My most unforgettable childhood memories are the stories my mother read to me and my twin sister every day after lunch in our dining room. I was the only kid in our apartment who wanted to go to the dining room much earlier, before lunchtime. As a young child, I looked forward to hearing the next story and, when I grew older, the escapade chapter she was currently reading to us. I wasn't just fascinated by the stories my mother read to us, there was something loving about sitting on the edge of my chair with my mother and my dog ​​Sheryl, lulled by the melodic sound of the voice of my mother reading the words very softly. . I always wanted to do the same thing with my own children one day. It never occurred to me that I would do the same thing this summer, before my senior year. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on “Why violent video games should not be banned”?Get the original essay It was not until the sixth month of her pregnancy that it was declared that my mother had to undergo surgery for his legs broken, his arm broken, and his back broken; all this in the space of a month. Surprisingly, none of these injuries appeared to be related to each other. She had tripped and fallen down the stairs while going about her normal household chores, fell off her bike while returning home from the nearby grocery store, and had a persistent disc problem, respectively. When I saw my mother lying in bed with a cast on both legs, left arm and a back brace; It hit me hard and I realized that I was wrong in my childhood view that my mother was an indomitable hero, just like the characters in those midday stories. My mother couldn't do anything without the use of her legs and arms. It was obvious that she needed someone to be home most of the time to take care of her since she couldn't do it herself. It became my responsibility and at first I wasn't happy at all. During my freshman year, I looked forward to summer days when I would spend time at the beach with some of my classmates. But instead, I had to stay home to take care of my mother. I had to practice cooking different types of foods in order to cope with my mother's ever-changing diet as doctors had suggested different varieties of local foods that would go well ensuring that she recovers more quickly. After preparing food, I would rush to his room and we would eat together while I read his stories. I remember a time when I was sulking in my room looking at my shelf of storybooks. All the while, I was mentally lamenting the injustice of my summer when my eyes landed on the back of my favorite book “I Hope for Another Day” (Fine & Fincham, 2013). I grabbed my dog ​​Sheryl and ran with him to my mother's room, sat on the edge of her bed and started reading the words from the book softly and loudly as she had. habit of doing it. It was a completely different experience reading to my mother the words I had loved so much. It made me appreciate the beauty coupled with the depth of characters and language in a way that I had missed earlier. My mother generally did not read fiction books and would never have experienced Geisha's Memoirs or Gone with the Wind if I had not read them to her. Sharing my beloved story and sweet dishes with my mother was beyond special to me. Even though my initial goal was to help my