Merril Bingham passed away in February 2016. He was a(n)1to me in many ways. He retired(退休)four years ago. Before his retirement we remained close an talked 2. Among the many things that3me that him was his devotion to family and model of fatherhood.

    Merril was quite an athlete and he developed a love for4which lasted his entire life. As I attended Merril's funeral(葬礼), I was more impressed than ever at the5he played as a father to 8 children, who spoke at the funeral and6stories about their dad. I must 7 that, as I sat there, I wondered8my children would have as many great memories of their dad as Merril's 9_did of him.

    One daughter remembered that the morning she was to 10, her dad was up early in the kitchen. When she came into the kitchen, he said, “Hey, you're getting married today! Take it easy! What do you want for breakfasts?” He then made a 11breakfast and they enjoyed it together, making her 12.

    A son talked about fishing trips and 13as they worked in the yard together. He 14the importance of having the open, communicative relationship that15him to have confidence in his dad. This son also developed a love for golf and talked about loving the time when he could 169 or 18 holes with his dad together.

    The memories of the children were about time17together, not about money, or things that18less. I need to share my faith with my children in a(n)19way. Being overbearing(霸道的)doesn't work, 20being a loving example of a father does.

    There is something graceful about a well-made hurricane lamp, especially the antique ones. Mom had affection for them.

    I can remember 1 through countless flea markets for hurricane lamps, which are 2to keep their light lit through the 3of moments. Mom tried hard to buy the lamps in 4, as her favorite of all the lamps had no mate.

    The spring after Mom's first 5 with cancer, we went to a local craft fair to pass the time, to keep 6. We were still waiting to hear from the doctors on the 7 of her follow-up tests.8 to search something for my mom, I bounded ahead of her and baby brother as they 9 along the tables. I didn't 10 far before something caught my eye. Standing proud on the display table sat a lamp.

    I was excited, as I 11back through the crowd to my mom. "Mom! You have to see something!" I shouted. "12. I think I'm going to get these lamps. What do you think?" She 13so I could see them but I didn't even look at them. "You've got to see what I found first," I 14her through the fair. When she saw the lamp, she picked up the lamp 15, running her fingers over the bowl, over the hurricane glass, and 16 it closely. "See this?" She pointed at a very small mark in the glass. "The one at home has the same mark." She smiled. It was the first time I had seen her 17 smile since the doctors first found the cancer.

    When the lamp 18 in our house, next to its mate, she cried. She went to light the lamps and sit on their glow until she could sleep. Years later, I understood her 19 for those lamps, through the darkest moments of her life. Mom was my hurricane lamp. She was inextinguishable (永不熄灭的)—through the darkest moments. She lit my way without 20. She still does.

    For one hour twice a week, I sat patiently and watched my son have his martial-arts (武术)lessons. I started to see martial-arts1effects on him. What I didn't know was that it would2me, too.

    One evening, I sat3my sons martial-arts lesson. At the moment, martial-arts seemed like such a beautiful art. I thought I might4to do this. Two weeks later, I stepped5into the martial-arts world at the age of thirty-six. I6completely nothing about martial arts. The first class was the hardest, I7that first class feeling silly. I left feeling8and helpless, as if keeping any balance was far out of my9. I was fairly10that I would never go back again,  11having already paid the first months fee.

    However, I 12to the very next class, not because I wanted to, 13 because I wanted to set a good14for my child. I am so glad I did. In the years since those first silly ad nervous  15onto the training ground, I've learned a lot of important 16.I learned that I don't have to be 17in everything, that even though something doesn't come easily. It doesn't mean it isn't worth learning, and that having  18with myself is far more important, and far more difficult, than having patience with19.

    Two months before my fortieth birthday, I20a physical and mental test and came out with a black belt.

    Christmas 1940 makes me misty-eyed every time I think about it. In the hard times, people1one another. We2food, clothing, bedding and household items and gave them to the needy.

    That Christmas we students found ourselves3toys we collected and loading packages for4.As we presented the gifts, we saw5in many faces, especially those of the children. We had a few more6to make on Christmas morning. The air was heavy and frozen to the bone. For several hours, we knocked on doors. But as the cold hours passed, our7gradually faded. When we8headed home, someone9a small house down a canal bank. None of us knew who lived there,10we wondered if there were11.We still had a doll, two trucks, some small toys, chocolate Santas and a box of groceries. We decided to make one last visit. When we knocked on the door, a young woman answered it, looking at us12.Three small children watched from behind her skirt—a little girl of about 2, and boys perhaps 4 and 5 years old. “Merry Christmas,” we13as we bent down and handed the gift-wrapped packages to the children and the box of groceries to the 14, whose eyes widened15.She slowly smiled, then quickly said, “Come in.” The room was16as the children looked at their mother, wondering if the gifts were really for them. The little girl17her doll, and the boys grasped the trucks as they sought a(an)18.She put her arms19them and said in a20voice, “I told you Santa Claus would come.”

    When my sister Diane began playing the violin, she was seven. How did she sound? Terrible. But she didn't 1. At twelve, she asked our parents if she could 2 a full-time music school. They said no. Actually, everyone agreed that my sister 3 talent.

    I was better at my 4. My teacher had told my parents that I had great 5. So my parents found the best piano teacher in the area to 6  me. But the only time he was 7 was Saturday afternoons at 3 pm. Back then, I was 8 by the British TV show "The Avengers", which was 9 every Saturday at 3 pm. I let nothing take up my "The Avengers" hour. So I 10 this amazing opportunity. Today, I don't even have a 11 in my house.

    My sister became an engineer, but she 12 stopped making music. When she was in her 40s, she changed her 13. She went back to college, got a(n) 14 in music education, and became a music teacher. She starts kids out on their first instrument and gives them all the encouragement and support she never 15.

    Recently, she and a pianist pal put on a recital. A big crowd of friends and family 16 for her. As she played, I looked around at the 17. Everyone was 18 enjoying the music. It occurred to me that I was the only person who remembered that 7-year-old kid making those perfectly 19 sounds and knew how far she had come, despite 20.

    Talent is important. But enthusiasm is even more important.

    I didn't grow up in a very loving family. In fact, there are few,1, happy memories I have of my childhood2my family members. My3moments were those spent with the few friends I was4to have. My family eventually alienated (排斥) all the neighbors.5, I didn't even have kids to play with and became quite serious just to hide my pain.

    There was another family in town that seemed6to mine. They had a lot of children too. I always wondered what it would be like7my family were more like them. They never knew it, but I watched them and8them. They were kind, genuine and close.

    9later I found myself back in the very same place, in that same small town I had10. This time I was in that town for my mother's funeral. My family gave each other the cold11, as always. I felt upset that neither time nor circumstances could make them act with12toward each other. As I approached the church for the funeral, memories came13back to me. I remembered the warm, kind smiles of that family.

    After the funeral service a meal was provided. When looking for seats with my husband. I heard a14voice I hadn't heard in decades call my name. I15and the father of that family I had admired was there. He was a church volunteer for my mother's funeral lunch. We chatted for a bit. I16my happy child a few meters away to him and it was at that point that I realized I was raising my boy in a way I had seen him bring17his own children so long ago. He wasn't18of it, but my son's life has been greatly19by him.

    So, live your life with love and kindness. You never know who's watching, who you will20and whose life you'll change.