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工程师评审高三英语The Circus 父亲之间的默契

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2021-01-12 00:41
tags:默契英文

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2021年1月12日发(作者:卫凫溪)
The Circus 父亲之间的默契
Once, when I was a teenager, my father and I were standing in line to buy tickets for
the circus. Finally, there was only one family between us and the ticket counter.
This family made a big impression on me. There were eight children, all probably under
the age of 12. You could tell they didn't have a lot of money.
Their clothes were not expensive, but they were clean. The children were well- behaved, all of
them standing in line, two-by- two behind their parents, holding hands. They were excitedly
jabbering about the clowns, elephants, and other acts they would see that night.
One could sense they had never been to the circus before. It promised to be a highlight
of their young lives. The father and mother were at the head of the pack, standing proud as
could be.
The mother was holding her husband's hand, looking up at him as if to say,
knight in shining armor.
He was smiling and basking in pride, looking back at her as if to reply,
right.
The ticket lady asked the father how many tickets he wanted. He proudly responded,

the circus.
The ticket lady quoted the price. The man's wife let go of his hand, her head dropped,
and his lip began to quiver. The father leaned a little closer and asked,
say?
The ticket lady again quoted the price. The man didn't have enough money.
How was he supposed to turn and tell his eight kids that he didn‘t have enough money to
take them to the circus? Seeing what was going on, my dad put his hand in his pocket,
pulled out a $$20 bill and dropped it on the ground. (We were not wealthy in any sense of
the word!)
My father reached down, picked up the bill, tapped the man on the shoulder and said,

The man knew what was going on. He wasn't begging for a handout but certainly
appreciated the help in a desperate, heartbreaking, embarrassing situation. He looked
straight into my dad's eyes, took my dad's hand in both of his, squeezed tightly onto the $$20
bill, and with his lip quivering and a tear running down his cheek, he replied,
thank you, sir. This really means a lot to me and my family.
My father and I went back to our car and drove home. We didn't go to the circus that
night, but we didn't go without.
装满吻的空盒子
Once upon a time, a man punished his 5-year-old daughter for using up the family's
only roll of expensive gold wrapping paper. Money was tight, and he became even more
upset when on Christmas Eve, he saw that the child had pasted the gold paper so as to
decorate a shoebox to put under the Christmas tree.
Nevertheless, the next morning the little girl, filled with excitement, brought the gift
box to her father and said,
As he opened the box, the father was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction.
But when he opened it, he found it was empty and again his anger flared.
young lady,
something inside the package!
The little girl looked up at him with tears rolling from her eyes and said:
not empty. I blew kisses into it until it was all full.
The father was crushed. He fell on his knees and put his arms around his precious
little girl. He begged her to forgive him for his unnecessary anger.
An accident took the life of the child only a short time later. It is told that the father
kept that little gold box by his bed for all the years of his life. Whenever he was discouraged
or faced difficult problems he would open the box, take out an imaginary kiss, and remember
the love of this beautiful child who had put it there.
In a very real sense, each of us as human beings have been given an invisible golden
box filled with unconditional love and kisses from our children, family, friends and God.
There is no more precious possession anyone could hold.
A Pair of Socks一双袜子
One fine afternoon I was walking along Fifth Avenue, when I remembered that it
was necessary to buy a pair of socks. I turned into the first sock shop that caught my eye,
and a boy clerk who could not have been more than seventeen years old came forward.

note of passion in his voice.
world to buy socks?

began to haul down from the shelves box after box, displaying their contents for my
delectation.

