【推荐2】My parents ran the Pagonis restaurant, a small eatery in Charleroi, Pennsylvania, and my first real job, when I was six years old, was shining diners’ shoes. My duties increased as I grew older. By the age of ten I was clearing tables and working as the janitor(清洁工). Dad beamed when he told me that I was the best “mop guy” he’d ever had.

Working in the restaurant was a source of great pride because I was pitching in for the good of the whole family. But my father made it clear. I had to meet certain standards to be part of the team. I had to be responsible, hard-working and polite to the customers.

Except for the shoeshine job, I was never paid for any work I did at the restaurant. One day I made the mistake of telling Dad I thought he ‘should give me $10 a week. He said, “Okay, then how about you paying me for the three meals a day you eat here? And for the times you bring in your buddies for free sodas?” He figured I owed him about $40 a week. This taught me that when you negotiate, you’d better know the other side’s arguments as well as your own.

I remember coming home to Charleroi after being away in the Army about two years. I had just been promoted to captain and was full of pride as I walked into my parents’ restaurant. The first thing Dad said was, “It’s the janitor’s day off. How about you cleaning up tonight?”“I can’t believe this!” I thought. “I’m an officer in the United States Army!” But it didn’t matter. As far as Dad was concerned, I was just another member of the team. I reached for the mop.

Working for Dad had taught me that loyalty to a team comes first. It doesn’t matter whether that team is involved in a family restaurant or in the Army.

【推荐3】Following Christmas dinner, my family was relaxing around the kitchen table. We had all enjoyed traditional turkey, sweet potatoes lightly coated with brown sugar. The good cooking smells still lingered; the oven remained warm. Dad had risen from his chair and was contentedly standing nearby.

My nephew Audrew, never one to sit still for too long, began dribbling (运球) his new basketball. Upon nearing Dad, he stopped—almost uncertainly. With shaking, wrinkled hands, Dad had reached out for the hall. He did not speak, and the boy, confused, looked up and over at us. It took some convincing, but the ball was carefully passed over.

A playful smile appeared on his face. The twinkle in his eyes shone brighter than any Christmas lights. Holding the ball and reaching forward, Dad bounced it on the floor and then caught it. Gently tossing the ball away, Dad began a game of catch. His active participation was remarkable to me, since he had advanced Alzheimer’s disease. It had robbed him of many memories and the recognition of people, places and points in time. Despite this, Dad clearly recognized the ball and what you could do with it.

In my younger years, playing with Dad was rare. To his credit, Dad worked hard and provided for us. He was very private and never showed nor shared much emotion; his game of choice was chess, which he did eventually teach me how to play. As an adult, I had become a caregiver and watched helplessly as Dad declined. Connecting moments between father and son had been few and far between before he took the basketball.

I’m not sure how long we played catch. Watching the clock was not important. Dad gleefully led us until he began to tire. What I do know is that our game ended all too soon, and it was time to face the reality of dirty dishes piled high on countertops. The moment, though, will certainly last forever. On this Christmas, Dad gave me a special memory—one that I will always treasure. These stories about meeting Santa will fill you with Christmas spirit.