ENGLish vidEO

Topic: Word Stress. This is a lesson in four parts. In this first segment the teacher explains what word stress is and why it's important. Levels: All levels

Years ago, there was a very wealthy man who, with his devoted young son, shared a passion for art collecting. Together they traveled around the world, adding only the finest art treasures to their collection. Priceless works by Picasso, Van Gogh, Monet and many others adorned the walls of the family estate. The widowed, elder man looked on with satisfaction as his only child became an experienced art collector. The son's trained eye and sharp business mind caused his father to beam with pride as they dealt with art collectors around the world.

As winter approached, war engulfed the nation, and the young man left to serve his country. After only a few short weeks, his father received a telegram. His beloved son was missing in action. The art collector anxiously awaited more news, fearing he would never see his son again. Within days, his fears were confirmed. The young man had died while rushing a fellow soldier to a medic. Distraught and lonely, the old man faced the upcoming Christmas holidays with anguish and sadness. The joy of the season, a season that he and his son had so looked forward to, would visit his house no longer.

On Christmas morning, a knock on the door awakened the depressed old man. As he walked to the door, the masterpieces of art on the walls only reminded him that his son was not coming home. As he opened the door,he was greeted by a soldier with a large package in his hand. He introduced himself to the man by saying, "I was a friend of your son. I was the one he was rescuing when he died. May I come in for a few moments? I have something to show you."

As the two began to talk, the soldier told of how the man's son had told everyone of his, not to mention his father's, love of fine art. "I'm an artist," said the soldier, "and I want to give you this." As the old man unwrapped the package, the paper gave way to reveal a portrait of the man's son. Though the world would never consider it the work of a genius, the painting featured the young man's face in striking detail.

Overcome with emotion, the man thanked the soldier, promising to hang the picture above the fireplace. A few hours later, after the soldier had departed, the old man set about his task. True to his word, the painting went above the fireplace, pushing aside thousands of dollars of paintings. Then, the man sat in his chair and spent Christmas gazing at the gift he had been given.

During the days and weeks that followed, the man realized that even though his son was no longer with him, the boy's life would live on because of those he had touched. He would soon learn that his son had rescued dozens of wounded soldiers before a bullet stilled his caring heart. As the stories of his son's gallantry continued to reach him, fatherly pride and satisfaction began to ease the grief. The painting of his son soon became his most prized possession, far eclipsing any interest in the pieces for which museums around the world clamored. He told his neighbors it was the greatest gift he had ever received.

The following spring, the old man became ill and passed away. The art world was in anticipation! Unmindful of the story of the man's only son, but in his honor; those paintings would be sold at an auction.

According to the will of the old man, all of the art works would be auctioned on Christmas day, the day he had received his greatest gift. The day soon arrived and art collectors from around the world gathered to bid on some of the world's most spectacular paintings. Dreams would be fulfilled this day; greatness would be achieved as many would claim "I have the greatest collection." The auction began with a painting that was not on any museum's list. It was the painting of the man's son. The auctioneer asked for an opening bid. The room was silent. "Who will open the bidding with $100?" he asked. Minutes passed. No one spoke. From the back of the room came, "Who cares about that painting? It's just a picture of his son. Let's forget it and go on to the good stuff." More voices echoed in agreement. "No, we have to sell this one first," replied the auctioneer. "Now, who will take the son?"

Finally, a friend of the old man spoke. "Will you take ten dollars for the painting? That's all I have. I knew the boy, so I'd like to have it." I have ten dollars. Will anyone go higher?" called the auctioneer. After more silence, the auctioneer said, "Going once, going twice. Gone." The gavel fell. Cheers filled the room and someone exclaimed, "Now we can get on with it and bid on these treasures!" The auctioneer looked at the audience and announced the auction was over.

Stunned disbelief quieted the room. Someone spoke up and asked, "What do you mean it's over? We didn't come here for a picture of some old guy's son. What about all of these paintings? There are millions of dollars of art here! I demand that you explain what's going on here!" The auctioneer replied, "It's very simple. According to the will of the father, whoever takes the son ... gets it all."

Puts things into perspective, doesn't it? Just as those art collectors discovered on that Christmas day, the message is still the same-the love of a Father, a Father whose greatest joy came from His Son who went away and gave His life rescuing others. And because of that Father's love, wow gold kaufenwhoever takes the Son gets it all.