you to see how marvelously beautiful these are. Aren't they wonderful?
face an expression of solemn and holy rapture, as if he were revealing to me the mysteries of
his religion. I became far more interested in him than in the socks. I looked at him in
amazement.
that comes from novelty, from having a new job, if you can keep up this zeal and excitement
day after day, in ten years you will own every sock in the United States.
My amazement at his pride and joy in salesmanship will be easily understood by all
who read this article. In many shops the customer has to wait for someone to wait upon him.
And when finally some clerk does deign to notice you, you are made to feel as if you were
interrupting him. Either he is absorbed in profound thought in which he hates to be
disturbed or he is skylarking with a girl clerk and you feel like apologizing for thrusting
yourself into such intimacy.
He displays no interest either in you or in the goods he is paid to sell. Yet possibly that
very clerk who is now so apathetic began his career with hope and enthusiasm. The daily
grind was too much for him; the novelty wore off; his only pleasures were found outside of
working hours. He became a mechanical, not inspired, salesman. After being mechanical, he
became incompetent; then he saw younger clerks who had more zest in their work, promoted
over him. He became sour. That was the last stage. His usefulness was over.
I have observed this melancholy decline in the lives of so many men in so many
occupations that I have come to the conclusion that the surest road to failure is to do things
mechanically. There are many teachers in schools and colleges who seem duller than the
dullest of their pupils; they go through the motions of teaching, but they are as impersonal
as a telephone.
The Baby Eagle 小鹰的故事
Once upon a time there was a baby eagle living in a nest perched on a cliff overlooking
a beautiful valley with waterfalls and streams, trees and lots of little animals, scurrying
about enjoying their lives.
The baby eagle liked the nest. It was the only world he had ever known. It was warm
and comfortable, had a great view, and even better, he had all the food and love and
attention that a great mother eagle could provide. Many times each day the mother would
swoop down from the sky and land in the nest and feed the baby eagle delicious morsels of
food. She was like a god to him, he had no idea where she came from or how she worked her
magic.
The baby eagle was hungry all the time, but the mother eagle would always come just
in time with the food and love and attention he craved. The baby eagle grew strong. His
vision grew very sharp. He felt good all the time.
Until one day, the mother stopped coming to the nest.
The baby eagle was hungry.

But there was no one there to hear him.
Then one day the mother eagle appeared at the top of the mountain cliff, with a big
bowl of delicious food and she looked down at her baby. The baby looked up at the mother
and cried
How could you do this to me?
The mother said,
come get it.

The mother flew away.
The baby cried and cried and cried.
A few days later,
He didn't know his mother was nearby. She swooped down to the nest with his last
meal.

The baby cried, but he ate and whined and whined about what a bad mother she was.

He fell.
Head first.
Picked up speed.
Faster and faster.
He screamed.
He looked up at his mother.
He looked down.
The ground rushed closer, faster and faster. He could visualize his own death so
clearly, coming so soon, and cried and whined and complained.
Something strange happens.
The air caught behind his arms and they snapped away from his body, with a feeling
unlike anything he had ever experienced. He looked down and saw the sky.
He wasn't moving towards the ground anymore, his eyes were pointed up at the sun.




A Plate of Peas 一盘豌豆
My grandfather died when I was a small boy, and my grandmother started staying
with us for about six months every year. She lived in a room that doubled as my father's
office, which we referred to as
don‘t know what kind of perfume she used, but it was the double-barreled, ninety-proof,
knockdown, render-the-victim-unconscious, moose-killing variety. She kept it in a huge
atomizer and applied it frequently and liberally. It was almost impossible to go into her
room and remain breathing for any length of time. When she would leave the house to go
spend six months with my Aunt Lillian, my mother and sisters would throw open all the
windows, strip the bed, and take out the curtains and rugs. Then they would spend several
days washing and airing things out, trying frantically to make the pungent odor go away.
This, then, was my grandmother at the time of the infamous pea incident.
It took place at the Biltmore Hotel, which, to my eight- year-old mind, was just about the
fancies place to eat in all of Providence. My grandmother, my mother, and I were having
lunch after a morning spent shopping. I grandly ordered a salisbury steak, confident in the
knowledge that beneath that fancy name was a good old hamburger with gravy. When
brought to the table, it was accompanied by a plate of peas. I do not like peas now. I did
not like peas then. I have always hated peas. It is a complete mystery to me why anyone
would voluntarily eat peas. I did not eat them at home. I did not eat them at restaurants.
And I certainly was not about to eat them now.

