the Taiwanese are full of genuine human warmth—but I believe the people would have even more love and kindness among themselves if they had the gospel. I believe that someday most of the people in Taiwan will be Latter-day Saints. Then from here the Church will continue to grow throughout all of Asia, throughout all the world, as we reach out to our brothers and sisters everywhere.”
In learning about the Church, there are some lessons that Mei Ling has learned well.
“I think that someday I will certainly be married in the temple,” she said. “I will also do the ordinances for my ancestors. I want to enter into the kingdom of God and provide the same opportunity for my family before me. If they aren’t baptized, how can they enter the kingdom of God? So I have to do the ordinances for them. As far as my marriage is concerned, I think that the person I marry will be someone I love and that he will also love me. We will not like the idea of being separated after death. So we will go to the temple and be sealed forever. And because there will soon be a temple in Taipei, we won’t have to travel far.”
Right now, though, Mei Ling said her first priority is to put her own life in order. “Since I now have to go to school both day and night, I am busy. There is tremendous pressure. But as long as I am able to manage my time well, the Lord will bless me to find time to do what he has asked.”
Since she joined the Church, Mei Ling has progressed in two kinds of learning. She has continued her schoolwork, and she works hard at it. But she has also learned that by studying and sharing the gospel, she can help others to acquire a type of knowledge more important than any secular education.
Every weekday, the students of Taipei City Junior Business College come to school, open their books, study their lessons, return home and study some more. In a busy, crowded metropolis like Taipei, their activity may seem just another part of the rush and hurry. In the school’s student body of thousands, one LDS girl may not seem to most of her peers to stand out in a crowd.
But just as the schools of Taiwan have taught students and teachers alike ways of sharing knowledge with each other, the still small voice has taught Chu Mei Ling how to share her testimony with those around her.
There certainly must be lessons to be learned from both.

When Scouting becomes a family affair, good things happen. At a Court of Honor held recently in Hurricane, Utah, three brothers received their Eagle award—Deward, 18, Keith, 15, and Ronald Stout, 14. Their older brother, Dennis, is also an Eagle Scout. All are active in their priesthood quorums.
According to Scouting officials, the odds against four Eagles in one family are 52,000 to 1.
When the new Scouting program was introduced, Ronald was an 11-year-old Tenderfoot. He made up his mind then to become an Eagle. His enthusiasm was catching, and his brothers Deward and Keith began to work with him toward the same goal.
“We had a lot of fun earning those 24 merit badges,” says Ronald. “One thing I like about it is the happy memories we can look back on. Now my goal is to see how many more merit badges I can earn before I’m 18.”

After several meetings with the missionaries, I was not making much progress. I felt I had not received a confirmation of the truthfulness of the gospel.
One day, Renee asked me, “Are you reading the Book of Mormon?”
I replied, “No.” I was listening to the missionaries—wasn’t that enough?
With tears in her eyes, Renee assured me that she knew the Book of Mormon is true and explained that if I wanted to know if it is true, the only way is—guess what—to read it! And then ask!
Read, ponder in your hearts, and “ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, … with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ” (Moroni 10:4) if the Book of Mormon is true, if this is the true Church.
So the third lesson, in one sentence: when you receive these things—the Book of Mormon—and you are exhorted to read and ask God if they are true, please just do it!

“Remember the time you stopped the airplane on the runway?” I asked. Grandfather’s eyes lit up and so I continued to go back with him to a day when I was 14 years old. Grandmother had decided that she and Grandpa would take me to Salt Lake City for April conference to celebrate my birthday. She had called for airplane reservations, but as usual, she was late. As we arrived at the airport, I panicked to see our plane starting its takeoff. Although she was tiny in size, Grandmother never had a minute’s hesitation about giving Grandfather orders. This time was no different. She turned to him and ordered, “Ed, get out there and stop that plane!”
I couldn’t believe what was happening. Grandfather knew it would do no good to argue, so he just muttered a few words under his breath and crawled out of the car. He opened the large silver gate leading to the runway, and the next thing I knew, he was running alongside the plane waving his arms.
As we boarded the plane, my face was red with embarrassment, but Grandmother just ushered us to our places in her usual matter-of-fact way. As I recalled the episode with Grandfather, I started laughing, and although he couldn’t speak or laugh, his eyes spilled merriment. Once again we were sharing.

As a first-time mother of a small and precocious boy, I sometimes feel my life consists of little more than diaper changes and feeding schedules.
While adjusting to motherhood, I found myself ignoring my spiritual needs. Instead of reading the scriptures, I would usually sneak in a much-needed nap or one more load of laundry. Prayers were simply hurried pleas to my Father in Heaven for my son to fall asleep and stay asleep, or for help to just make it through the day.
When my son was around four months old, I realized how depleted my spirit had become. My desire to strengthen my testimony was waning. I didn’t feel like sitting through all three hours of church, and other responsibilities at home and at church seemed like things I didn’t have time or energy for. I wanted to feel the light of the gospel again, but I was exhausted and didn’t know where to begin. One night I fervently prayed for help.
The next morning, I dragged myself to church. While listening to the lesson in Relief Society, I saw a poster illustrating the purpose of Relief Society. I had seen the poster every Sunday, but I had never internalized its message before. It states that the purpose of Relief Society is to help sisters “increase faith and personal righteousness, strengthen families and home, and seek out and help those in need.”