By Author unknown

Vietnamese version

One day Mullah Nasruddin was inconsolably crying. His neighbours and friends gathered around and asked why Nasruddin grimly replied, "My uncle has passed away. A friend asked, "Was he very close and dear to you?"

Nasruddin replied, "Not very close. I have seen him during childhood. But he has left one lakh rupees for me." The friends were surprised, "Why are you crying for a distant uncle, more so when he has left so much money?" Nasruddin replied, "I am not crying for him. Another uncle of mine died yesterday ."

A neighbour asked, "Oh! He must be very close to you. Never mind, after all everybody has to die…." Nasruddin interrupted, "I am not crying for him. He has also left one lakh rupees for me." The surprised friends asked, "Then what makes you cry?" Nasruddin said, "Another uncle of mine died day before yesterday He has also left one lakh rupees for me."

The friends rebuked, "Today you are richer by three lakh rupees by the death of three distant uncles. Instead of crying you should rejoice."

Nasruddin grimly replied, "How can I rejoice? I am crying because I do not have any other uncle to die and give me one lakh rupees more."

We all make ourselves unhappy like Nasruddin over what we have not got or cannot get, instead of being happy over what we have got. In life we get certain things and do not get certain things. We have precious life, loving relations, air, water, flowers, green grass and blue skies to make us happy . All nature is busy giving us pleasure. But we have no time to accept it.

We are too busy in counting what we have not got: a bigger house, better car, power and position and so on. We forget that someday in the near future we have to leave everything for our eternal abode.

Life is too short to be possessed by these transitory possessions. Since life is in motion we cannot remain happy with anything for long. So why pine for them?

By MN Kundu

Vietnamese version

Clip content: Vocabulary, Want.

There is a story many years ago of an elementary teacher. Her name was Mrs. Thompson. And as she stood in front of her 5th grade class on the very first day of school, she told the children a lie. Like most teachers, she looked at her students and said that she loved them all the same.

But that was impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard. Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that he didn't play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and that he constantly needed a bath. And Teddy could be unpleasant. It got to the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X's and then putting a big "F" at the top of his papers.

At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each child's past records and she put Teddy's off until last. However, when she reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise.

Teddy's first grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is a bright child with a ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners...he is a joy to be around."

His second grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is an excellent student, well liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle."

His third grade teacher wrote, "His mother's death has been hard on him. He tries to do his best but his father doesn't show much interest and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren't taken."

Teddy's fourth grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is withdrawn and doesn't show much interest in school. He doesn't have many friends and sometimes sleeps in class."
By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed of herself. She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas presents, wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for Teddy's. His present which was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he got from a grocery bag.

Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing, and a bottle that was one quarter full of perfume. But she stifled the children's laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume on her wrist.

Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long enough to say, "Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mom used to." After the children left she cried for at least an hour. On that very day, she quit teaching reading, and writing, and arithmetic. Instead, she began to teach children..

Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to Teddy. As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged him, the faster he responded. By the end of the year, Teddy had become one of the smartest children in the class and, despite her lie that she would love all the children the same, Teddy became one her "teacher's pets."

A year later, she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her that she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life. Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy. He then wrote that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.
Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things had been tough at times, he'd stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would soon graduate from college with the highest of honors. He assured Mrs. Thompson that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had in his whole life.

Then four more years passed and yet another letter came.. This time he explained that after he got his bachelor's degree, he decided to go a little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer -- the letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, M.D.
The story doesn't end there. You see, there was yet another letter that spring. Teddy said he'd met this girl and was going to be married. He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit in the place at the wedding that was usually reserved for the mother of the groom. Of course, Mrs. Thompson did. And guess what? She wore that bracelet, the one with several rhinestones missing. And she made sure she was wearing the perfume that Teddy remembered his mother wearing on their last Christmas together.

They hugged each, and Dr. Stoddard whispered in Mrs. Thompson's ear, "Thank you Mrs. Thompson for believing in me. Thank you so much for making me feel important and showing me that I could make a difference."
Mrs. Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back. She said, "Teddy, you have it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could make a difference. I didn't know how to teach until I met you."

By Elizabeth Silance Ballard

Vietnamese version

Clip content: Vocabulary, Weather.

