摘要： It that helped the old man in the street the other day. A. is we B. are us C. was we D. were us
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阅读理解
As a young boy, I sometimes traveled the country roads with my dad. He was a rural mill carrier, and
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.
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.
1. It can be inferred from the passage that the writer regarded his travels with Dad us_____.
A.great chances to help other people
B.happy occasions to play with baby chickens
C.exciting experience* with a lot of fun
D. good opportunities to enjoy chocolate cookies
B.happy occasions to play with baby chickens
C.exciting experience* with a lot of fun
D. good opportunities to enjoy chocolate cookies
2. The writer provides the detail about the businessman to show that_____.
A. Dad had a strong sense of duty
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 was an honest and reliable man
C. Dad had a strong sense of honor
D. Dad was a kind and generous man
3. According to the passage, which of the following impressed the writer most?
A. Dad read letters for a blind lady for years.
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. 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.
4.The method the writer uses to develop Paragraph 4 is______.
A. offering analyses
B. providing explanations
C. giving examples
D. making comparisons
B. providing explanations
C. giving examples
D. making comparisons
5.What surprised the children most when they received letters in reply from Santa Claus every year?
A. Santa Claus lived alone in the cold North Pole.
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. 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.
6. Which of the following is the best title for the passage?
A. The Mail
B. Christmas Letters
C Special Mailboxes
D. Memorable Travels
查看习题详情和答案>>
B. Christmas Letters
C Special Mailboxes
D. Memorable Travels
As a young boy, I sometimes traveled the country roads with my dad. He was a rural mill carrier, and 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 your 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.
【小题1】It can be inferred from the passage that the writer regarded his travels with Dad us_____.
| A．great chances to help other people |
| B．happy occasions to play with baby chickens |
| C．exciting experience* with a lot of fun |
| D．good opportunities to enjoy chocolate cookies |
| A．Dad had a strong sense of duty |
| B．Dad was an honest and reliable man |
| C．Dad had a strong sense of honor |
| D．Dad was a kind and generous man |
| A．Dad read letters for a blind lady for years. |
| 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. |
| A．offering analyses | B．providing explanations |
| C．giving examples | D．making comparisons |
| A．Santa Claus lived alone in the cold North Pole. |
| 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. |
| A．The Mail | B．Christmas Letters |
| C．Special Mailboxes | D．Memorable Travels |
阅读理解。
Parents divorced, little Buddy was in the care of his mother's large Alabama family. Over the years,
Buddy seldom saw either of his parents. But he was happy where he was and he had many kindly
relatives, among whom Miss Sook was by far his best friend. Before Christmas, Buddy's father had
managed to get legal custody(法定监护) of him for this Christmas. So, he had a new suit, with a card
pinned with his name and address and made the trip alone, by bus, to New Orleans.
Several things occurred that kept me awake the whole night. First, the footfalls, the noise of my father
running up and down the stairs, breathing heavily, I had to see what he was up to. So I hid and watched.
There was a Christmas tree and the fireplace downstairs. Moreover, I could see my father. He was
crawling around under the tree arranging a pyramid of packages. I felt dizzy, for what I saw forced me to
reconsider everything. If these were presents intended for me, then obviously they had not been ordered
by the Lord and delivered by Santa Claus; no, they were gifts bought and wrapped by my father,which
meant that my rotten little cousin Billy Bob and other rotten kids like him weren't lying when they laughed
at me and told me there was no Santa Claus. The worst thought was: Had Sook known the truth, and lied
to me? No, Sook would never lie to me. She believed. It was just that-well, though she was
sixty-something, in some ways she was at least as much of a child as I was.
I waited until I was sure he was in bed and sound asleep. Then I crept downstairs and examined the
tags attached to each of the packages. They all said: "For Buddy." I decided to open the packages: It
was Christmas morning. I was awake, so why not? I won't bother to describe what was inside them: just
shirts and sweaters and dull stuff like that. The only thing I appreciated was a toy gun. Somehow I got the
idea it would be fun to waken my father by firing it. So I did. Bang. Bang. Bang. He raced out of his room, wild-eyed, Bang. Bang. Bang. "Buddy-what the hell do you think you're doing?" Bang. Bang. Bang. "Stop that!" I laughed. "Look, Daddy. Look at all wonderful things Santa Claus brought me."
