I do a lot of management training each year for the Circle K Company. Among the 21 we discuss in our classes is the 22 of quality employees（雇员）

“What has caused you to stay 23 enough to become a manager?" I asked. After a while a new manager took the 24 and said slowly, "it was a baseball glove.”

Cynthia said she used to 25 a Circle K clerk job as an interim (时临的.) one while she looked for something 26 . On her second day behind the counter, she received a (an) 27 from her nine-year-old son, Jessie. He 28 a baseball glove for the little League. She 29 that as a single mother, money was 30 , and her first check would have to go for paying 31.

When Cynthia arrived for work the next morning, Partircia, the store manager asked her to come to her small office and handed her a box. “I overheard you 32 to your son yesterday,” she said, “and I know that it is 33 to explain things to kids. This is a baseball glove for Jessie. I know you have to pay bills 34 you can buy gloves. You know we can’t 35 good people like you as 36 as we would like to; but we do 37 and I want you to know how 38 you are to us.”

The thoughtfulness, empathy (同情) and love of the store manager show vividly that people 39 more how much a( n) 40 cares than how much he pays.

There was a time when I thought my dad didn’t know a thing about being a good father. I couldn’t   31 him ever saying the words “I love you.” It seems to me his only purpose in life was to say “__32_  ” to anywhere I wanted to go and anything I wanted to do, including getting a   33 .  Some parents bought their kids cars when they got their driver’s licenses. Not my dad ---- he said that I’d have to get a job and buy my own.

So that is what I did. I got a job at a very nice restaurant and   34  every penny I could and   35 I had enough to buy my car, I did! The day I brought that car home, my dad was the first one I wanted to   36  to. “Look, dad, a car of my own. If you ever want a ride, I’ll only   37 you five dollars.” I offered with a smile.

“I see,” was all he said.

One day, there was something wrong with my father’s truck. So he needed a   38 to work. . The sun wasn’t even up when we left the house,   39  it was already getting warm out. It was going to be a(n)   40 day. As I dropped my dad off, I   41  him, dressed in his work clothes, getting his   42  from the trunk of my car. Watching his sun-weathered face, and even from a distance I could tell there were   43  lines than I ever remembered being there before. I realized how hard my dad works for the family. My father is a cement finisher. In that instant, it   44 to me that he actually got down on his hands and knees to sweat over hot concrete to make a living for his family. And he did this day in and day out,   45  hot it got. Never, not once, had I heard him   46  about it. To him we were “worth” it. And never once did he “charge” us for it.

When he closed the trunk, his tools set off to the side, he walked over to my window to   47  me five dollars. I rolled down the window and said “Good-bye, dad. Keep your five dollars. It’s my   48. Don’t work too hard. I love you.” His   49 met mine, then glanced away in the direction of his waiting tools, he   50  his throat and said, “Oh, and… me, too.”

There was a time when I thought my dad didn’t know a thing about being a good father. I couldn’t   31 him ever saying the words “I love you.” It seems to me his only purpose in life was to say “__32_  ” to anywhere I wanted to go and anything I wanted to do, including getting a   33 .  Some parents bought their kids cars when they got their driver’s licenses. Not my dad ---- he said that I’d have to get a job and buy my own.

So that is what I did. I got a job at a very nice restaurant and   34  every penny I could and   35 I had enough to buy my car, I did! The day I brought that car home, my dad was the first one I wanted to   36  to. “Look, dad, a car of my own. If you ever want a ride, I’ll only   37 you five dollars.” I offered with a smile.

“I see,” was all he said.

One day, there was something wrong with my father’s truck. So he needed a   38 to work. . The sun wasn’t even up when we left the house,   39  it was already getting warm out. It was going to be a(n)   40 day. As I dropped my dad off, I   41  him, dressed in his work clothes, getting his   42  from the trunk of my car. Watching his sun-weathered face, and even from a distance I could tell there were   43  lines than I ever remembered being there before. I realized how hard my dad works for the family. My father is a cement finisher. In that instant, it   44 to me that he actually got down on his hands and knees to sweat over hot concrete to make a living for his family. And he did this day in and day out,   45  hot it got. Never, not once, had I heard him   46  about it. To him we were “worth” it. And never once did he “charge” us for it.