In 1949, my father had just returned home from the war. On every American highway you could see the soldiers in uniform hitchhiking home to their families, as was the custom at that time in America.

Sadly, the thrill of his reunion with his family was soon overshadowed. My grandmother became very ill and had to be hospitalized. It was her kidneys, and the doctors told my father that she needed a blood transfusion immediately or she would not live through the night. The problem was that Grandmother's blood type was AB-, a very rare type even today, but even harder to get then because there were no blood banks or air flights to ship blood.

All the family members were typed, but not one member was a match. So the doctors gave the family no hope; my grandmother was dying.

My father left the hospital in tears to gather up all the family members, so that everyone would get a chance to tell Grandmother good-bye. As my father was driving down the highway, he passed a soldier in uniform hitchhiking home to his family.

Deep in grief, my father had no inclination at that moment to do a good deed. Yet it was almost as if something outside himself pulled him to a stop, and he waited as the stranger climbed into the car.

My father was too upset to even ask the soldier his name, but the soldier noticed my father's tears right away and inquired about them. Through his tears, my father told this stranger that his mother was lying in a hospital dying because the doctors had been unable to locate her blood type, AB-,and if they did not locate her blood type before nightfall, she would surely die.

It got very quiet in the car. Then this unidentified soldier extended his hand out to my father, palm up. Resting in the palm of his hand were the dog tags from around his neck. The blood type on the tags was AB-. The soldier told my father to turn the car around and get him to the hospital.

My grandmother lived until 1996, 47 years later, and to this day no one in the family knows this soldier's name. But my father has often wondered, was he a soldier or an angel in uniform?

Author unknown

Vietnamese version

Clip content: Vocabulary, Used to.

A group of alumni, highly established in their careers, got together to visit their old university professor. Conversation soon turned into complaints about stress in work and life. Offering his guests coffee, the professor went to the kitchen and returned with a large pot of coffee and an assortment of cups - porcelain, plastic, glass, crystal, some plain looking, some expensive, some exquisite - telling them to help themselves to the coffee.

When all the students had a cup of coffee in hand, the professor said: "If you noticed, all the nice looking expensive cups were taken up, leaving behind the plain and cheap ones. While it is normal for you to want only the best for yourselves, that is the source of your problems and stress. Be assured that the cup itself adds no quality to the coffee. In most cases it is just more expensive and in some cases even hides what we drink. What all of you really wanted was coffee, not the cup, but you consciously went for the best cups... And then you began eyeing each other's cups.

Now consider this: Life is the coffee; the jobs, money and position in society are the cups. They are just tools to hold and contain Life, and the type of cup we have does not define, nor change the quality of Life we live. Sometimes, by concentrating only on the cup, we fail to enjoy the coffee God has provided us." God brews the coffee, not the cups.......... Enjoy your coffee! "The happiest people don't have the best of everything. They just make the best of everything." Live simply. Love generously. Care deeply. Speak kindly. Leave the rest to God.

Author unknown

Vietnamese version

Clip content: Vocabulary, Possessive Adjectives/Possessive Pronouns, Possessive Nouns, Whose.

Clip content: Vocabulary, Verb "can".

When a tornado touched down in a small town nearby, many families were left devastated. Afterward, all the local newspapers carried many human-interest stories featuring some of the families who suffered the hardest.

One Sunday, a particular picture especially touched me. A young woman stood in front of a totally demolished mobile home, an anguished expression twisting her features. A young boy, seven or eight years old, stood at her side, eyes downcast. Clutching at her skirt was a tiny girl who stared into the camera, eyes wide with confusion and fear.

The article that accompanied the picture gave the clothing sizes of each family member. With growing interest, I noticed that their sizes closely matched ours. This would be a good opportunity to teach my children to help those less fortunate than themselves. I taped the picture of the young family to our refrigerator, explaining their plight to my seven-year-old twins, Brad and Brett, and to three-year-old Meghan.

"We have so much, and these poor people now have nothing," I said. "We'll share what we have with them."

I brought three large boxes down from the attic and placed them on the living room floor. Meghan watched solemnly as the boys and I filled one of the boxes with canned goods and other nonperishable foods, soap and other assorted toiletries.

While I sorted through our clothes, I encouraged the boys to go through their toys and donate some of their less favorite things. Meghan watched quietly as the boys piled up discarded toys and games.

