Since my childhood went with memories of my mother, she was the one who had influence on me the most. I remember those winter morning in which she took me to school with her old-time bike. Behind her back, I nodded several times. The chills, which were getting colder and stronger, did not spare the two poor mother and son. My mother held my little hand to keep it warm. My face hid behind her slim back. The bike was lurching along the wind. I remember those summer night in which the electricity went out. I could hardly sleep. In our little room, I listened my parents whispering their sorrows.