It's a typical Snoopy card: cheerful message, bright colors, though a little yellow and faded now. Although I've received fancier, more expensive cards over the years, this is the only one I've 21 . One summer, it spoke volumes to me.
I received it 22 the first June I faced as a widow to raise two teenage daughters alone. In all the emotional confusion of this sudden single 23 , I even had difficulty in the simplest housework: leaky taps, oil changes, even barbecues. Those had always been my husband's 24 . I was embarrassed every time I 25 my thumb with a hammer. My uncertain attempts only 26 the fear inside me: How could I be both a father and mother to my girls? Clearly, I 27 the tools and skills.
That morning, my girls pushed me into the living room to see something. (I prayed it wasn't 28 repair job.) The "something" turned out to be an 29 and several wrapped things on the carpet. My 30 must have been plain as I stared from the colorful packages to my daughters' 31 faces.
"Go ahead! Open them!" they urged. As I 32 the packages, I discovered a small barbecue grill and all the necessary 33 including a green kitchen glove.
"But why?" I asked.
"Happy Father's Day!" they shouted together.
"Moms don't get presents on Father's Day," I said.
"You forgot to open the 34 ," Jane reminded. I pulled it from the envelope. There sat Snoopy, merrily wishing me a Happy Father's Day." Because," the girls said, "you've been a father and mother to us, why shouldn't you be 35 on Father's Day?"
As I fought back tears, I realized they were 36 . I wanted to be a "professional" dad, who had the latest tools. The girls 37 wanted a parent they could count on to be there, day after day, 38 repeatedly the tasks of basic care and love.
The girls are grown now, 39 they still send me Father's Day cards, but none of those cards means as much to me as that first one. Its simple message told me being a great parent didn't require any special 40 at all—just a willing worker.
21.A. saved | B. received | C. bought | D. found |