"I'll help you find something for the little girl when I'm done with this," I said.

The boys placed the toys they had chosen to donate into one of the boxes while I filled the third box with clothes. Meghan walked up with Lucy, her worn, faded, frazzled, much-loved rag doll hugged tightly to her chest. She paused in front of the box that held the toys, pressed her round little face into Lucy's flat, painted-on-face, gave her a final kiss, then laid her gently on top of the other toys.

"Oh, honey," I said. "You don't have to give Lucy. You love her so much."

Meghan nodded solemnly, eyes glistening with held-back tears. "Lucy makes me happy, Mommy. Maybe she'll make that other little girl happy, too."

Swallowing hard, I stared at Meghan for a long moment, wondering how I could teach the boys the lesson she had just taught me. For I suddenly realized that anyone can give their cast-offs away. True generosity is giving that which you cherish most.

Honest benevolence is a three-year-old offering a treasured, albeit shabby doll to a little girl she doesn't know with the hope that it will bring this child as much pleasure as it brought her. I, who had wanted to teach, had been taught.

The boys had watched, open-mouthed, as their baby sister placed her favorite doll in the box. Without a word, Brad rose and went to his room. He came back carrying one of his favorite action figures. He hesitated briefly, clutching the toy, then looked over at Meghan and placed it in the box next to Lucy.

A slow smile spread across Brett's face, then he jumped up, eyes twinkling as he ran to retrieve some of his prized Matchbox cars.

Amazed, I realized the boys had also recognized what little Meghan's gesture meant. Swallowing back tears, I pulled all three of them into my arms.

Taking the cue from my little one, I removed my old tan jacket with the frayed cuffs from the box of clothes. I replaced it with the new hunter green jacket I had found on sale last week. I hoped the young woman in the picture would love it as much as I did.

It's easy to give that which we don't want anymore, but harder to let go of things we cherish, isn't it? However, the true spirit of giving is to give with your heart.

By Elizabeth Cobb

Vietnamese version

Clip content: Vocabulary, Where are you from?

A few weeks ago, I was shuffling toward the basement shack with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and the morning paper in the other. What began as a typical Saturday morning, turned into one of those lessons that life seems to hand you from time to time. Let me tell you about it.

I turned the dial up into the phone portion of the band on my ham radio in order to listen to a Saturday morning swap net. Along the way, I came across an older sounding chap, with a tremendous signal and a golden voice. You know, the kind, he sounded like he should be in the broadcasting business. He was telling whomever he was talking with something about “a thousand marbles.”

I was intrigued and sat down to listen to what he had to say. “Well, Tom, it sure sounds like you’re busy with your job. I’m sure they pay you well but it’s a shame you have to be away from home and your Family so much. Hard to believe a young fellow should have to work sixty or seventy hours a week to make ends meet. Too bad you missed your daughter’s dance recital.”

He continued, “Let me tell you something Tom, something that has helped me keep a good perspective on my own priorities.” And that’s when he began to explain his theory of a “thousand marbles.”

“You see, I sat down one day and did a little arithmetic. The average person lives about seventy-five years. I know, some live more and some live less, but on average, folks live about seventy-five years.”

“Now then, I multiplied 75 times 52 and I came up with 3900 which is the number of Saturdays that the average person has in their entire lifetime. Now stick with me Tom, I’m getting to the important part.”

“It took me until I was fifty-five years old to think about all this in any detail,” he went on, “and by that time I had lived through over twenty-eight hundred Saturdays. I got to thinking that if I lived to be seventy-five, I only had about a thousand of them left to enjoy.”

“So I went to a toy store and bought every single marble they had. I ended up having to visit three toy stores to roundup 1000 marbles. I took them home and put them inside of a large, clear plastic container right here in my workshop next to the radio. Every Saturday since then, I have taken one marble out and thrown it away.”

“I found that by watching the marbles diminish, I focused more on the really important things in life. There is nothing like watching your time here on this earth run out to help get your priorities straight.”

“Now let me tell you one last thing before I sign-off with you and take my lovely wife out for breakfast. This morning, I took the very last marble out of the container. I figure if I make it until next Saturday then God has blessed me with a little extra time to be with my loved ones...”

“It was nice to talk to you Tom, I hope you spend more time with your loved ones, and I hope to meet you again someday. Have a good morning!”

