Butch was heartily enjoying his breakfast on a Monday morning. He couldn’t wait to do many things with his friends during the coming long weekend since Monday next week was declared a holiday.
He imagined the many awesome things they would enjoy in that long weekend: more basketball followed by football, skateboarding, visiting hobby shops in other malls, playing more rounds of paint ball and so on.
He snapped out of his daydreaming when his mother placed a tray of freshly baked bread, sizzling bacon, fried eggs and pancakes in front of him.
“Now, don’t even think of starting with this second batch,” she teased him. “Your elder brother and father haven’t returned yet from their game of tennis.”
“Yeees, mommy,” Butch replied as he stared hungrily at the tempting food before him. As his mom began clearing away the empty trays and plates, he noticed that she wore a band-aid on her index finger.
“What happened to your finger, mom?” he asked.
“Oh, nothing…got pricked by a thorn,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.
“Can I see it?” Butch begged.
“Nope, ‘coz you’re eating and besides there isn’t much to see in such a small wound,” she said smiling, then headed back to the kitchen.
“What kinda thorn pricked your finger?” he asked.
“A rose thorn,” said her voice echoing from the kitchen with the splashing of water from the sink.
“How’d that happen, mom?”
“See the roses on the table?” She pointed to the vase between Butch and her.
“Well, one of the thorns pricked me.” She wiggled her injured index finger in front of Butch’s face.
When his mother once again disappeared into the kitchen, Butch looked at the roses meticulously arranged in the middle of the table. He was amazed to see that all their thorns had been removed.
“Mom, why’d you have to remove aaaall the thorns?”
“So that you won’t gheeet accidentally pricked,” she answered.
From that moment on, Butch felt he had to give his mom something special for her thoughtfulness.
* * *
At first, he thought of secretly going into his mom’s rose garden and removing all the thorns. That way, she won’t worry about being wounded.
“But that might be bad for the still growing buds,” he said, thinking aloud.
“If you’re not up to buying her roses, then why don’t you just get them elsewhere and give it to her for Mother’s Day?” his best friend Julie suggested.
“Great idea, but where?” Butch asked.
“Why don’t you check the abandoned lot behind your house. Perhaps, there are still wild rose patches left. I recall that Mrs. Brown liked to grow roses.”
“Thanks, I’ll do just that,” Butch said.
True enough, there were roses! Plenty of them.
Some had just recently bloomed. Butch was sure by Mother’s Day they would be ready!
* * *
But that midnight, Butch woke up with terrible abdominal pain. It was so unbearable that he had to wake up his parents, who rushed him to the emergency room.
In the hospital, they were informed that he had appendicitis. He would have to be operated on immediately, their family doctor said.
Poor Butch. There he was in terrible pain and despair. The long-sought-for weekend was going to be spent in the hospital and worse of all: NO SURPRISE ROSES for mom on Mother’s Day!
“Butch! Butch! Wake up! Can you hear me? How do you feel, honey?” Butch heard the soft voice of his mother.
“…uh? Yes…, I can hear you mom. I…I feel better… Whaaa,” although he was still groggy from the anesthesia.
“Whaaat….day is…?” he asked.
“It’s Mother’s Day, son.” His father’s voice boomed inside the room.
“Mother’s Day…? Oh, no…!” Butch suddenly remembered his thorn-less plan.
“Look at what mom brought you, son,” his dad continued.
He leaned slightly forward and was surprised to see a vase of beautiful roses on his bedside table.
“…roses from your garden…?” He tried speaking.
“Nope, those were still too young?” his mom asked.
“…did you buy them?”
“Neither…,” she replied.
[GROAN!!!] Butch shifted in his bed.
“You all right, son?” his dad asked.
“Yeah, it’s nothing,” he said trying to hide his disappointment. He looked at the roses again and was more disheartened to see they had no thorns. He was even more saddened when he noticed his mother wearing another band-aid in another finger.
“Mom, did you prick another finger?” he asked.
“Oh, this?” She smiled. “Of course not, silly. I used gloves this time to de-thorn the roses.”
“Then why are you wearing a band-aid?”
“It was a reminder to bring some of your clothes and also your favorite dessert that I only prepare during Mother’s Day!”
[MOAN!!!] Butch again felt totally useless.
“Hush, dear!” She kissed him on the forehead.
“Don’t worry about the roses in the Brown’s lot. I didn’t pluck all of them. You can gather the rest when you’re feeling better,” she whispered and mischievously winked at Butch.