"Have a meal!" Mom gave a cry, and I sat down at the table, looking at a plate of water celery on the table, and I couldn't help thinking about that. ...

It was a Saturday in the sixth grade last semester. It's time for dinner. I rushed out of the room excitedly, but I lost my appetite when I arrived at the table: celery and bitter gourd. Although the dishes on the table are rich, they are all things I don't like. It is strange that my parents should know this. I look unhappy, but my mother seems to pretend not to notice my attitude, and still smiles and keeps giving me food. Mom's cooking is delicious. "This sentence makes me more dissatisfied. My mother knows that I hate eating these dishes, so why did she tell me that I'm really dumb to eat Rhizoma Coptidis-I can't say anything. I can't talk back to my mother, and I can't eat this meal. If I only eat, I can't eat. I can't. I'm coping with this dinner with a lot of resentment. Halfway through the meal, she bought so many dishes, knowing that I didn't like them. She is not like this at ordinary times! I couldn't figure it out, so I prayed silently that it wouldn't happen again. I finished my homework gloomily and fell asleep.

A new day has begun. I got up early and wandered around the house. Suddenly, my eyes were fixed on a book on my father's desk with the reverse side up. Curiosity drove me to open it. It turned out to be a cookbook. How strange! When did our family have such a book! After reading the catalogue, I realized that Oenanthe javanica is an ideal vegetable for nourishing the brain. No wonder my mother bought it back! I won't know until I ask dad. It turned out that my mother thought I was a graduating class student and was too tired to learn recipes. Only then did I know my mother's good intentions.

Oh, I see, my parents' love is not only expressed in words, but also accompanied by a silent concern.