You could have heard a pin drop when he finished. Even the show’s moderator didn’t have anything to say for a few moments. I guess he gave us all a lot to think about. I had planned to do some work that morning, then go to the gym. Instead, I went upstairs and woke my wife up with a kiss. “C’mon honey, I’m taking you and the kids to breakfast.”

“What brought this on?” she asked with a smile.

“Oh, nothing special,” I said. “It has just been a long time since we spent a Saturday together with the kids. Hey, can we stop at a toy store while we’re out? I need to buy some marbles.”

By Jeff Davis

Vietnamese version

Clip content: Vocabulary, Questions, Verb "Live".

Clip content: Vocabulary, Questions in Future Tense “going to”, Future Tense “will”, Like.

A holy man was having a conversation with the Lord one day and said,

‘Lord, I would like to know what Heaven and Hell are like.’

The Lord led the holy man to two doors.

He opened one of the doors and the holy man looked in. In the middle of the room was a large round table. In the middle of the table was a large pot of stew, which smelled delicious and made the holy man’s mouth water.

The people sitting around the table were thin and sickly. They appeared to be famished. They were holding spoons with very long handles that were strapped to their arms and each found it possible to reach into the pot of stew and take a spoonful. But because the handle was longer than their arms, they could not get the spoons back into their mouths.


The holy man shuddered at the sight of their misery and suffering.

The Lord said, ‘You have seen Hell.’

They went to the next room and opened the door. It was exactly the same as the first one. There was the large round table with the large pot of stew which made the holy man’s mouth water. The people were equipped with the same long-handled spoons, but here the people were well nourished and plump, laughing and talking.

The holy man said, ‘I don’t understand.’

‘It is simple,’ said the Lord. ‘It requires but one skill. You see they have learned to feed each other, while the greedy think only of themselves.’

By Author unknown

Vietnamese version

Clip content: Vocabulary, Questions in Past Tense, Future Tense “going to”.

The neighborhood kids nicknamed the cranky old couple Crazy Jack and Ruby Rednose. Rumor was that they sat inside and drank whiskey all day.

It was true that Jack and Ruby Jones preferred to keep to themselves. About the only words we ever heard from them were "Keep out of our rosebushes!"

The rosebushes were seventy beautiful floribunda shrubs that served as a fence between our house and theirs. The rose fence took quite a bit of abuse, since our house was the neighborhood hangout.

I was eleven at the time and the oldest of six active girls. We should have played our softball games elsewhere to avoid hurting the roses, but we secretly enjoyed irritating Crazy Jack and Ruby Rednose.

Jack and Ruby had a son whom we nicknamed Crazy Jack Junior. He was due to come home from Vietnam. We heard he had been discharged because of a nervous breakdown. The neighborhood had thrown a big party for Jimmy Brown when he came home from the war, but no one offered to have a party for Crazy Jack Junior.

The day Crazy Jack Junior was scheduled to come home, we had a neighborhood softball game in our yard. Johnny McGrath was trying to catch a fly ball. He stumbled over one of Ruby Rednose's thorny rosebushes and fell on top of several more. Boy, did he yell. But the roses were the ones that really suffered.

From my vantage point at second base, it looked like about ten of them were damaged pretty badly.

Johnny's timing was terrible, because as he lay there swearing at the roses, the Joneses' pickup rolled into the driveway. The truck screeched to a halt and Crazy Jack Junior sprang out. He ran full speed toward Johnny.

"You little punk!" he screamed. "Look what you've done to our family's roses! You've always been trouble. I'm going to fetch my gun and shoot you!"

The next few minutes were a blur. The neighborhood kids ran for their lives. Ruby and Jack tried to restrain their son. He continued to yell threats and profanities.

Ruby wasn't my favorite person, but I felt sorry for her when I saw her tearfully pleading with Crazy Jack Junior. Finally, they coaxed him inside.

Meanwhile, my sisters and I tore into our house. Breathlessly, we told Mom what had happened.

She put down her sewing and scolded, "Girls, I have told you not to play softball near those bushes. Come outside right now and help me fix them."

"Mom, we thought you didn't like the Joneses," we protested. "They're mean to us. Besides, Crazy Jack Junior might shoot us."

Mom just glared at us. We followed her outside to help mend the rose fence.

