What my father wore embarrassed me! I wanted him to dress like a doctor or lawyer, but he always dressed like my father, getting up before dawn every day to make breakfast for my mother and me.

We lived in South Texas, where my father worked as a repairman. He often wore a pair of jeans and a shirt, keeping his pencils, glasses and wrenches (扳手) in his breast pocket. His boots were those with steel toes that made them difficult to pull off his feet, which I sometimes helped him with when he returned from repairing cars — his job that also shamed me.

I blamed the way he dressed. I felt that my classmates laughed at me because they’d seen him mowing lawns (修剪草坪) in cut-off jeans and black boots. My classmates’ families paid men to beautify their lawns, while their fathers travelled in the bay wearing lemon-yellow sweaters and expensive shoes.

He preferred clothes that allowed him the freedom to move under cars. So even when taking part in a school trip with me, he was dressed in his repairman’s suit. On the school bus to the campsite, all students on the bus happily chatted with their parents except me, who lowered the head, avoiding spotting my classmates’ mocking glance (讥笑的眼光) or hearing their jokes, which I thought was about nothing else but what my father wore.

I regretted telling my parents the school trip, and I was very angry why my mother had no spare time while my father happened to have a vacation. But my father failed to read my mind. He was very happy, whistling a tune along the way.

Though my father didn’t sense my bad mood, the school bus seemed as sad as I was. It drove more and more slowly and finally it stopped on the roadside. The driver got out to check the bus but found nothing wrong. Students and parents on the bus began to whisper about what was happening, worried that the delay might spoil the journey.

When others were complaining, my father stood up.

The school bus restarted and everyone cheered.

“I look like a clown (小丑)!” Winston thought sadly. He pulled his cap down, thankful for the cover it provided. He wanted to escape the attention of the people outside the barbershop (理发店). He looked around before hurrying away into the darkness to put some distance between himself and the curious eyes of others.

As he moved quickly down the street,Winston wondered why he hadn’t spoken up to prevent the terrible haircut. He felt sad and questioned why this had happened to him. Did the barber give him this messed-up haircut on purpose? Winston didn’t believe it because the barber looked very friendly. But it seemed so crazy! Could he have unknowingly offended the barber,and this disastrous hairstyle was the barber’s way of getting back at him?

Winston was also worried that Jack would laugh at him. Jack was his cousin and liked playing jokes. But maybe he wouldn’t; he was understanding too. Winston kept thinking about it.Upon entering his new home, ,Winston’s mom greeted him from the kitchen. She called out to him,asking to see his new hairstyle. Winston walked into the kitchen, his cap still on, and slowly took it off.

His mother looked very surprised. She couldn’t help but burst into laughter. “Oh déar,” she shouted. “What happened?” Winston stood silently for a moment before letting out his anger. He blamed his mom for bringing him to this place, torcing him to attend a new school where he believed everyone would make fun of him. He also said he hated this terrible hairstyle, and his hair was beyond fixing.

Just as his anger was about to grow, the doorbell-rang. Winston’s mom calmly told him to answer it. As he opened the door, he forgot to cover his terrible haircut, and there stood his cousin Jack. Since it was Saturday today, they had planned to go skating together. Winston felt extremely embarrassed.

Jack looked at Winston in disbelief.

That afternoon, Winston returned to the barbershop, hoping to find out the truth.

I was eight years old when I first experienced the feeling of guilt. Then I had three close friends, David, Kyle and Richard, and I could rely on them for anything. We did everything together, from playing four square and handball at break, to eating lunch at our own spot. We hung out every second we could.

It was a Wednesday at school, and that morning I didn’t have breakfast. My stomach growled (咆哮) every 10 minutes louder and louder. I felt like the whole class could hear my stomach. I constantly stared at the clock go tick tock, tick tock for hours. As soon as the bell rang for lunch, our teacher led the line to the dining hall, but when I checked my pockets to see if I brought my money, I only had a dollar. I was angry that I left my money at home and desperate to have lunch. So, I quickly asked my teacher to use the restroom, ran up the stairs to see all the backpacks hung up against the wall and saw my friend Richard’s bag.

I looked around to see if anyone was near and found no one was in sight. As I opened the bag and saw a whole bag of coins, I decided to take eight of them. Then I bought my lunch and carried on through the day like nothing had happened.

When school was over, Jamba Juice came to sell smoothies (冰沙). I had totally forgotten once a month on Wednesdays Jamba Juice would sell smoothies for five dollars. I was already satisfied with the lunch, and didn’t even bother caring for a smoothie. Everyone wanted a smoothie and the whole school and their parents were in the line waiting.

