A pot of boiling enthusiasm and passion cannot continue to simmer without a constant flame. My mother is that flame. When my father lost his job around my 12th birthday I had just discovered the art of photography. I was so passionate about taking pictures that I could hardly sleep at night.

Because there was no discretionary money after my dad was retrenched, I was unable to buy film or chemicals for developing my photographs. I was heartbroken but understood the circumstances, so I hid my disappointment to save my parents from feeling any worse than they already did.

There were absolutely no jobs to be had for kids my age so there was no way for me to get money to buy film for myself.

My parents struggled financially for a number of years and during that time my mom began making little felt-stuffed dolls called Gonks. They were round, red little characters with Beatle haircuts. One morning I overheard my mom on the phone. She was in tears and talking to her friend Millicent. I put my ear to the door like any twelve year old eaves-dropper would do. Between her sniffles I heard my mom tell her friend that she only needed to sell a few more Gonks to have enough money to buy film and chemicals for me. I heard her say, "He is so passionate about photography. You should see his eyes when he talks about it. It breaks my heart because I know he is dying to take pictures."

Two weeks later my mom called me into my room and shut the door. She handed me a roll of film, some photographic paper and chemicals. She asked me to please not say anything to anyone about it, especially my dad, because the money was needed elsewhere.

I hugged my mom and thanked her profusely. I was so excited I just wanted to burst.

"I'll take great pictures for you,I promise" I said.

"Don't worry about taking great pictures for me." she said. "Just have fun."

As she walked out of the door I noticed she was crying. "Mom," why are you crying?" I asked.

"Because I just love you so much." She said, ruffling my mop of curly hair.