I read it again. This time my mind focused on “increase faith and personal righteousness.” It became clear that before I could fulfill my Church callings and serve others effectively, I needed to tend to my own spiritual health. I started by setting time aside each day to read the scriptures. I also worked on being more thoughtful when I prayed.
As I began to nourish my own faith and personal righteousness and seek guidance from Heavenly Father, I felt my love for the restored gospel of Jesus Christ reignite. Serving in callings, visiting my Relief Society sisters, and partaking of the sacrament each week became meaningful in my life again. And the things I once viewed as having no time and energy for have now become a comfort and strength to me and my family.

Photograph by Leslie Nilsson
As I looked at my list of Facebook friends one day, I decided to try something new. I’d been thinking about individual worth. I’d gained a testimony that we are all sons and daughters of God and are dearly loved. We all have talents and the right and responsibility to use them. When I looked at my peers and neighbors, I wanted to remind them of their unique worth.
And thus the Facebook Project began.
I decided that every day I would send messages to five people on my friends list and tell them what I like about them. It was a simple goal. I was expecting to merely write a simple sentence or two to each person. And I wasn’t expecting anything more than a simple thank-you in return.
But as I prayed about it to Heavenly Father each morning, I felt inspiration—and my messages became at least a paragraph for each person. Each person is unique and important, so it wasn’t difficult to find people’s talents and gifts, especially with God’s help.
I was overwhelmed by people’s responses! I cannot count how many people said, “That made my day!” Some people said that my message helped them through a trial or changed their perspective. Some of the people I had been most nervous about sending a message to were the most grateful for it. It made me realize that a lot of people struggle with recognizing their self-worth or with feeling hopeful in the deteriorating conditions of today’s world, and a kind, specific comment can mean a lot to them.
I’ve learned a lot from this project. For one thing, people are a lot different from what they may seem to be on the outside. They all have trials and need help. I’ve also learned how readily God will help you when you want to help others. If you have a righteous goal, then He will assist you.
Helping others recognize their self-worth has helped me recognize my own. I know that my experience with this has helped me and a lot of other people too, and I am forever grateful to Heavenly Father.
Facebook is a trademark of its owner.

My family and I recently had a simple but impressive experience with one of God’s creations. I gave my wife, Barbara, a dozen rosebuds for a valentine. They were a delicate shade of peach and had a rich scent. Barbara put them into a vase and placed them on the table in our family room. As the days passed, the family watched the blossoms unfold from buds to full flowers.
As I watched this miracle, I became curious about roses. I was amazed to learn from a botanist friend that there are thousands of varieties of roses. Inside each rose is a storehouse of genetic coding that develops a seed or a slip into roots, stems, thorns, leaves, colors, and blooms.
This experience led me to consider the myriad forms of plant and animal life that thrive in astounding balance upon the earth. My esteem for our little roses took on an element of wonder and reverence. I pondered the power of the Creative Genius who lovingly provided such marvels for His children. I thought about how important it is for every human soul to see and appreciate the glory and grandeur of God in everything about us.

As a young man of 27, Wilford Woodruff was ordained a priest on November 5, 1834. Eight days later he began a two-year mission in the southern states. One night he and his companion found lodging with a family who provided them with a bare floor for a bed, which he described as “pretty hard after walking sixty miles without anything to eat.”
The next day they walked 12 miles through the rain until they came to the house of a man who happened to be a member of the Missouri mob. Brother Woodruff said: “The family were about to sit down to breakfast as we came in. In those days it was the custom of the Missourians to ask you to eat even though they were hostile to you; so he asked us to take breakfast, and we were very glad of the invitation. He knew we were Mormons; and as soon as we began to eat, he began to swear about the Mormons. He had a large platter of bacon and eggs, and plenty of bread on the table, and his swearing did not hinder our eating, for the harder he swore the harder we ate, until we got our stomachs full; then we arose from the table, took our hats, and thanked him for our breakfast. The last we heard of him he was still swearing. I trust the Lord will reward him for our breakfast.”

In June 1971, Dr. Nelson received a phone call from President N. Eldon Tanner asking if he could come to his office. He went at once and found that President Harold B. Lee was also there. (President Joseph Fielding Smith was not well that day.) President Lee and President Tanner indicated that they would like him to serve as head of the Sunday School organization of the Church, if it wouldn’t take him away from his work as a surgeon.
When he had recovered from the shock, Dr. Nelson responded by saying that he would accept any call from the Lord even if he had to leave his medical practice. But they insisted that they wanted him to accept the calling only if he could continue his work as a surgeon as well. Thus he entered upon more than eight years of service as general president of the Sunday School.

While I was serving as a bishop, a wonderful young man came to my office for an interview. As we visited, he mentioned that his only major problem was swearing. He constantly heard vulgar language around him, and he too had started swearing. He said he had been trying to quit but was unsuccessful, and he wanted some counsel on how he might stop using bad language.
I immediately thought of suggestions similar to what is now found in For the Strength of Youth: “If you have developed the habit of using language that is not in keeping with these standards—such as swearing, mocking, gossiping, or speaking in anger to others—you can change. Pray for help. Ask your family and friends to support you.”1 I wish this counsel had been available in For the Strength of Youth at that time.
