I have a lovely brother. He is 4 years younger than me. I still remember that day when he was born. He is
As time went by, he
Now,
We do a lot of secret things without informing our parents and if
2 . One of my wonderful memories is about a Christmas gift. Unlike other gifts, it came without wrap (包装).
On September 11th, 1958, Mum gave birth to Richard. After she brought him home from hospital, she put him in my lap, saying, “I promised you a gift, and here it is.” What an honour! I turned four a month earlier and none of my friends had such a baby doll of their own. I played with it day and night. I sang to it. I told it stories. I told it over and over how much I loved it!
One morning, however, I found its bed empty. My doll was gone! I cried for it.Mum wept and told me that the poor little thing had been sent to a hospital. It had a fever. For several days, I heard Mum and Dad whispering such words as “hopeless”, “pitiful”, and “dying”, which sounded ominous.
Christmas was coming. “Don’t expect any presents this year,” Dad said, pointing at the socks I hung in the living room.“If your baby brother lives, that’ll be Christmas enough.” As he spoke, his eyes filled with tears. I’d never seen him cry before.
The phone rang early on Christmas morning. Dad jumped out of bed to answer it. From my bedroom I heard him say, “What? He’s all right?” He hung up and shouted upstairs. “The hospital said we can bring Richard home!”
“Thank God!” I heard Mum cry.
From the upstairs window, I watched my parents rush out to the car. I had never seen them so happy. And I was also full of joy. What a wonderful day! My baby doll would be home. I ran downstairs. My socks still hung there flat. But I knew they were not empty; they were filled with love!
1. What happened to the author on September 11th, 1958?| A．He got a baby brother. |
| B．He got a Christmas gift. |
| C．He became four years old. |
| D．He received a doll. |
| A．Impossible. | B．Boring. |
| C．Difficult. | D．Fearful. |
| A．Excitement. | B．Happiness. |
| C．Sadness. | D．Disappointment. |
| A．A sad Christmas day. |
| B．Life with a lovely baby. |
| C．A special Christmas gift. |
| D．Memories of a happy family. |
3 . In 1990, during a performance of my stage play, I became preoccupied with one particular member of the audience. While everybody else laughed, there she sat, staring at the floor, with her fingers in her ears. I’ll never forget her look of complete discomfort.
That woman was my mother. Despite the fact I’d established myself as a humorist, my mother never found me or my work particularly funny. She was my hardest critic. “Is Drew really that funny?” she’d ask family members.
To make matters worse, the feeling was mutual (相互的): though our social circle swore that she was humorous, I never saw it. My mother was supposedly very funny in her first language, Anishinaabemowin—an Indigenous (原住民的) language, but alas, I didn’t speak it. At family gatherings, when somebody would say something “funny” in Anishinaabemowin, she’d explain it to me. Sometimes the humour translated. Sometimes it didn’t.
For a while I was convinced I would never make her laugh. Then, in 2005, I succeeded. I had published a book called Me Funny. In it were dozens of essays deconstructing Indigenous humour, along with 50 so-called “Indian jokes” to break up the various chapters. (For instance, “Why do Native people hate snow? Because it’s white and all over our land.”) She laughed hard and declared, “Wow, that was funny!”
In 2009, my mother passed away at the age of 77. During the funeral, in the tears, family member after family member got up and recounted things she had done and said over the years. To my surprise, I found myself laughing. Suddenly I remembered a moment from the early ‘90s, when my mother asked me, completely serious, what “owie” meant in French. I struggled to come up with an answer until I spelled it out in my mind: oui (“yes” in English).
More and more stories about her surfaced. We laughed as we remembered her. I couldn’t see my mother’s forest for my own trees. I wish I could have shared those laughs with her while she was alive, but I’m glad I finally made the connection.
1. What prevented the author and his mother from understanding each other’s humour?| A．Language barriers. |
| B．The author’s unique job. |
| C．Mom’s critical personality. |
| D．Views of Indigenous people. |
| A．He tried to fit in his Indigenous family. |
| B．He recalled amusing moments about mom. |
| C．He wanted to hide his sadness over mother’s death. |
| D．He intended his laugh to make mother rest in peace. |
| A．The author learned from mother a very important life lesson. |
| B．The author failed to relate to his mother from her perspective. |
| C．The author finally understood mother’s sense of humour better. |
| D．The author didn’t write enough humorous books to make mother laugh. |
| A．Am I funny? | B．Why isn’t Mom laughing? |
| C．What’s so funny? | D．Does laughter have an accent? |