When he closed the trunk, his tools set off to the side, he walked over to my window to   47  me five dollars. I rolled down the window and said “Good-bye, dad. Keep your five dollars. It’s my   48. Don’t work too hard. I love you.” His   49 met mine, then glanced away in the direction of his waiting tools, he   50  his throat and said, “Oh, and… me, too.”

There was a time when I thought my dad didn’t know a thing about being a good father. I couldn’t   31 him ever saying the words “I love you.” It seems to me his only purpose in life was to say “__32_  ” to anywhere I wanted to go and anything I wanted to do, including getting a   33 .  Some parents bought their kids cars when they got their driver’s licenses. Not my dad ---- he said that I’d have to get a job and buy my own.

So that is what I did. I got a job at a very nice restaurant and   34  every penny I could and   35 I had enough to buy my car, I did! The day I brought that car home, my dad was the first one I wanted to   36  to. “Look, dad, a car of my own. If you ever want a ride, I’ll only   37 you five dollars.” I offered with a smile.

“I see,” was all he said.

One day, there was something wrong with my father’s truck. So he needed a   38 to work. . The sun wasn’t even up when we left the house,   39  it was already getting warm out. It was going to be a(n)   40 day. As I dropped my dad off, I   41  him, dressed in his work clothes, getting his   42  from the trunk of my car. Watching his sun-weathered face, and even from a distance I could tell there were   43  lines than I ever remembered being there before. I realized how hard my dad works for the family. My father is a cement finisher. In that instant, it   44 to me that he actually got down on his hands and knees to sweat over hot concrete to make a living for his family. And he did this day in and day out,   45  hot it got. Never, not once, had I heard him   46  about it. To him we were “worth” it. And never once did he “charge” us for it.

When he closed the trunk, his tools set off to the side, he walked over to my window to   47  me five dollars. I rolled down the window and said “Good-bye, dad. Keep your five dollars. It’s my   48. Don’t work too hard. I love you.” His   49 met mine, then glanced away in the direction of his waiting tools, he   50  his throat and said, “Oh, and… me, too.”

There was a time when I thought my dad didn’t know a thing about being a good father. I couldn’t   31 him ever saying the words “I love you.” It seems to me his only purpose in life was to say “__32_  ” to anywhere I wanted to go and anything I wanted to do, including getting a   33 .  Some parents bought their kids cars when they got their driver’s licenses. Not my dad ---- he said that I’d have to get a job and buy my own.

So that is what I did. I got a job at a very nice restaurant and   34  every penny I could and   35 I had enough to buy my car, I did! The day I brought that car home, my dad was the first one I wanted to   36  to. “Look, dad, a car of my own. If you ever want a ride, I’ll only   37 you five dollars.” I offered with a smile.

“I see,” was all he said.

One day, there was something wrong with my father’s truck. So he needed a   38 to work. . The sun wasn’t even up when we left the house,   39  it was already getting warm out. It was going to be a(n)   40 day. As I dropped my dad off, I   41  him, dressed in his work clothes, getting his   42  from the trunk of my car. Watching his sun-weathered face, and even from a distance I could tell there were   43  lines than I ever remembered being there before. I realized how hard my dad works for the family. My father is a cement finisher. In that instant, it   44 to me that he actually got down on his hands and knees to sweat over hot concrete to make a living for his family. And he did this day in and day out,   45  hot it got. Never, not once, had I heard him   46  about it. To him we were “worth” it. And never once did he “charge” us for it.

When he closed the trunk, his tools set off to the side, he walked over to my window to   47  me five dollars. I rolled down the window and said “Good-bye, dad. Keep your five dollars. It’s my   48. Don’t work too hard. I love you.” His   49 met mine, then glanced away in the direction of his waiting tools, he   50  his throat and said, “Oh, and… me, too.”