题型:阅读理解 题类:常考题 难易度:普通
黑龙江省哈尔滨市第九中学2017-2018学年高一上学期英语期末考试试卷
He was 50 years old when I was born, and a "Mr. Mom" long before anyone had a name for it. I didn't know why he was home instead of Mom, but I was young and the only one of my friends who had their dad around. I considered myself very lucky.
Dad did so many things for me during my grade-school years. He asked the school bus driver to pick me up at my house instead of the usual bus stop that was six blocks away. He always had my lunch ready for me when I came home—usually a peanut butter and sandwich that was shaped for the season. My favorite was at Christmas. The sandwiches would be covered with green sugar and cut in the shape of a tree.
As I got a little older and tried to gain my independence, I wanted to move away from those "childish" signs of his love. But he wasn't going to give up. In high school and no longer able to go home for lunch, I began taking my own. Dad would get up a little earlier and make it for me. I never knew what to expect. The outside of the bag might be covered with his way of a mountain scene (it became his trademark or a heart with the word "Dad-n-Angel" in its center. Inside there would be a note with that same heart or an "I love you". Many times he would write a joke or a riddle. He always had some silly saying to make me smile and let me know that he loved me.
I used to hide my lunch so no one would see the bag or read the note, but that didn't last long. One of my friends saw the note one day, grabbed it, and passed it around the lunch room. My face burned. To my astonishment, the next day all my friends were waiting to see the note. From the way they acted, I think they all wished they had someone who showed them that kind of love. I was so proud to have him as my father. Throughout the rest of my high school years, I received those notes, and still have a majority of them.
And still it didn't end. When I left home for college (the last one to leave), I thought the messages would stop. But my friends and I were glad that his action continued.
I began getting letters almost every Friday. The front-desk worker always knew who the letters were from—the return address said, "The Hunk." Many times the envelopes were addressed in crayon and along with the enclosed letters were usually drawings of our cat and dog, stick figures of him and mom and if I had been home the weekend before, of me racing around town with friends and using the house as a pit stop. He also had his mountain scene and the hearten-cased inscription, "Dad-n-Angle".
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