Photo illustration by Cody Bell
I did tell this young man of an experience I had as a youth in an environment where inappropriate language was often used. It seemed that whenever I heard any type of profanity, those words would take hold in my mind more easily than the good thoughts I wanted to have. A wonderful priesthood leader told me that the mind was like a miraculous storage device and that we could remove inappropriate thoughts by quickly overwriting them with things that were praiseworthy.
A friend and I decided to do just that. We memorized two hymns, “I Need Thee Every Hour” (Hymns, no. 98) and “More Holiness Give Me” (Hymns, no. 131), and the thirteenth article of faith. We agreed that if either of us said something inappropriate, we would immediately sing one of the hymns or quote the article of faith.
We quickly realized we did not want to sing the hymns aloud in certain places. We were too embarrassed! So we quoted the thirteenth article of faith, emphasizing the part, “If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.”1 It worked! We discovered that when we would repeat it, the inappropriate thoughts would disappear. By changing one word, we also created a simple motto: “We speak after these things!” When either of us said this phrase, we would think, “Are my words true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy?” (see Articles of Faith 1:13). If they were not, we knew we had work to do.

In fast and testimony meeting, Brother Johnson told an experience he had while driving across a lonely stretch of highway. The still, small voice told him to take a different route home, one that would add about 10 kilometers to his trip. Although he had been eager to get home from his business trip, he obeyed the prompting. On his detour, he came across a car accident. A young family had been traveling to visit relatives. When the father, who was driving, fell asleep, the car drifted too close to the side of the road and rolled down a steep hill. Brother Johnson was able to call for help and administer first aid.

“We are going to Arizona because the prophet called us to go,” Mother explained. “Remember my telling you about when I was your age and my family lived in Nauvoo? After the Prophet Joseph Smith was killed, there were contentions with our neighbors. The Brethren told us to leave our homes and move west. There our lives would be spared, and we could worship in peace.
“It was terrible to leave our home, but there was nothing else to do unless we turned away from God, the Brethren, and the Church. We made the long, hard journey to Salt Lake. We sacrificed again when we followed President Young’s direction to leave there and settle here.
“Now we have been asked to go to Arizona. We do not have to go. No one is forcing us. We are not fleeing for our lives. We could find reasons not to go. This time the struggle to obey comes from within.”
Mother hugged me as she continued. “The Lord said that when we receive a commandment ‘whether by [His] own voice or by the voice of [His] servants, it is the same’ (D&C 1:38). Our prophet has spoken to us. I know he speaks for God. Your father and I decided long ago to follow the prophet, no matter what the sacrifice.”
The Spirit warmed me as I listened to Mother’s testimony. I felt strengthened for the uncertainties ahead.
As I climbed into the loaded wagon, I took one last look at our old home, then turned to face the trail to Arizona. I realized that I, too, had a testimony of God’s representative on earth. Like my parents, I decided I would follow the prophet—even to the last frontier.

Not long after receiving my blessing, I came home from Sunday School. Our lesson had been about Joseph Smith’s First Vision, and I was wondering if it was really true. My father was leaving for a Church meeting. I stopped him and asked, “Dad, how do we really know that Joseph Smith had that vision?” My father put his arm around me, and we sat on the sofa in our living room. There he shared with me the Prophet Joseph’s account, and my father bore his own testimony of its truthfulness. That experience with my father burns in my heart today. Since then I have never doubted the Prophet Joseph’s account of his First Vision.

I was 15 years old, and that summer I wished I could stay 15 forever. I had two close girl friends, I was old enough to earn babysitting money so I could buy pizza and ice cream, and I could do the 600-yard run faster than anyone else in the school. What more could a girl ask for?
That last day of school I had worn my favorite broken-in jeans and had walked around proudly with my award for the 600-yard run tucked under my arm with my yearbook.
"Hey, Morgan!" I called when I saw Eric Morgan in the middle of a bunch of girls as usual. "Sign my yearbook!" I elbowed through the crowd.
"Hey, creep!" he said, with his usual punch to my arm. "You’ll have to wait in line," referring to his group of female followers.
"Aw, I’ll catch you later." Eric was the "boy next door" in my life. I’d known him just about forever, I guess.
Oh, it was a great feeling leaving the school that day. Everything was shiny and warm. I rarely wore shoes in the summer when I was outside, and the grass was warm and tickley under my feet. I felt free. I was ready for anything. Or so I thought.
Later that afternoon I ran out the front door of my house, jumped off the porch, yearbook in hand, on my way next door to Eric’s house. But I stopped in the middle of my yard, hair blowing in my face, bare feet suddenly immobile. Eric was sitting on his porch. Beside him sat a girl. I mean, not a girl like me, but a girl with long, rippling hair, shorts, and long smooth legs. They seemed to be engaged in something very confidential. And for the first time in my life, I felt that I did not belong.
I finally dragged my feet back to my front door. Who was that? I hadn’t seen her around. And where did she get that tan?
"Mary Jane!" I jumped at my mother’s voice. She carried a basket full of dirty clothes under one arm and my wriggly baby brother under the other.
"I need your help," she said.
Ugh. She always needs my help.
"Don’t pull a face. Go clean that room of yours."
