佚名

因為经常在舞台上忘词，“我”面临着被替换角色的境地。妈妈用院子里的蒲公英启迪了

“我”：每朵“花儿”都美丽，只要努力，每朵“花儿”都会绽放。

I grew up in a small town where the elementary school was a ten?minute walk from my house. When we children could go home for lunch， we would find our mothers waiting. At the time， I didn't consider this to be so important， although today it certainly would be. Actually， our lunch time together in the past years had had a great influence on my life before I realized it.

Our lunch time when I was in the third grade will stay with me always. I had been picked to be the princess in the school play， and for weeks my mother had painstakingly practiced my lines with me. But no matter how easily I delivered them at home， as soon as I stepped onstage， every word disappeared from my head. Finally， my teacher took me aside. She explained patiently that she needed a narrator and had added the narrator's part to the play. She asked me to switch roles. Her words， kindly delivered， still hurt me， especially when I saw my part go to another girl.

I didn't tell my mother what had happened when I went home for lunch that day. But she sensed my unease， and instead of suggesting we practice my lines， she asked if I wanted to walk in the yard. It was a lovely spring day and the rose vine（藤） was turning green. Under the huge trees， we could see yellow dandelions （蒲公英） appearing unexpectedly through the grass in bunches， as if a painter had touched our landscape with small amounts of gold. I watched my mother casually bend down by one of the bushes. “I think I'm going to dig up all these weeds，” she said， pulling a blossom up by all its roots. “From now on， we'll have roses in this garden.” I immediately protested，“But I like dandelions. All flowers are beautiful—even dandelions.”

“Do you mean that every flower has its own beauty？” asked my mother thoughtfully. I nodded without hesitation， as if a second wasted could carry away the life of the dandelions. “The same to you，” she added， her voice soft. “Not everyone can be a rose， and it is also an honour to be a dandelion.” Knowing that my mother had realized my pain， I took off the mask that I had worn for the whole lunch time and poured out my unease heartily. She listened to me patiently and patted me on the back tenderly. Suddenly she stopped， as if to say something.

“But you will be a beautiful narrator，” Mom said. She reminded me of how fluently I could deliver my part at home. It was at that time that I understood that maybe I was more suitable for a role backstage like a narrator. From then on， I practiced my lines heart and soul with my mother at lunch time for weeks.

The performance approached ultimately. St?

anding backstage， nervousness came flooding in me. What encouraged me to overcome it was the inspiration from the beautiful yellow dandelions. The performance that night was eventually a big success. Hearing the thunderous applause， I took pride in my role and firmly believed that even a dandelion had its own beauty.

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What can be used to describe the mother in this story？

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