It's not easy to be an astronaut's son. Everybody expects you to be special or perfect. I often wonder how my father ever had a son like me. I mean he's so special and so good at everything he does. Even in middle school he was class president and captain of the football team.
    Well, to be honest, I often dream about being some kind of hero or doing something special—like saving a child from a burning building or discovering a new star. I was daydreaming at school one morning when my teacher said there would be a Father's Day writing competition for the whole school. “I hope we have a winner right here in my class.”
    When I got home, I started to think about what to write. My father is an astronaut. No, I wouldn't start like that．That was the way others saw him. How did I see my father? Hmm.
    I saw him sitting with me in the dark when I had a terrible dream. I remembered how he hugged me for hours when my dog Spotty was killed by a car. Yes, these were the things I was going to write. To me, he wasn't just a world—famous astronaut．He was my dad.
    My parents and I went to school on Thursday night. There were so many people in the big hall! My dad looked at me, and I shrugged(耸肩).
    The third prize was announced and it was not me. I was relieved(释然) and disappointed at the same time. The second prize was announced. It was me.
    I went up to the stage and read what I had written,“My father's son”. When I finished, the people stood up and cheered. I saw my father blowing his nose. Tears were running down my mother's face. Dad cleared his throat and put his hand on my shoulder. "Son, this is the proudest moment of my life."
    It was the proudest moment of my life, too. Maybe I'll never be a great hero or win a Nobel Prize, but it was enough just to be my father's son.

My name is Jack. I am a pupil of Grade One. I'm in No.1 Middle School. On weekdays I get up at six o'clock. I have breakfast at seven and then I go to school by bike. We begin our class at eight o'clock in the morning. We have four classes in the morning and three in the afternoon.

      At noon, I have lunch at home. Classes are over at four fifteen in the afternoon. After class, we often play football in the afternoon. I go home at about five. I have supper at about six thirty in the evening. I do my homework at seven thirty. At weekends, I watch TV. I often go to bed at ten. I'm very happy.

    I arrived at my mother's home for our Monday family dinner. The smells of food flew over from the kitchen. Mother was pulling out quilt(被子) after quilt from the boxes, proudly showing me their beauties. She was preparing for a quilt show at the Elmhurst Church. When we began to fold and put them back into the boxes, I noticed something at the bottom of one box. I pulled it out. "What is this?" I asked.

"Oh?" Morn said, "That's Mama's quilt."

    I spread the quilt. It looked as if a group of school children had pieced it together; irregular designs, childish pictures, a crooked line on the right.

    "Grandmother made this?" I said, surprised. My grandmother was a master at making quilts. This certainly didn't look like any of the quilts she had made.

    "Yes, right before she died. I brought it home with me last year and made some changes," she said. "I'm still working on it. See, this is what I've done so far. "

    I looked at it more closely. She had made straight a crooked line. At the center of the quilt, she had stitched(缝) a piece of cloth with these words: "My mother made many quilts. She didn't get all lines straight. But I think this is beautiful. I want to see it finished. Her last quilt. "

    "Oh, this is so nice, Mom," I said. It occurred to me(突然想起) that by completing my grandmother's quilt, my mother was honoring her own mother. I realized, too, that I held in my hands a family treasure. It started with the loving hands of one woman, and continued with the loving hands of another.