I walked with my friends to the line.

I didn’t have enough sleep that night.

When I was in Primary school, our class decided to make “May Day baskets” for our mothers anonymously (匿名). For days, we worked on creating paper baskets, following a magic design shared by our teacher Miss Cosmos.

We finished right on time. Miss Cosmos brought some bright flowers for us to fill our baskets with. We had to wait until the day was nearly over. When the bell rang, we picked our schoolbags, carefully held our offerings of love and ran back home!

I was so excited! I ran as fast as I could down the hill and across the street. After arrival, when deciding to hang the basket lovingly on our door, I was surprised that my flowers were gone! There was only an empty basket! I stood in front of the door and began to cry.

Soon, my mom came to the door to discover the source of the sadness. While she helped me off with my coat and school things, I tried to talk about my terrible situation. As she listened, she wiped (擦拭) my face and touched my hair with the other hand. I fell weakly into her arms.

Then Mom did what I would never forget. She took a knife from the kitchen and my poor little empty basket from the table. We went to our garden where there were some beautiful flowers. She cut one, placed it in my basket, handed me the knife, and then went to the house to prepare dinner. Slowly, as I cut the flowers and arranged them in my paper basket, my gift was ready to be offered. Suddenly, I realized the surprise, so important to my deed, was now totally gone. But at least, I had my May Day basket with flowers.

I hung the basket on our door, knocked, and hid.

At a neighbor’s pool the summer after sixth grade, Charley shouted out those famous last words, “Hey, watch this!” As he dove into the pool, Tad froze. It wasn’t the deep end!

Charley was hurt bad when he hit the bottom of the swimming pool. The doctor said he might have broken his back and could lose the use of his legs. His life would change forever. Tad didn’t see Charley for over a month after he was carried away in the screaming ambulance.

When Tad went to visit Charley in the hospital, his “Hey, dude, how’s it going?” was greeted by an annoyed grunt (嘟哝声) . Looking small and pale, Charley cried, “I can’t walk-how do you think I feel? I wish I was dead!”

“Bro, you’ll get well! You’re tough.”

“No, the doctor said I won’t.”

“Aw, man. That’s horrible!” And the conversation died right there.

Tad didn’t go back after that. He just didn’t know what to say. When Charley got out of the hospital, Tad went over to his house a few times and played video games, but it just wasn’t the same. Not only was his friend’s body damaged, so was his spirit. Tad had made friends with other boys who enjoyed all the things he and Charley used to do. Even if he felt sad and guilty, he wasn’t spending more time at Charley’s. Tad wanted to help and be a good friend but didn’t know how now.

Charley just became sadder and sadder, and Tad spent less and less time with him as the school year passed.

When summer break started again, Tad didn’t see much of Charley. He had made the baseball team and didn’t have time for video games. At least he told himself that was the reason. He was shocked right before eighth grade started when he saw Charley sailing down the sidewalk with a big black dog by his wheelchair. “Wow, what’s this?” Said Tad, running over to his friend.

“This is Rowdy! He helps me.”

“Wow, what does he do?” Tad was interested.

After that, Tad could sense something had changed.

10 . One summer night, a boy felt himself lifted from bed by his father. Dazed with sleep, he saw stars flashing across the heavens. “What is it?” the child whispered. “Shooting stars. They come every year in August.” Decades have passed, but I remember that night still, because I was the fortunate boy whose father believed a new experience was more important than an unbroken night’s sleep.

Some parents like my father have the gift of opening doors for their children. This art of adding dimensions to a child brings the reward: the marvelous moment when the spark bursts into a flame that will burn brightly on its own one day. At a Golf Association tournament, a ten-year-old girl played creditably. “How long have you been interested in golf?” someone asked. “I got it for my ninth birthday,” she said.“ Your father gave you a set of clubs?” “No,” she said, “he gave me golf.”

I have a friend, a psychiatrist, who says there are two types of people: those who think of life as a privilege and those who think of it as a problem. The first type is enthusiastic and energetic. The other type is suspicious and self-centered. And he adds, “Tell me about your childhood and I can tell you which type you are likely to be.”

The real purpose, then, of trying to open doors for children is to build eager and outgoing attitudes, which is the most valuable legacy we can pass on to the next generation. But why don’t we work harder at it? Probably because sometimes we don’t have the awareness or the selflessness or the energy. And yet, for those of us who care what becomes of our children, the challenge is always there but the opportunities also come repeatedly. Many years have passed since that night. And next year, when August comes with its shooting stars, my son will be seven.