| 完形填空。 | ||||
| Teach Me in the way To Go I grew up in a very poor Catholic family. My father used some 1 ways to teach us and rarely spared us from the school of hard lessons. This is the one I 2 most. On the first day of 2nd grade, my father asked me if I could 3 well. "Yes, I can," I said. So he gave me a hand-drawn 4 with street names and directions on how to walk to school. School is 3 miles away, and I had never been off my home street by myself, ever. The 5 he gave me as he sends me the map with my lunch box and jacket said very little, he 6 says, "Everything you need to know is written on the map, read the map and 7 the directions." Okay, by now I was standing in 8 at his request, scared to death, but he kissed me goodbye and sent me out the door. And 9 I went to school, crying, but 10 . I don't know how long it took for me to get there, or how many fearful and anxious 11 I had, but I do remember forever 12 it felt when I came around the last corner, and saw my school. The 13 , the laughter, the joy. I had made it! I jumped 14 and angry as I was with my Dad, I wished I could tell him 15 that I had done it. He wasn't there when I got home and I was 16 when he got home. The next day I waited for him to ask what had happened. He never did. We laughed and talked and our 17 began. Years later I finally got the 18 to ask him why he did that and why he hadn't cared about what had happened. He just looked at me for a few minutes then said, "I didn't have to ask you, I knew. I followed you the whole way in the car, 19 far enough back so you could not see me. I saw you jump up and down at the last street corner. I 20 what you felt." Then I understood and I cried. Thanks. Dad. | ||||
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