While Mom examined the damaged roses, my sisters and I hung back, plotting how to get out of the thorny job. As we whispered back and forth, the Joneses' garage door opened and Ruby slowly walked out. She looked sad. And it wasn't her nose that was red, it was her eyes.

Ruby walked over to my mother. The two women stood looking at each other through the new gap in the rose fence. We girls held our breath, waiting to see who would shout first and what terrible things would be said. How much trouble would we be in when it was all over?

Suddenly my mother stepped forward and hugged Ruby. "I'm glad your son came back home," she said gently. "It must have been a horrible experience in Vietnam. We're sorry about the flowers.

"The girls will replace them if we can't fix them. In return for all the bother, they'll help you weed the roses this summer."

My sisters and I looked at each other in horror, but Ruby smiled at my mother through her tears.

"I know we're particular about these roses," she said, "but they're very special to us. When my mother came from England, she brought one tiny part of her favorite rosebush. That was her reminder of home."

She paused for a minute, then said sadly, "My mother had a magic touch with flowers. Over the years that one plant multiplied into all these bushes. Since she died, I've tried to keep them up, but I just don't have her magic touch."

Her voice was all choked up. "Mom died while Jack Junior was in Vietnam. He just found out about her death today. When he saw her rosebushes damaged, it was the last straw."

Ruby mopped at her tears. "Once we got him inside and calmed down, he admitted he's out of control. Jack just drove him to Clinton Valley to be admitted to a treatment program."

By now I felt really bad for the Jones family-what a sorrowful homecoming! I could tell my mother and sisters felt the same.

"We all enjoy the roses as much as you do. We wi1l be happy to help you care for them," my mother said. "You know, some people say I have a magic touch with flowers, too."

Soon both women were down on their knees talking and examining the damaged bushes together. A few weeks later, the plants had all returned with vigor.

My mother and Ruby worked together on the roses all summer long and many summers to follow. So did my sisters and I.

A friendship formed between the families that would include countless birthdays, graduations and weddings-including Jack Junior's. Years later, when her son left home and her husband died, Ruby became part of our family, spending many happy hours at our house.

She wasn't Ruby Rednose anymore; she was Aunt Ruby.

And the rose fence wasn't a fence any longer. My mother had turned it into a bridge.

By Donna Gundle-Krieg

Vietnamese version

Clip content: Vocabulary, Questions in the Simple Past Tense.

For years I wanted a flower garden. I'd spend hours thinking of different things I could plant that would look nice together.

But then we had Matthew. And Marvin. And the twins, Alisa and Alan. And then Helen. Five children. I was too busy raising them to grow a garden.

Money was tight, as well as time. Often when my children were little, one of them would want something that cost too much and I'd have to say, "Do you see a money tree outside? Money doesn't grow on trees, you know."

Finally, all five got through high school and college and were off on their own. I started thinking again about having a garden.

I wasn't sure, though. I mean, gardens do cost money, and after all these years I was used to living on a pretty lean, no-frills budget.

Then, one spring morning, on Mother's Day, I was working in my kitchen. Suddenly, I realized that cars were tooting their horns as they drove by. I looked out the window and there was a new tree, planted right in my yard. I thought it must be a weeping willow, because I saw things blowing around on all its branches. Then I put my glasses on--and I couldn't believe what I saw. There was a money tree in my yard!

I went outside to look. It was true! There were dollar bills, one hundred of them, taped all over that tree. Think of all the garden flowers I could buy with $100! There was also a note attached: "IOU eight hours of digging time. Love, Marvin."

Marvin kept his promise, too. He dug up a nice ten by fifteen foot bed for me. And my other children bought me tools, ornaments, a trellis, a sunflower stepping stone, and gardening books. That was three years ago. My garden's now very pretty, just like I wanted. When I go out and weed or tend my flowers, I don't seem to miss my children as much as I once did. It feels like they're right there with me.

I live up in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, where winters are long and cold and summers are way too short. But every year now, when winter sets in, I look out my window and think of the flowers I'll see next spring in my little garden. I think about what my children did for me and I get tears in my eyes--every time.

I'm still not sure that money grows on trees. But I know love does!

By Ruth Szukalowski (From "Chicken Soup for the Gardener's Soul")

Vietnamese version

Clip content: Vocabulary, Past Tense “Irregular”.