In the spring of third grade, when the rains were ending, days were lengthening, and I started wearing thin sweaters to school instead of a jacket, my teacher gave us each a small pot of soil and a seed. We were going to grow marigold plants. Marigolds are loudly colored, fluttery flowered plants that survive a good amount of abuse. We dutifully watered our seeds and some of us even talked to our plants as they sprouted and grew inch by inch, reaching up from their resting place on the windowsill above the radiator. When they had reached a height of about six inches, our teacher told us that we could take them home. I decided that I was going to give my marigold to my mother for Mother's Day.

    Because Mother's Day was about a week off and I wanted the gift to be a surprise, when I brought my plant home, I hid it in my green drawstring bookbag. Holding carefully onto the handles, I carried it off the bus, into the house, and ran to my room, hoping my mother wouldn't come in and see what I was up to. But calamity struck when I reached into the bag and hurriedly pulled the pot out. The marigold stalk had broken, almost all the way through, a few inches up the stem. I was horrified. But I had to do something quickly because my mother would be coming down the hallway at any minute. Acting on pure instinct and childish bravado, I grabbed a piece of scotch tape, wrapped the two ends of the plant back together and shoved it under my bed. As the dust ruffle fell to cover my disaster, I shoved my depressing thoughts aside and went off to my after school snack.

    Mother's Day arrived and that morning I remembered that I had a withered, dying plant underneath my bed and that I should throw it out before my failure was discovered. I reached under the ruffle and dragged the pot out. I blinked several times in astonishment. The plant was still green. And it was in one piece. In the darkness under my bed, the marigold's split stem had grown back together. Incredulous, I pulled off the no longer needed tape, and examined the stalk closely. There was a curve, a small bend, where it had reattached to itself. But the plant was whole and healthy. And it had even grown taller. My Mother's Day gift was saved.

    I can't remember if I told my mother about my near disaster. I may have feared that she would chastise me for my mistake in breaking the stem in the first place. However, regardless of its near death experience, she welcomed the marigold onto our front doorstep where it flourished and sprouted glorious orange blossoms. The bend in the stem became more apparent as it grew thicker. After the plant produced a final round of seeds, I collected them into a plastic bag for the following spring. And even as the withered stalk, with its prominent bend, stood barren in the winter, I never passed by it without marveling over the wonder of nature.

©1997 Lilly Tao