"Oh, mom! Please! Have you seen that room?"
"Of course. That’s why I’m telling you to clean it."
"But, mom!"
"No buts. Just go."
No buts, no buts. Mothers can say things like that. I could see me saying that to her! I don’t think my mother was ever a teenager.
Friday night Jill and I slept over at Barbara’s house. We brought our yearbooks so we could all compare the fantastically dull things that perfectly intelligent people had written. "See you next year!" "Have fun this summer." "Algebra was fun."
Unbelievable.
I had at least tried to write things I really meant to people. Like, "Hey, funny face! Call me this summer and we can go water skiing together." Or "Hey, biology was a drag, but you’re the funnest person I know to dissect cats with."
"Listen to this!" Barbara said. "I love your foxy hair and captivating voice. Maybe I’ll come over this summer and swim in your swimming pool. Can’t wait to see you!" Barbara burst into giggles.
"Good grief!" I said. "Who wrote that?"
"Eric Morgan!"
Eric! I was stunned. And I saw a long-legged girl with rippling hair, and I saw Barbara with fantastic, shiny brown hair, and I saw Eric, and I saw me, and I saw something happening that I couldn’t understand. Yet Barbara and Jill sat munching potato chips and laughing as if nothing were happening at all.
"Eric is crazy," Jill laughed. "Look what he said to me."
She thumbed furiously through blue and white autographed pages, a grin crinkling her freckles, while Barbara’s eyes sparkled in anticipation.
I felt like I was sitting back in an easy chair watching a movie. I could see it, but I was not part of it. And the producer had done some awfully tricky things, and it didn’t seem fair.
"Here it is," Jill said. "I love your cute little nose and the way it wrinkles up your face when you laugh. And those dimples! I’ll see you this summer for sure!"
I sat cross-legged, hugging my yearbook up close against me. Barbara and Jill were very far away, their laughter distant. And they didn’t even realize that I was gone. They sat there in their lacy nighties, laughing like crazy. I, in my cut-offs and football T-shirt, crawled into my sleeping bag and slept.
Of course, Saturday morning Barbara and Jill had to rib me all through pancakes and bacon about being the first one to fall asleep. It was the usual thing, so I just ribbed them back, but they were strangers. I didn’t know them anymore.
I helped mom clean the house like we always did on Saturdays, but it wasn’t as painful as usual because my mind was somewhere else. I had plans for that afternoon. I was going to wash my hair and put some of that lemon creme rinse on it. Then, instead of just blowing it dry, I might try to do something with the curling iron mom had given me last Christmas. If it turned out okay, I’d go over to Eric’s. He still hadn’t signed my yearbook.
When I was ready, I went slowly around the bushes in the front yard to make sure that there wasn’t a girl on the porch with him. There wasn’t. He was washing his dad’s car in the driveway with a bucket of sudsy water and the hose. I took a breath, felt my hair to make sure it was still behaving, and strolled across his front yard.
"Eric," I said in his ear.
"Aaa," he yelped, jumping forward, drenching himself with the hose.
"Hey, you shouldn’t sneak up on a guy like that!"
I didn’t know what to say, but I felt my hair again, and it still felt good. I stood there waiting for something, I wasn’t sure what. Neither was he.
"Well?" he said.
"Oh." I cleared my throat. "Um … I wanted you to sign my yearbook."
"Oh, okay." He dropped the hose on the ground. "I’ll go get mine," he said, running to the front door. He was back in a moment. I sat on the shaded porch. I could feel the cool cement through my shorts. I stretched my legs out leisurely before me.
"Good grief," Eric exclaimed. "What happened to your legs?"
I looked at my stubby white legs, covered with nicks and scrapes, with a couple of bandaids hiding the two worst spots.
"Just forget it," I said.
Eric began to hoot and howl with laughter. I stood up and stalked across his front lawn.
"Hey, come back here." He swaggered after me. I briefly looked at him but kept walking. "Hey, come on," he said. He grabbed my arm.
"Don’t touch me, Eric Morgan!"
"Hey, I was just teasing. Come on, you don’t really look all that bad." I stood firm. "Come on, Mary Jane," he said softly. And something happened to me. A tingling in my arms and legs. A light-headedness. A temporary paralysis. Then I looked at him, and I couldn’t keep the smile from my lips.
"Okay?" he said gently. "Come on." I had to give in. I walked back to the porch. I had spent the whole day figuring out what I would write in Eric’s yearbook. I had repeated the words over and over again to myself at least a hundred times.
"Dear Eric," I began. "You know you’re not just the boy next door anymore. You’ve been a part of my life for almost 16 years." I hesitated before writing the last sentence. Between making beds and vacuuming and scrubbing floors, I hadn’t decided whether I was brave enough or not. What if he laughed? I looked at him. He was still busy writing in my book. His thick black hair was a little mussed up, windblown. His cheeks were sunburned. Just think, I told myself, I probably know more things about him than any other girl. Or anyone at all in fact. We spent our childhoods together. I kept his secrets; he kept mine. I’ve seen him cry. Other girls look at him and see a big husky guy. I look at him and see a vulnerable little boy.
He signed his name with a flourish. Looking up at me he caught me staring. For just a moment our eyes met in silence.
"Well," he said, "you done?"
