Yoghurt
It was a rough week. The price of oil skyrocketed as the temperature dropped sharply in Maine. We were looking at a high of eight degrees that week, and I had missed three days of work so my paycheck was going to be lower than normal. I was stressed, to say the least. I shopped strategically(有策略地), looking for every possible way to cut pennies so I could buy groceries and keep the house warm.
My eight-year-old son didn't understand when I told him we were struggling that week. He wanted a special kind of yoghurt, but I didn't have the extra three dollars to buy it for him. It was the kind of yoghurt with a cartoon kid riding a skateboard on the front of the box, and a mere two spoonfuls（一勺的量） in each cup. It was the kind of product that wastes a parent's money and makes me hate advertising.
I felt guilty（内疚的） as a parent when those big eyes looked at me with confusion, as if to say, "It's just yoghurt. What's the big deal?" So I found a way. I put something back as single mothers often do. He got his yoghurt. On the way driving back from the grocery store, I noticed a homeless man holding a sign by the side of the road.
My heart hurt, and I tried not to look at him. I watched people stay away from him on the street and walk by without even meeting his eyes. My son didn't seem to care much, either. I looked at the man closely then — bare hands grasping a piece of cardboard, snot（鼻涕） frozen to his face, a worn-out jacket. And there I was struggling because
I had to buy oil and groceries. But I decided to help. I pulled over to the man and handed him a five-dollar bill.
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Seeing this, my son became confused and surprised.
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On that day, my son performed an act that most adults wouldn't have done.
