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　　I was not quite seventeen when I decided to join the US Marine Corps．My mother tried her best to talk me out of my dream, and then finally signed the papers that would permit me to enter the service．

　　One day, nearly two years after the Philippines became my home, I was summoned to the office of Lieutenant(海军上尉)Colonel Boyd．He seemed to be a kind man, but I was pretty sure that he hadn't called me in to pass the time of day．

　　Standing before his desk, I waited nervously as he read through some paperwork．Then he looked up．“Why, Private, haven't you written to your mother for more than six months?”

　　I felt weak in my knees．Has it been that long? I thought．

　　“I didn't have anything to say, Sir．”

　　Lieutenant Colonel Boyd told me that my mother had contacted the American Red Cross, which in turn communicated with my commanding officer about my failure to write．Then he asked, “Do you see that desk, Private？”

　　“Yes, Sir．”

　　“Open the top drawer and you'll find some paper and a pen．Sit down right this minute and find something to say to your mother．”

　　“Yes, Sir．”

　　When I finished a brief letter, I stood before him again．

　　“Private, I'm ordering you to find something to say to your mother at least once a week．Do you understand？” I did．

　　Some thirty-five years later, my aged mother's mental condition was deteriorating, and I was forced to place her in a convalescent home(疗养所)．As I went through her belongings, I began inspecting the contents of an old cedar chest．At the bottom, tied with a bright red ribbon, I found a bundle of letters．

　　They were the letters I had been ordered to write from the Philippines．I sat on the floor of her apartment that afternoon reading each one, tears streaming down my cheeks．I now realized how deeply, as a young man, had upset her by my lack of consideration．

　　The lesson I learned may have been too late to help my mother, but it's still done me good．These days I don't need a commanding officer standing over me to write to my loved ones on a regular basis．