Calm now, he walked into the room and hugged me. "You like what Santa Claus brought you?"
I smiled at him. He smiled at me. There was a tender lingering (逗留不去的) moment, damaged when I said: "Yes. But what are you going to give me, Daddy?" His smile evaporated. His eyes narrowed
suspiciously-you could see that he thought I was pulling some kind of trick. But then he blushed, as though he was ashamed to be thinking what he was thinking. He patted my head, and coughed and said: "Well, I
thought I'd wait and let you pick out something you wanted. Is there anything particular you want?"
I reminded him of the airplane we had seen in the toy store on Canal Street. His face sagged. Oh, yes, he
remembered the airplane and how expensive it was. Nevertheless, the next day I was sitting in that
airplane dreaming I was zooming toward heaven while my father wrote out a check for a happy salesman, who promised to help ship the plane on the bus.
But I wasn't free of New Orleans yet. The problem was a large bottle of wine; maybe it was because of
my departure, but anyway my father had been drinking it all day, and on the way to the bus station, he
scared me by grabbing my wrist and harshly whispering: "I'm not going to let you go. I can't let you go back to that crazy family in that crazy old house. Just look at what they've done to you. A boy six, almost
seven, talking about Santa Claus! It's all their fault, all those sour old spinsters with their Bibles and their
knitting needles, those drunken uncles. Listen to me, Buddy. There is no God! There is no Santa Claus.
" He was squeezing my wrist so hard that it ached. "Kiss me. Please. Please. Kiss me. Tell your daddy
that you love him." But I couldn't speak. I was terrified I was going to miss my bus. And I was worried
about my plane, which was strapped to the top of the taxi. "Say it: 'I love you.' Say it. Please. Buddy. Say
it."
It was lucky for me that our taxi-driver was a good-hearted man. Because if it hadn't been for his help, and the help of some efficient porters and a friendly policeman, I don't know what would have happened
when we reached the station. My father was so drunk he could hardly walk, but the policeman talked to
him, quieted him down, helped him to stand straight, and the taxi-man promised to take him safely home.
But my father would not leave until he had seen the porters put me on the bus.
Once I was on the bus, I crouched in a seat and shut my eyes. I felt the strangest pain. A crushing pain
that hurt everywhere. I thought if I took off my heavy city shoes, those crucifying monsters, the agony
would ease. I took them off, but the mysterious pain did not leave me. In a way it never has; never will.
Twelve hours later I was home in bed. The room was dark. Sook was sitting beside me, rocking in a
rocking chair, a sound as soothing (令人舒畅的) as ocean waves. I had tried to tell her everything that
had happened, and only stopped when I was hoarse (嘶哑的) as a howling dog. She stroked her fingers
through my hair, and said: "Of course there is a Santa Clause. It's just that no single somebody could do
all he has to do. So the Lord has spread the task among us all. That's why everybody is Santa Claus. I am. You are. Even you cousin Billy Bob. Now go to sleep. Count stars. Think of the quietest thing. Like snow. I'm sorry you didn't get to see any. But now snow is falling through the stars-" Stars sparkled, snow whirled inside my head; the last thing I remembered was the peaceful voice of the Lord telling me something I
must do. And the next day I did it. I went with Sook to the post office and bought a penny postcard. That same postcard exists today. It was found in my father's safety deposit box when he died last year. Here is what I had written him: Hello pop hope you are well I am and I am turning to pedal my plane so fast I will
soon be in the sky so keep your eyes open and yes I love you Buddy.
Buddy seldom saw either of his parents. But he was happy where he was and he had many kindly
relatives, among whom Miss Sook was by far his best friend. Before Christmas, Buddy's father had
managed to get legal custody(法定监护) of him for this Christmas. So, he had a new suit, with a card
pinned with his name and address and made the trip alone, by bus, to New Orleans.
Several things occurred that kept me awake the whole night. First, the footfalls, the noise of my father
running up and down the stairs, breathing heavily, I had to see what he was up to. So I hid and watched.
