A Birthday Surprise

I stood at the kitchen window watching Papa as he sat in the old, wooden lawn chair staring out at the lake. Ralph, his old black dog, lay on the ground at his side. Papa’s hand absently stroked (抚摩) the head of his old companion as they dreamed the dreams of old men and old dogs in the evening sun. “He does this day after day?” I asked Mama.

She nodded, sadness filling her eyes. “I don’t know what to do for him. There is a strong desire in his eyes that I can’t satisfy -a desire for the past. The past can’t be brought back to the present. Once days are gone, they are gone forever,” Mama sighed.

“I’m going down to talk to him,” I said.

I called out to Papa and handed him a cup of coffee. “What are you and Ralph thinking about all these hours you spend out here?” I asked,

“We’re not thinking,” he said softly. “We’re wishing.” I sat on the grass beside his chair. “Wishing for what?” “For the impossible, I suppose,” he sighed. “You always told me that nothing was impossible if you wanted it badly enough and were willing to work hard for it,” I reminded him.

He laughed softly, but there was no amusement in the sound. “But Ralph and I have come to learn that when you reach our age, some things are actually impossible.” “Maybe I can help you. What do you want so badly?” I asked.

Papa grinned (咧嘴大笑), and his eyes shone brightly at the thought of his dream becoming a reality. “Ralph and I want to fix up the old boat and go out on the lake again. We used to spend all day out on the lake, fishing, drinking beer and eating sandwiches,” Papa said.

Yes, I remember. When I was young, Papa and Ralph often enjoyed themselves on the lake on weekends. They’d start for home when the sun went down, totally satisfied with themselves and with life. Now, Papa was almost eighty-five years old and had a heart condition, so Mama was horrified by the idea of him going out on the lake again at first. But eventually I managed to convince her.

After Mama agreed, I persuaded my friends to join in my secret plan.

On the day of Papa’s birthday, we were all eager to give him a surprise.

This Friday brought a mix of emotions—both excitement and disappointment — all because of a flyer from school. When I got home, Mum saw the flyer in my hand and asked, “What’s this?”

“A flyer for a five-day art camp,” I explained. “But Emily can’t go.”

“Would you like to attend?”Mum asked. “You’ve always loved art.” Her words reminded me of what Emily had said earlier: “Tessa, you’re the real artist. My brother thought the roses I painted were rocket ships.” I sighed. Mum patted my back. She knew I had a hard time jumping into something with no familiar faces around. “Maybe next year.”

“Maybe,” I echoed. Then I told Mum I wanted to go outside to draw the Westons’ pine tree (松树). She nodded with an encouraging smile.

As I walked into the bright sunshine, I couldn’t help but think about the art camp. I wished I felt a little bit braver. Emily could make friends with a whole bus of kids in ten minutes, but my stomach felt like a little boat tossed in a heavy storm when I was surrounded by strangers... By the time I started drawing, I had made up my mind to forget about the art camp.

I began by drawing the pine tree’s strong and straight trunk, and then added the beautiful branches, making sure the upper ones lifted gently towards the sun. Lost in my work, I jumped when I heard Mr. Weston speak up, “You’ve done a great job showing the strength of that tree on paper.”

“Thanks,” I smiled, glancing up.

As I drew the needles to the branches, Mr. Weston told me something I never knew about pines: If you plant the root ball too deep, the tree dies. Their roots grow out, not down—to get enough water and grow tall.

“You have a good eye, Tessa.”With these words, Mr. Weston nodded goodbye.

Paragraph 1: His words made me pause and think.

Paragraph 2: The next Monday, I signed up for the camp.

In the town of Willowbrook, young Sarah was in a state of great excitement. Her school was putting on its annual play, and she had been offered a principal role. The school hall had been abuzz for weeks with rehearsals, prop (道具) preparations, and the students practicing their lines. Sarah had spent countless hours rehearsing, wanting to get every word and movement absolutely right.

However, underlying her anticipation was a growing sadness. Sarah’s dad, Mr Thompson, worked as an engineer in a big city, and his job often kept him away from home for a long time, which meant he frequently missed out on most of the special moments in Sarah’s life. This play seemed to be another addition to that growing list. He had a vital business meeting on the same day, and Sarah, although understanding, couldn’t help feeling disappointed. Her classmates talked excitedly about their families coming to watch, increasing her sense of loss.

It was bright and sunny on the day of the play. The school’s hall was noisy with students. Students in costumes rushed about, teachers gave last-minute instructions, and the air was thick with anticipation. Sarah peeped out from behind the curtains and saw the hall filling up with eager parents, siblings, and friends. Every seat was taken, except one — her dad’s.

The play started on time with Sarah and her classmates’ performance being the first. The actors delivered their lines with passion and the audience responded with laughter and applause at all the right moments. Sarah played her part with a mix of excitement and longing, wishing her dad could see her shine.

Halfway through, the host called for a surprise guest to enter. He described him as a “mysterious stranger” whose brief appearance would provide a turning point in the plot. As the lights dimmed slightly and suspenseful music played, a tall figure stepped onto the stage.

Sarah’s heart jumped faster.

When the final scene concluded and the curtains drew to a close, applause thundered through the hall.

I pressed my fist into Dad’s old baseball glove as I stared out of the window of my stepfather’s van. Not a day went by that I didn’t think about Dad and how much I missed him.

The van stopped at the edge of the baseball field. “Hey, buddy, have fun at practice. And don’t forget about your sister’s recital (表演) tonight,” said my stepfather as I climbed out.

Zoe is not my sister, and you can’t tell me what to do, I grumbled (嘟囔) to myself.

A bunch of guys from the team waved from the dugout. I jogged over half-heartedly. “Why do you look so unhappy?” David asked. “I have to go to my stepsister’s dance recital,” I sighed. “It could be worse,” David replied. I shot him an I-highly-doubt-that expression. “What if you had to perform in it?” Kevin said as he leaped and twirled (旋转) like a rodeo bull. I tried not to smile.

The truth was that I had a lot of mixed-up feelings since Mom remarried a few months ago. I had always loved baseball, but even that felt different lately. I could barely concentrate.

After practice, David and I sat together waiting for our ride. “I wish things didn’t have to change,” I said, “you know, for my mom and me.” “I have a stepmother and stepbrother too,” David said as if it were no big deal. “Seriously?” I hadn’t realized that, so I asked. David shrugged, “They’re just Mom and Dennis now. Give it a chance.” I let out a breath, still unsure about the recital tonight. Still unsure about everything!

Back home, I found Zoe in her costume, but something was wrong. Her arms were folded tight across her chest, and her eyes were glossed with tears. “What’s wrong, Zoe?” I asked. “Opening night jitters (战战兢兢),” my stepfather said. “She doesn’t want to be in the recital,” Mom said.

Huh. This should have been the best thing that could have happened — the possibility of not having to go to the performance. But somehow it wasn’t. Zoe had practiced so hard. And she’d reminded me at least a thousand times where she would be onstage.

Thinking of Kevin’s funny dance, I had an idea.

After Zoe disappeared into dancers backstage, we found our seats.