My eyes lingered just an infinitesimal second longer. "No," I answered and scribbled, "Just remember, Eric, that you’re a boy and I’m a girl and that can lead somewhere." Blushing so hard I could feel it, I quickly signed my name and shoved his book into his hand, taking mine from him.
I hopped off the porch and thumbed through my yearbook as I walked. I couldn’t wait to see what he’d said to me. Wow, all those fantastic things he’d said to Barbara and Jill, and he’s known me longer than he’s known them. I finally found the page and I stood still to read it. "Hey, creep!" it said. "You’re not a bad kid. We’ll have to have some more of those great water fights this summer. See you around, Eric." That was it. All of it. Oh no, I thought as I felt the pressure building in my nose, in my eyes. I thought, I’m going to cry; I’m going to stand right here in his yard and cry. Yet I couldn’t move. I couldn’t run to the safety of my front door, to the privacy of my bedroom.
Suddenly an ice cold avalanche hit the back of my head and cascaded over my shoulders, freezing my back and my legs all at once. My breath seemed sucked into my stomach and held there. I screamed, tossing my yearbook aside, and charged at Eric and the water hose, 45 minutes worth of messing around with the curling iron down the drain. This was the last straw.
"Eric Morgan, you awful …" my words became lost in a torrent of hurt and anger. All I could see was cold, spraying water and a laughing sunburnt face. I screamed, I pushed, I knocked him down. "Hey!" he yelled. "Cut it out! What are you?" he panted. "Crazy?"
It suddenly occurred to me that I must be. I grabbed my yearbook and ran.
"Mary Jane!" Mom yelled as I ran through the kitchen. "Look what you’re doing. You’re getting water all over! I just did this floor. Do you hear me?"
"Leave me alone, mom!"
"What did you say?"
"I said leave me alone!" I slammed my bedroom door. I didn’t come out for the rest of the day. Even when mom knocked on the door and said we were having pizza for supper.
"What’s wrong, dear?" she kept asking. I just wanted to scream at her. She wouldn’t understand. She had never been a teenager.
I spent the next few weeks pretty quietly. Pretty alone. I sat in my backyard a lot and listened to my stereo; I mowed the lawn sometimes and drank lemonade. Jill and Barbara called me a lot at first. They asked me to go horseback riding or water skiing. But I usually said no, and after a while they quit asking me. Mom still kept asking me "What’s wrong?" and dad kept trying to tickle me and tease me or challenge me to a game of chess. Mom would ask me if I was sick, and I would say I didn’t know, because I didn’t.
July was my birthday. But not till the end of July. I told myself at the beginning of July that I had a whole month to get used to the idea of being 16.
July was also the Young Artists’ Festival. That’s a program that my stake had been holding annually for some time. It wasn’t really a competition, or wasn’t supposed to be, but each entry was graded on a scale from one to ten, with one being the best you could get. It was an opportunity to "do your thing" in front of an audience and get some recognition for it.
Two years ago Barbara and Jill and I had asked another girl, Sandy, to enter the quartet division with us. We practiced hard and had a lot of fun. We even made costumes. We couldn’t believe that we were only given a rating of four. After all that practice! The next year we had taken a realistic look at it and had just about found the nerve to ask Jill not to sing with us, when she dropped out on her own. She wasn’t dumb. We asked a girl named Lori to take her place. That year we earned a two.
So when Brother Wood, who had been in charge of the festival for years, called up to ask if we’d be performing this year, well, it was the first thing since the day of "The Great Water Fight" that gave me a good reason to get up each morning. If there was one thing that I wasn’t confused about that summer, it was my love of singing. I’d been born with it, I guess.
So I quit sitting around, and we started having practices two or three times a week, with Jill watching to tell us what to do differently, or what to do more of. Another girl, Karen, played the piano for us.
It was after one of these practices that Barbara invited us all over to swim in her pool.
"Mary Jane," she said, "you haven’t been in my pool once this summer."
"I know," I said uncomfortably. "I’ve … been busy."
"Well, you’ll come today, won’t you?"
"Sure," I shrugged. After all the singing we’d been doing, I was feeling a little more human and it had been a hot summer.
"Good," she said. "Eric will be glad."
"What?"
"Eric. He’s been swimming at my house all summer. He’s always telling me to get you over there."
"He is?"
"Yes." Suddenly her voice was very soft. "He says he’s missed you."
"We have too," Jill added quietly.
I looked from Barbara to Jill then down at my hands. I didn’t know if I wanted to go swimming or not if Eric was going to be there. He’d probably make cracks about my one-piece swimming suit or about my legs. But they were really tan now, after sitting in my backyard all summer.
"Did he really say that?" I asked.
Barbara nodded solemnly.
"Okay, I’ll come," I said. But, I thought to myself, I sure won’t curl my hair for him.
The sun was extra hot that day. It seemed to bounce off the pavement and get caught in my eyes. The water was cold and delicious to my body. Under the water all was quiet, perfectly silent, perfectly solitary. That is, until I suddenly felt a tight clutch on my foot and I looked down to see Eric’s body moving gracefully up alongside mine. We both soared to the surface and our heads popped through, making bubbles and waves. Laughter from the other girls filled the air. I swam to the side and pulled myself out, then sat on the edge. I had already decided how to treat Eric the next time I was forced to be with him. Aloof. Very aloof. So when he pulled himself out and sat beside me I just kind of looked the other way.