There was a Christmas tree and the fireplace downstairs. Moreover, I could see my father. He was
crawling around under the tree arranging a pyramid of packages. I felt dizzy, for what I saw forced me to
reconsider everything. If these were presents intended for me, then obviously they had not been ordered
by the Lord and delivered by Santa Claus; no, they were gifts bought and wrapped by my father,which
meant that my rotten little cousin Billy Bob and other rotten kids like him weren't lying when they laughed
at me and told me there was no Santa Claus. The worst thought was: Had Sook known the truth, and lied
to me? No, Sook would never lie to me. She believed. It was just that-well, though she was
sixty-something, in some ways she was at least as much of a child as I was.
I waited until I was sure he was in bed and sound asleep. Then I crept downstairs and examined the
tags attached to each of the packages. They all said: "For Buddy." I decided to open the packages: It
was Christmas morning. I was awake, so why not? I won't bother to describe what was inside them: just
shirts and sweaters and dull stuff like that. The only thing I appreciated was a toy gun. Somehow I got the
idea it would be fun to waken my father by firing it. So I did. Bang. Bang. Bang. He raced out of his room, wild-eyed, Bang. Bang. Bang. "Buddy-what the hell do you think you're doing?" Bang. Bang. Bang. "Stop that!" I laughed. "Look, Daddy. Look at all wonderful things Santa Claus brought me."
Calm now, he walked into the room and hugged me. "You like what Santa Claus brought you?"
I smiled at him. He smiled at me. There was a tender lingering (逗留不去的) moment, damaged when I said: "Yes. But what are you going to give me, Daddy?" His smile evaporated. His eyes narrowed
suspiciously-you could see that he thought I was pulling some kind of trick. But then he blushed, as though he was ashamed to be thinking what he was thinking. He patted my head, and coughed and said: "Well, I
thought I'd wait and let you pick out something you wanted. Is there anything particular you want?"
I reminded him of the airplane we had seen in the toy store on Canal Street. His face sagged. Oh, yes, he
remembered the airplane and how expensive it was. Nevertheless, the next day I was sitting in that
airplane dreaming I was zooming toward heaven while my father wrote out a check for a happy salesman, who promised to help ship the plane on the bus.
But I wasn't free of New Orleans yet. The problem was a large bottle of wine; maybe it was because of
my departure, but anyway my father had been drinking it all day, and on the way to the bus station, he
scared me by grabbing my wrist and harshly whispering: "I'm not going to let you go. I can't let you go back to that crazy family in that crazy old house. Just look at what they've done to you. A boy six, almost
seven, talking about Santa Claus! It's all their fault, all those sour old spinsters with their Bibles and their
knitting needles, those drunken uncles. Listen to me, Buddy. There is no God! There is no Santa Claus.
" He was squeezing my wrist so hard that it ached. "Kiss me. Please. Please. Kiss me. Tell your daddy
that you love him." But I couldn't speak. I was terrified I was going to miss my bus. And I was worried
about my plane, which was strapped to the top of the taxi. "Say it: 'I love you.' Say it. Please. Buddy. Say
it."
It was lucky for me that our taxi-driver was a good-hearted man. Because if it hadn't been for his help, and the help of some efficient porters and a friendly policeman, I don't know what would have happened
when we reached the station. My father was so drunk he could hardly walk, but the policeman talked to
him, quieted him down, helped him to stand straight, and the taxi-man promised to take him safely home.
But my father would not leave until he had seen the porters put me on the bus.
Once I was on the bus, I crouched in a seat and shut my eyes. I felt the strangest pain. A crushing pain
that hurt everywhere. I thought if I took off my heavy city shoes, those crucifying monsters, the agony
would ease. I took them off, but the mysterious pain did not leave me. In a way it never has; never will.
Twelve hours later I was home in bed. The room was dark. Sook was sitting beside me, rocking in a
rocking chair, a sound as soothing (令人舒畅的) as ocean waves. I had tried to tell her everything that
had happened, and only stopped when I was hoarse (嘶哑的) as a howling dog. She stroked her fingers
through my hair, and said: "Of course there is a Santa Clause. It's just that no single somebody could do
all he has to do. So the Lord has spread the task among us all. That's why everybody is Santa Claus. I am. You are. Even you cousin Billy Bob. Now go to sleep. Count stars. Think of the quietest thing. Like snow. I'm sorry you didn't get to see any. But now snow is falling through the stars-" Stars sparkled, snow whirled inside my head; the last thing I remembered was the peaceful voice of the Lord telling me something I
must do. And the next day I did it. I went with Sook to the post office and bought a penny postcard. That same postcard exists today. It was found in my father's safety deposit box when he died last year. Here is what I had written him: Hello pop hope you are well I am and I am turning to pedal my plane so fast I will
soon be in the sky so keep your eyes open and yes I love you Buddy.