alone.
My grandmother did not reply, but there was a glint in her eye and a grim set to her
jaw that signaled she was not going to be thwarted. She leaned in my direction, looked me
in the eye, and uttered the fateful words that changed my life:
you eat those peas.
I had absolutely no idea of the impending doom. I only knew that five dollars was an
enormous, nearly unimaginable amount of money, and as awful as peas were, only one plate
of them stood between me and the possession of that five dollars. I began to force the
wretched things down my throat.
My mother was livid. My grandmother had that self-satisfied look of someone who
has thrown down an unbeatable trump card.
stop me.
mother. If there were a glaring Olympics, she would undoubtedly win the gold medal.
I, of course, kept shoving peas down my throat. The glares made me nervous, and
every single pea made me want to throw up, but the magical image of that five dollars
floated before me, and I finally gagged down every last one of them. My grandmother
handed me the five dollars with a flourish. My mother continued to glare in silence. And the
episode ended. Or so I thought.
My grandmother left for Aunt Lillian's a few weeks later. That night, at dinner, my
mother served two of my all-time favorite foods, meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Along with
them came a big, steaming bowl of peas. She offered me some peas, and I, in the very last
moments of my innocent youth, declined. My mother fixed me with a cold eye as she heaped
a huge pile of peas onto my plate. Then came the words that were to haunt me for years.

Oh, despair! Oh, devastation! Now, too late, came the dawning realization that I had
unwittingly damned myself to a hell from which there was no escape.

What possible argument could I muster against that? There was none. Did I eat the
peas? You bet I did. I ate them that day and every other time they were served thereafter.
The five dollars were quickly spent. My grandmother passed away a few years later. But
the legacy of the peas lived on, as it lives on to this day. If I so much as curl my lip when
they are served (because, after all, I still hate the horrid little things), my mother repeats the
dreaded words one more time:
love.
发生在圣诞节的一个感人故事
For many of us, one Christmas stands out from all the others, the one when the
meaning of the day shone clearest. My own
in the bleakest year of my life.
Recently divorced, I was in my 20s, had no job and was on my way downtown to go
the rounds of the employment offices. I had no umbrella, for my old one had fallen apart,
and I could not afford another one.
I sat down in the streetcar--and there against the seat was a beautiful silk umbrella
with a silver handle inlaid with gold and necks of bright enamel. I had never seen anything
so lovely.
I examined the handle and saw a name engraved among the golden scrolls. The usual
procedure would have been to turn in the umbrella to the conductor, but on impulse I
decided to take it with me and find the owner myself.
I got off the streetcar in a downpour and thankfully opened the umbrella to protect
myself. Then I searched a telephone book for the name on the umbrella and found it. I called
and a lady answered.
Yes, she said in surprise, that was her umbrella, which her parents, now dead, had
given her for a birthday present. But, she added, it had been stolen from her locker at school
(she was a teacher) more than a year before.
She was so excited that I forgot I was looking for a job and went directly to her small
house. She took the umbrella, and her eyes filled with tears.
The teacher wanted to give me a reward, but--though twenty dollars was all I had in
the world--her happiness at retrieving this special possession was such that to have accepted
money would have spoiled something. We talked for a while, and I must have given her my
address. I don't remember.
The next six months were wretched. I was able to obtain only temporary employment
here and there, for a small salary. But I put aside twenty-five or fifty cents when I could
afford it for my lithe girl's Christmas presents.
My last job ended the day before Christmas, my thirty-dollar rent was soon due, and 1
had fifteen dollars to my name--which Peggy and I would need for food.
She was home from convent boarding school and was excitedly looking forward to her
gifs next day, which I had already Purchased. I had bough her a small tree, and we were
going to decorate it that night.
The air was full of the sound of Christmas merriment as I walked from the streetcar to
my small apartment. Bells rang and children shouted in the bitter dusk of the evening, and
windows were lighted and everyone was running andlaughing. But there should be no
Christmas for me, I knew, no gifts, no remembrance whatsoever.
As l struggled through the snowdrifts, l had just about reached the lowest Point in my
life. Unless a miracle happened, I would be homeless in January, foodless, jobless. I had
prayed steadily for weeks, and there had been no answer but this coldness and darkness,
this harsh air, this abandonment.
God and men had completely forgotten me. I felt so helpless and so lonely. What was
to become of us?
I looked in my mail box. There were only bills in it, a sheaf of them, and two white
envelopes which I was sure contained more bills. I went up three dusty flights of stairs and
I cried, shivering in my thin coat.
But I made myself smile so I could greet my little daughter with a Pretense of
happiness. She opened the door for me and threw herself in my arms, screaming joyously and
demanding that we decorate the tree immediately.
Peggy had proudly set our kitchen table for our evening meal and put pans out and
three cans of food which would be our dinner. For some reason, when I looked at those pans
and cans, I felt brokenhearted. We would have only hamburgers for our Christmas dinner
tomorrow.
I stood in the cold little kitchen, misery overwhelmed me. For the first time in my life,
I doubted the existence and his mercy, and the coldness in my heart was colder than ice.
The doorbell rang and Peggy ran fleetly to answer it, calling that it must be Santa
Claus. Then I heard a man talking heartily to her and went to the door. He was a delivery
man, and his arms were full of parcels.
the parcels and there were for me.
When he had gone I could only stare at the boxes. Peggy and I sat on the floor and
opened them. A huge doll, three times the size of the one I had bought for her.
Gloves. Candy. A beautiful leather purse. Incredible! I looked for the name of the
sender. It was the teacher, the address was simply
Our dinner the nigh was the most delicious I had ever eaten. I forgot I had no money
for the rent and only fifteen dollars in my purse and no job. My child and I ate and laughed
together in happiness.
Then we decorated the little tree and marveled at it. I put Peggy to bed and set up her
gifts around the tree and a sweet peace flooded me like a benediction. I had some hope again.
I could even examine the sheaf of bills without cringing.
One Finger 一个手指