"Race you across the pool," he said.
"Not now."
"Why not?"
"I don’t feel like it."
He didn’t say anything. I kept looking the other way. I wondered what he was thinking.
"Mary Jane," he said quietly. That soft voice again. It made me nervous. I looked at my legs. "Why do you hate me now?"
I stopped breathing and looked at him, my mouth hanging open. There were those blue eyes again. Then suddenly we were surrounded by the other girls.
"Mary Jane," Barbara said as they all sat down around us, "we’ve got it all figured out."
"What?"
"White formals."
"Huh?"
"For the festival. We’ll wear white formals."
"Formals?"
"Sure. Why not?"
"I don’t know," I said. "I mean last year we wore checked gingham with pinafores."
"Well, Mary Jane," she said, "last year we were little girls."
Later that evening Eric walked home with me. We walked in silence most of the way, but I was troubled because I felt that I had to say something to him. I didn’t hate him, and I wanted him to know it. As we neared my house, I finally stopped walking and turned to face him.
"Eric."
"Mary Jane," he said at the same time. We both laughed just a little. Then we were quiet again.
"Go ahead," he said.
"I can’t."
"Why not?"
"Because I don’t know what to say."
Laughter. Silence.
"You were right you know."
"About what?" I asked.
"What you wrote in my yearbook."
"Oh that." I blushed.
"Really," he said. "I’m a boy and you’re a girl. A good-looking one too."
I grinned and stared at my terribly interesting toes.
"Well," he said. "I’ve got to go." I looked up at him, and once again our gaze was locked in time and space.
"Good-bye," he said suddenly and ran home. I stared after him. With him went something. A part of me. A part that I wasn’t sure I was ready to give up just yet. Did I want to grow up? Was I ready?
Oh, I thought as I slowly walked into my house, this whole crazy summer is too much. I decided to take a nap.
Something was shaking me, and my head slowly cleared as I opened my eyes. It was mom.
"It’s almost time for supper," she said.
I just lay there.
"Honey," she said, feeling my forehead, "are you sure you’re all right?"
I still just lay there. She looked completely frustrated. She began to leave the room.
"Mama," I said. She stopped and turned to look at me. I hadn’t called her mama for years, but I suddenly felt so little. "Do you remember when you turned 16?"
For a moment mom just looked at me, as if she didn’t understand. But slowly a dreamy look came over her face. Her eyes sparkled, and she gazed across the room as if I weren’t even in it.
"Yes," she said slowly, walking to the window. There she rested her elbows on the window sill, her chin on closed fists. "I do remember something like that." She smiled wistfully. I had never seen her like this. Maybe she had been a teenager. I was suddenly speechless. But she finally came back to the present and looked at me.
"It’s hard, isn’t it?" She was very quiet. That was all it took to bring on the tears that had been stored up inside me for weeks. I was quickly in my mother’s arms, small and vulnerable, warm and protected.
"Oh, mama," I sobbed, "I don’t know what I want or who I am or what I’m good for. What am I doing here? I want to live in summertime forever. I want to go barefoot and be happy. I want to care about someone. I want someone to care about me. But I’m scared." I looked at my mother. "Do you know what I mean?"
Again she spoke slowly, distantly.
"Words don’t come easy to me as they do to you. But I remember feeling … well, as if someone had placed me in the wrong world. And it did no good to cry."
"Why does it have to be this way, mom?"
"Oh, don’t get me wrong," she said, smiling. "I mean, it’s for sure we’ll never be 15 again. But I have you, don’t I? And I have your father, and your baby brother. And a lot of other wonderful things that I can’t even describe. You’ll know someday."
Will I? I wondered. Will I really? But mom did look happy. For the time being, I would just trust her.
The Young Artists’ Festival was the night before my birthday. We had worked hard for this one. We wore our white formals. I spent all day doing my hair and getting ready. I arrived in time for the last-minute flurries that always go on before these productions can begin. Brother Wood was running around trying to get everything organized. Barbara, Sandy, Lori, and I were almost jumping up and down with excitement. The audience began to arrive, things began to settle down, and with the opening prayer, the program started.
Everyone was good. They always were. In fact, the four we earned two years ago was probably the lowest score that had ever been given in the history of the Young Artists’ Festival. So that everyone could fit into some category, pluses and minuses were also given.
As the judges began to read the scores, everyone was silent. Brother Wood gave his usual speech about how everyone had been so good. Then the scores were read. A two. A one. A three +. And on and on. Squeals and sighs.
"Quartet." He read our names. Tension. Heart pounding in my ears. Hands gripping my chair.
"One +."
Shock for a moment. Then shrieks!
At the reception afterward we were all standing around drinking punch and talking and laughing. The feeling of knowing a job has been well done was still lingering in my chest and bursting out of my eyes and out of my mouth, making me sound like someone else. It came out so smoothly, so … well, almost sophisticated. But easy. My arms were warm and brown next to the white of my dress. My hair felt clean and swingy. I almost didn’t recognize myself. I felt as if I had, in my hurry, left myself at home.
I was casually looking from one side of the room to the other to feel my hair swish across my neck when I saw Brother Wood coming toward me.
