1 . Dad’s comb was jade green. I heard he bought it when he married Mum, which made the comb two years older than I was. Every night, he would smile, hand me the comb and say, “Be a good girl and help Daddy clean it, OK?”

I was more than happy to do it. At age five this ordinary task brought me such joy. I would excitedly turn the tap on, then brush the comb with a used toothbrush as hard as I could. Satisfied that I’d done a good job, I would proudly return the comb to Dad. He would smile at me and place the comb on top of his wallet.

About two years later, Dad left his sales job and started his own wholesale business. I started primary school. That was when things started to change. He didn’t come home as much as he used to—just a couple of times a week. And when he did come home, it was always late and I’d already be in bed. I started to get mad. I stopped waiting for him to come home, and stopped going downstairs to check on him.

Today, I’m no longer a kid. I’ve graduated from college and got a job. Dad’s business has got back on track. Things are better now. Yet the uncomfortable silence between Dad and me continued.

Two days before my birthday last year, Dad came home early. As usual, I helped him carry his bags into his study. When I turned to leave, he said, “Hey, would you like to help me clean my comb?” I looked at him a while, then took the comb and headed to the sink.

I passed the clean comb back to Dad. He looked at it and smiled. But this time, I noticed something different. My dad has aged. He has wrinkles next to his eyes when he smiles, yet his smile is still as heartwarming as before. The smile of a father who just wants a good life for his family. Dad carefully placed his comb on top of his wallet.

After so many years, he still organizes his personal items in the same careful way. I guess some things never change. And for that, I’m glad.

Yours sincerely,

Li Hua

6 . It was just the three of us — my parents and me. My dad is a truck driver and when I was little, he was gone for most of the time, _______ goods around the Midwest.

We lived in a small house in Colorado and we moved there on my third birthday. My first _______ is our neighbor Arlene handing me strawberries from her garden _______ a hole in the fence. She and her husband, Bill, lived next door. They spent a lot of time working in their garden and _______ got tired of listening to me chatter (唠叨). It was a wonderful _______.

One day, my parents asked Bill and Arlene whether they’d watch me while they were out on a date. This worked well for everyone, so it became a somewhat monthly _______. Arlene and Bill didn’t have kids and they had a _______ room in their house, which became “my” room.

When I was five, an idea hit me one day: “What if I adopted Bill and Arlene as my grandparents?” My parents said I could go over and ask them, so I knocked on their door and said, “Will you guys be my grandparents?” They started crying and enthusiastically _______. Soon after, they printed out an adoption certificate and it _______ on their wall from then on.

I was surprised that they took my offer so ________. They could have laughed it off. Thinking of that moment still brings ________ to my eyes. There is something truly ________ about a child offering up her love and adults being so ________ to accept it. Every child ________ enthusiastically responded love.

Over the years, Bill and Arlene supported me in all my dreams. They encouraged me to apply for college, ________ I didn’t have the money to go. And when I got admitted to Colorado State University, they ________ me with the fund. They told me they had been ________ money since the day I adopted them.

Arlene passed away in 2013, two days before our adoption ________. At the funeral, Bill gave me the ________ he once gifted to Arlene. I still wear it on my finger as a ________ of the kind of love I wish to put into the world.

Carter enjoyed riding the school bus home. The ride home gave him some time to relax after a busy day of fifth grade. He usually sat alone and enjoyed that too. With four siblings (兄妹) he didn't get much time alone. Sometimes he sat with his younger brother, Jackson, but Jackson was sick at home today.

The bus stopped and the tallest boy in his class, Dexter, stepped off followed by his younger brother, Billy. As the bus pulled away, Carter looked back over his shoulder to watch the boys. Dexter was yelling and waving his hands at his little brother. Billy said something Carter could not hear. Dexter yelled, gave his younger brother a hard shove and knocked him to the ground. Billy was on the ground wiping at his eyes, but Dexter walked away.

Carter turned in his seat, feeling disgusted. He hated seeing little kids get picked on (欺负).The sight of Billy on the ground crying was burned into his memory. He tried to think of something else.

He thought of the model car he was working on at home, a 1967 Corvette. He started building it over a week ago and just finished putting it together last night. Tonight, as soon as he finished his homework, he could start painting the car. That was his favorite part. He already had the perfect color of blue picked out.

He hurried off the bus, ran through his yard, and breezed through the kitchen with a quick hello to his mom. She was making spaghetti, which smelled delicious. He ran up the stairs two at a time and rushed into his room.

“Surprise!” his brother Jackson said, throwing his arms into the air. "What are you doing in my room? I thought you were sick!”

“I feel better!^”

"What's on your face? Are you bleeding?"

"No! I'm not bleeding." Jackson wiped at his face, probably just paint. Look! Look what I did!” He pointed at the desk in the comer of Carter's room.

Better to Give than to Receive

When a special occasion arrives, a gift often finds its way to a doorstep or an office desk. But once in a while, a present arrives at an unexpected moment as a reminder that someone is thinking about us.

Wanda Anderson remembers such a gift.

The rosebushes were finally in full bloom that day. Seeing roses always brings to mind Wanda's childhood memories. To this young girl, those flowers were a luxury. "We never had money to buy extra things, so even a tired rose was something to cherish," Wanda said.

Nowadays, to have a backyard filled with many different roses is pure enjoyment. Wanda especially loves the very first blooms. Her husband, Dale, devotedly tends the roses and knows this little fact about his wife. So, on this particular morning, he picked the very first flowers of spring, fresh from the garden, just for Wanda.

But as Dale came back, he was met by a neighbor who had dropped by. As the woman turned to go, Dale graciously (有风度地)handed the roses to her. Even though their visitor insisted she didn't want to take them, she was repeatedly assured that the flowers were hers to keep.

“I told her I was happy for her to keep them, but I really wasn't," Wanda said, recalling the emotions she was feeling right then. Seeing her very precious first blooms go out of the door filled her with regret.

Throughout the rest of the morning, Wanda argued with herself, knowing logically it was “better to give than to receive. Nevertheless, she wished she could have kept the roses for herself.

Later that day, the couple just arrived at the post office, where they were about to park the car.

Then, without warning, a bunch of multi-coloured roses appeared at the car's window.

For the rest of the day, she was happy and moved.

After 21 years of marriage, my wife wanted me to take another woman out to dinner and a movie. It’s hard to imagine that the other woman was my mother, who has been living alone for 19 years, but I am too busy to visit her often. That night I called to invite her to go out for dinner and a movie.

“What’s wrong? Are you well?” she asked. My mother always doubts that a late night call is a sign of bad news.

“It would be pleasant to spend some time with you,” I responded.

As I drove over to pick her up, I noticed that she seemed to be nervous about our date. But she smiled from a face that was as beautiful as an angel’s. “I told my friends that I was going to go out with my son, and they were impressed,” she said.

We went to a restaurant that was very nice and comfortable. My mother took my arm as if she were the First Lady. After we sat down, I had to read the menu. Her eyes could only read large print. I saw mom sitting there looking at me with a smile on her lips.

“I used to have to read the menu when you were small,” she said. “Then it’s time to let me return the favour,” I responded.

During the dinner, we had an agreeable conversation-nothing special but catching up on recent events. We talked so much that we missed the movie. As we arrived at her house later, she said, “I’ll go out with you again, but only if you let me invite you.” I agreed.

When I got home, my wife shared her story about her mom who passed away years ago.

Several days later, I received my mother’s invitation.