| 完形填空。 | ||||
| Born in America, I spoke English, not Chinese, the language of my ancestors. When I was three, my parents flashed cards with Chinese 1 at my face, but I pushed them 2 . My mom believed I would learn 3 I was ready. But the 4 never came. On a Chinese New Year's Eve, my uncle spoke to me in Chinese, but all I could do was 5 at him, confused, scratching my head. "Still can't speak Chinese?" He 6 me, "You can't even buy a fish in Chinatown." "Hey, this is America, not China. I'll get some 7 with or without Chinese." I replied and turned to my mom for 8 . "Remember to ask for fresh fish, Xin Xian Yu," she said, handing over a $20 bill. I 9 the words, running downstairs into the streets of Chinatown. I found the fish 10 surrounded in a sea of customers. "I'd like to buy some fresh fish," I should to the fishman. But he 11 my English words and turned to serve the next customer. The laugh of the people behind increased 12 their impatience. With every 13 , the breath of the dragons (龙) on my back grew stronger-my blood boiling- 14 me to cry out. "Xian Sheng Yu, please." "Very Xian Sheng," I repeated. The crowd erupted into laughter. My face turned 15 and I ran back home 16 , except for the $20 bill I held tightly in my pocket. Should I laugh or cry? They're Chinese. I should feel right at 17 . Instead, I was the joke, a disgrace (丢脸) to the language. Sometimes, I laugh at my fish 18 , but, in the end, the joke is on 19 . Every laugh is a culture 20 ; every laugh is my heritage (传统) fading away. | ||||
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