"Excuse me," he said, breaking into our little group. Something about him wanted to make me nervous, but my new self refused to cooperate, and I looked at him steadily.
"Yes?" I said, since he seemed to be addressing me.
"I hope I don’t embarrass you, but there’s something I’ve got to tell you."
I looked quickly around at Jill, at Barbara, and an assortment of curious faces. I felt my face flush slightly, but still I refused to flounder. I turned cool eyes to Brother Wood and smiled.
"What is it? I hope my slip isn’t showing."
"No, no. It’s just that I hope you know that you are a beautiful young lady."
What happened after that is not completely clear in my mind. I vaguely remember a circle of softly smiling faces. And I barely remember the still serious face of Brother Wood. But I very clearly remember the sincerity in his eyes.
At 11:00 that night I stood in front of my dresser mirror, still in my white dress, gazing into a thousand faces of yesterday, today, and tomorrow.
That night at the stroke of midnight, while I was sound asleep, I turned 16. And I’ll never be 15 again.

It was odd, Andrew thought as he looked in the mirror and tried to force the cowlick at the back of his head to lie flat; he was actually looking forward to tonight’s “date.” He hadn’t been enthusiastic about it at first, but now that it was almost time to go, he was excited.
His friend Jim had suggested a “practice run” before his big date with Alyssa Adams, his first since turning 16 last month. Jim said if they were going to double then Andrew needed practice—“so you won’t act like a goon and spill soup on your date or something.” Andrew agreed because (1) he didn’t have his driver’s license yet and Jim did; (2) he was nervous about going on his first date with a girl he really had a crush on; and (3) Jim had been on a couple of dates already, so he must know what he’s talking about.
Andrew talked to his dad about the idea too, and he agreed that practice might be a good idea. “Besides,” he said, “I know just who you should ask. She’d love to do something like that.”
At first, his father’s suggestion—and his enthusiasm—caught Andrew off guard. But dad persisted. “You’ve known her since … well … forever. She’s fun, and she’ll understand. She’s the kind of person who has as much fun playing ball with the guys as she does dressing up and going to dinner. She won’t even mind that she’s helping you get ready for a big night with somebody else.”
“You mean I have to tell her why I’m asking her out? That’ll make it worse,” Andrew said, ready to forget the whole thing.
“Of course you do; it’s only fair. Besides, if she knows ahead of time, she’ll probably be able to give you some pointers. I’ve seen her, and she’s pretty knowledgeable about those kinds of things. You’d feel rotten if she found out later that the only reason you asked her out was to practice for a date with someone else.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Andrew said reluctantly.
Nevertheless, Andrew still felt nervous when he thought about asking someone else out so soon. It had been murder trying to find the courage to ask Alyssa out. Now he was faced with the problem of having to ask someone he’d known all his life, and it wasn’t any easier. What if she laughed at him or told him his idea was dumb? He felt he had to do it, though, and after school one day he worked up the nerve to ask her.
“Hi,” he said, almost choking because his mouth was so dry.
“Oh, hi Andrew,” she said, looking up from her book. “What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing much, but I was wondering, uh, are you doing anything special Friday night?” he asked, looking everywhere but at her.
“I don’t think I’ve got anything planned. Why do you ask?” Finally he looked directly at her. “Well, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind going to dinner with me?” He looked at her for a change in expression. What showed looked more like surprise. “It wouldn’t be a real date,” he said quickly. “It would be sort of a practice date. I’ve never been to dinner with a date before, and I want to make sure I do it right.”
There was a pause, and Andrew didn’t know whether or not to keep talking. Suddenly, however, she smiled. “Sure! That sounds like fun. I’d love to.”
Soon the “rehearsal” was under way. They planned to go to La Traviata, the same Italian restaurant he and Jim would be taking their dates to next week. As they made preparations it became painfully apparent that Jim had been right all along. Andrew needed this trial run more than he thought. But she seemed to know exactly what to do. First, she helped him call and make reservations.
“What do I say?” he asked as he nervously dialed the number. “Just say, ‘I’d like to make reservations for two at eight o’clock tonight, and then tell them your name when they ask.”
“She says things so easily,” he thought. “I wish I had her confidence.” Then she helped him pick out the clothes he was going to wear. He had picked out his best pair of blue jeans, his favorite shirt and his cleanest, basketball shoes. She wisely chose the gray Sunday slacks with the blue blazer and firmly insisted that while inflatable shoes were quite fashionable in the gym, they were out when it came to dinner at a nice restaurant.
Finally, with his help, she took some plates and silverware from the cupboard and created an elegant setting on the kitchen table.
“Wow,” Andrew said, sitting down to the beautiful array of china and silverware in front of him. “I think I know some of this stuff,” he said, swallowing hard. “But maybe you could help me with a pointer or two. What’s this tiny little knife for?”
She gave Andrew a description of all the various utensils and their uses. She talked about the proper way to handle a salad and where the bread goes—everything. She even reminded him that it was not a good idea to tuck the napkin under his collar, or use his thumb to slide a stubborn vegetable onto his fork as she had seen him do before. He thanked her and said he’d try to remember.