oldest son Mark as he lumbered up the stairs followed by his wife, Kim, and fifteen-
month-old Hannah.
Visiting for the Thanksgiving holiday, he finished unloading the luggage and took it
to the guestroom downstairs. After driving all day from Salt Lake to Ft. Collins, his temper
showed.
he insisted.
When my three granddaughters were born four months apart and the twins moved
into our house at eight months, my close friend offered me her secret to entertaining
grandchildren with few mishaps.
All of her five grandchildren learned it at a young age. The success of the method
surprised me.
I picked up my granddaughter and said,
and walked all around the great room.

finger.
African sculpture on the mantle. Hannah followed my example.
else would you like to touch?
She stretched her finger toward another object on the mantle. I allowed her to touch
everything in sight, plants, glass objects, TV, VCR, lamps, speakers, candles and artificial
flowers. If she started to grab, I gently reminded her to use one finger. She always obeyed.
But, Hannah, an only child, possessed a more adventur ous personality. Her father
predicted it would prevent her from accepting the
During their four-day stay, we aided Hannah in remembering
learned quickly. I only put away the things that might prove to be a danger to a child.
Otherwise, we watched her closely and nothing appeared to suffer any damage. Besides,

A few fingerprints on glass doors, windows and tables remained after Hannah and
her family returned home. I couldn't bring myself to clean them for days. Each one reminded
me of some wonderful experience with Hannah.
Months later, my husband and I drove to Salt Lake; I watched Mark and Kim
continue to practice the one finger rule. But I refrained from saying,
smiled inwardly each time they prodded Hannah to touch with
salesman, always gave a packet of gifts to his potential clients. The night before we
returned home, Mark sat on the floor stuffing gifts into their packets. Hannah helped.
Then she picked up one gift, held it in her hand as if it were a fragile bird, and walked
toward me. At my knee, her beautiful blue eyes looked into mine. She stretched her prize to
me and said,

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