题目内容
on Saturdays he would ask me to go with him. Driving through the countryside was always an adventure:
There were animals to see, people to visit, and chocolate cookies if you knew where to stop, and Dad
did.
In the spring, Dad delivered boxes full of baby chickens, and when 1 was a boy it was such a fun to
stick y our finger 'through one of the holes of the boxes and let the baby birds peck on your fingers.
On Dad' s final day of work, it took him well into the evening to complete his rounds because at least
one member from each family was waiting at their mailbox to thank him for his friendship and his years
of service. "Two hundred and nineteen mailboxes on my route." he used to say, "and a story at every
one. " One lady had no mailbox, so Dad took the mail in to her every day because she was nearly blind.
Once inside, he read her mail and helped her pay her bills.
Mailboxes were sometimes used for things other than mail. One note left in a mailbox read. "Nat, take
these eggs to Marian; she's baking a cake and doesn't have any eggs. " Mailboxes might be buried in the
snow, or broken, or lying on the groom:. bat the mail was always delivered On cold days Dad might find
one of his customers waiting for him with a cup of hot chocolate. A young wrote letters but had no
stamps, so she left a few button on the envelope in the mailbox; Dad paid for the stamps. One
businessman used to leave large amounts of cash in his mailbox for Dad to take to the bank. Once, the
amount came to 8 32,000.
A dozen years ago, when I traveled back to my hometown on the sad occasion of Dad's death, the
mailboxes along the way reminded me of some of his stories. I thought I knew them all, but that wasn't
the case.
As I drove home, I noticed two lamp poles, one on each side of the street. When my dad was
around, those poles supported wooden boxes about four feet off the ground. One box was painted green
and the other was red, and each had a long narrow hole at the top with white lettering: SANTA CLAUS, NORTH POLE. For years children had dropped letters to Santa through those holes.
I made a turn at the comer and drove past the post office and across the railroad tracks to our house. Mom and I were sitting at the kitchen table when I heard footsteps. There, at the door, stood Frank
Townsend, Dad's postmaster and great friend for many years. So we all sat down at the table and began
to tell stories.
At one point Frank looked at me with tears in his eyes. " What are we going to do about the letters
this Christmas?" he asked.
"The letters?"
'I guess you never knew. "
"Knew what?"
" Remember, when you were a kid and you used to put your letters to Santa in those green and red
boxes on Main Street? It was your dad who answered all those letters every year. "
I just sat there with tears in my eyes. It wasn't hard for me to imagine Dad sitting at the old table in
our basement reading those letters and answering each one. I have since spoken with several of the
people who received Christmas letters during their childhood, and they told me how amazed they were
that Santa had known so much about their homes and families.
For me, just knowing that story about my father was the gift of a lifetime.
B.happy occasions to play with baby chickens
C.exciting experience* with a lot of fun
D. good opportunities to enjoy chocolate cookies
B. Dad was an honest and reliable man
C. Dad had a strong sense of honor
D. Dad was a kind and generous man
B. Dad paid for the stamps for a young girl.
C. Dad delivered some eggs to Marian.
D. Dad answered children's Christmas letters every year.
B. providing explanations
C. giving examples
D. making comparisons
B. Santa Claus answered all their letters every year.
C. Santa Claus had unique mailboxes for the children.
D. Santa Claus had so much information about their families.
B. Christmas Letters
C Special Mailboxes
D. Memorable Travels
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