She continued her explanation, but Andrew was only half listening. As he watched her he couldn’t help feeling like a jerk for using her to impress another girl. He noticed, probably for the first time, how pretty she was and how much effort she was going to in order to make things nice for him. What made it worse was that she had been so cheerful and enthusiastic about it from the beginning. She approached this like she approached so many things, happily and without a thought for herself. She was doing it all for him and he knew it. She really was a good friend, better than most, he thought. This date was going to be fun for both of them, but he couldn’t help feeling a bit guilty about it.
“Huh, what?” he said, quickly aware he had drifted too far.
“I said, ‘This fork is for seafood,’” she said, teasingly shaking it at him. “You use it on things like crab or shrimp cocktail, and no, there’s no alcohol in shrimp cocktail so it’s okay to eat. That about wraps it up. Any questions?”
“Nope, no questions, but it sure is a lot to remember.”
“Don’t worry. As a rule, you use the utensils on the outside and work your way in as you go. If you absolutely don’t know what to do, watch your date or the people at the table next to you. They might be able to help you out.”
“Got it,” he said.
“Good. Now I’ve got to rush or I’m going to be ‘unready’ for this ‘undate.’”
Andrew waited a bit before getting ready, then dressed quickly and found he still had a few minutes before it was time to leave. He went to the backyard and picked out the prettiest rose he could find. He carefully picked it as far down the stalk as he could and then bent the thorns off the stem. He resisted the temptation to put one of the thorns on his nose and play rhinoceros. He walked around the block, up the front steps, and rang the doorbell.
“Wow!” he said when she opened the door.
“Hi, Andrew. What do you think?”
“You look beautiful,” he said, visibly impressed.
“Thank you very much. You look rather handsome yourself. Good choice of wardrobe, if I do say so myself.”
“Thanks a lot,” he said, smiling back. “Oh, here,” he said, remembering the flower in his hand. “This is for you.”
“Why, Andrew, how sweet. Thank you. Let me put it in a vase.” She returned a moment later. “Are you ready?”
“Sure. Let’s go!”
At first, the rehearsal appeared to have worked. He offered her his arm, opened the car door, and let her in on the driver’s side since she had the driver’s license and he didn’t. They talked and laughed on the way to the restaurant, and when they arrived he was quick to get the door and offer an arm to his “undate.”
“I’m impressed,” she said, while walking to the door with her arm in his. “Someone must have taught you well.”
“Yeah, I had a pretty terrific teacher,” he said, smiling.
Suddenly, Andrew tensed and tried to look away, but it was too late. Their eyes had already met. Directly in front of them stood Ryan Adams, the captain of the basketball team and, worse, Alyssa Adams’s big brother. He was leaving the restaurant with his date.
He had seen them together and Andrew was positive he was going to hear about it at practice next week. Not only that, but Alyssa was sure to find out, and trying to explain would only make things worse. In an instant he made a decision. He’d tough it out. “Hi, Ryan,” he said.
“Hi, Andrew. How’s it going?”
“Fine. How’s the dinner?”
“Terrific. Watch out for the antipasto, though; it’s a killer.” Ryan rolled his eyes and pretended to spray some breath freshener into his mouth.
“I’ll think about it. Thanks.”
“See ya.”
“Bye.”
Andrew breathed a sigh of relief as he opened the door to the restaurant and they walked inside. At least he didn’t say anything then, he thought. He could only imagine what he was going to say at practice Monday.
The dinner was excellent, a true dining experience, and Andrew handled himself extremely well. He thought the dinner was over, though, when the waiter brought out small servings of sherbet for them. The waiter had to explain that the sherbet was merely a “palate cleanser,” something to eat so the taste of the previous course wouldn’t interfere with the taste of the next. Other than that, he managed to impress her by remembering everything she had taught him. He even proved to be a very good conversationalist by asking questions and paying attention to what she said.
At the end of the meal when the waiter presented the check, she reached into her purse and tried to pass some money to Andrew under the table. “For my half,” she said quietly.
“No way,” said Andrew. “I invited you here and I’m going to pay for it.”
“I just thought that since this was a “nondate” it might be different.”
“It’s not that different. Besides, with the way you’ve helped me I’d say it was worth every penny.”
He paid the waiter and left an adequate tip. They left the restaurant and he opened the car door again for her. “You’re spoiling me,” she said as she got in. “I might get used to this.”
“I suppose I could make it a habit. I probably should have all along, huh?”
“That’s okay. You haven’t done too badly. You’ve become quite a gentleman. Alyssa Adams is in for a treat.”
“Thanks.”
She pulled the car into the driveway and he escorted her to the door.
“Thanks for going along with my ‘trial-run’ idea. It really helped.”
“You’re welcome. Thank you for a wonderful evening. There’s just one thing, though.”
“What’s that?” he said, wondering what he could have done wrong.
“Don’t worry about Alyssa’s brother seeing you with me tonight. I’m sure he recognizes that his sister will be treated with as much courtesy as I received. If he’s any kind of brother, I think he’ll like that. I don’t think Alyssa will mind either. If you treat all your dates as I was tonight, you’ll have a lot of fun dating.”
At first, Andrew was surprised that she knew what he had been thinking at the restaurant when he saw Ryan. Then he realized he wasn’t surprised at all. He put his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek.
“Thanks, Mom,” he said. “You’re terrific.”