1. When Buddy asked his Daddy for Christmas presents, his father's reaction suggested that _______.
A. He felt sorry he forgot to prepare presents for his son.
B. He thought his son should have known all the presents were sent by him, not Santa Claus.
C. It was difficult for him to accept that his son is so greedy.
D. He was ashamed of not knowing what his son liked.
B. He thought his son should have known all the presents were sent by him, not Santa Claus.
C. It was difficult for him to accept that his son is so greedy.
D. He was ashamed of not knowing what his son liked.
2. Which of the following statements is NOT true?
A. Buddy didn't tell his Daddy "I love you" until his death.
B Buddy's father and Miss Sook were people of different personalities.
C. Buddy still held the belief that there was Santa Claus.
D. Buddy finally mailed a postcard to his father.
B Buddy's father and Miss Sook were people of different personalities.
C. Buddy still held the belief that there was Santa Claus.
D. Buddy finally mailed a postcard to his father.
3. What can be inferred from the first paragraph?
A. Cousin Billy Bob had a good relationship with Buddy.
B. Miss Sook had no idea of Santa Clause, and lied to Buddy.
C. Father loved Buddy very much and prepared a lot of gifts for him.
D. Buddy was afraid of his father for they had been separated long time.
B. Miss Sook had no idea of Santa Clause, and lied to Buddy.
C. Father loved Buddy very much and prepared a lot of gifts for him.
D. Buddy was afraid of his father for they had been separated long time.
4. The following words can describe Miss Sook except _______.
A. old
B. clever
C. naughty
D. trusted
B. clever
C. naughty
D. trusted
5. Which of the following can be the best title of passage?
A. Is There a Santa Clause in the World?
B. A Christmas Memory
C. How to Celebrate Christmas in a Meaningful Way?
D. A Christmas of a Divorced Family
查看习题详情和答案>>
B. A Christmas Memory
C. How to Celebrate Christmas in a Meaningful Way?
D. A Christmas of a Divorced Family
阅读理解。
Parents divorced, little Buddy was in the care of his mother's large Alabama family. Over the
years, Buddy seldom saw either of his parents. But he was happy where he was and he had many
kindly relatives, among whom Miss Sook was by far his best friend. Before Christmas, Buddy's
father had managed to get legal custody(法定监护) of him for this Christmas. So, he had a new
suit, with a card pinned with his name and address and made the trip alone, by bus, to New
Orleans.
Several things occurred that kept me awake the whole night. First, the footfalls, the noise of my father
running up and down the stairs, breathing heavily, I had to see what he was up to. So I hid and watched.
There was a Christmas tree and the fireplace downstairs. Moreover, I could see my father. He was
crawling around under the tree arranging a pyramid of packages. I felt dizzy, for what I saw forced me to
reconsider everything. If these were presents intended for me, then obviously they had not been ordered
by the Lord and delivered by Santa Claus; no, they were gifts bought and wrapped by my father. Which
meant that my rotten little cousin Billy Bob and other rotten kids like him weren't lying when they laughed
at me and told me there was no Santa Claus. The worst thought was: Had Sook known the truth, and lied
to me? No, Sook would never lie to me. She believed. It was just that-well, though she was
sixty-something, in some ways she was at least as much of a child as I was.
I waited until I was sure he was in bed and sound asleep. Then I crept downstairs and examined the
tags attached to each of the packages. They all said: "For Buddy." I decided to open the packages: It
was Christmas morning. I was awake, so why not? I won't bother to describe what was inside them: just
shirts and sweaters and dull stuff like that. The only thing I appreciated was a toy gun. Somehow I got the
idea it would be fun to waken my father by firing it. So I did. Bang. Bang. Bang. He raced out of his room, wild-eyed, Bang. Bang. Bang. "Buddy-what the hell do you think you're doing? Bang. Bang. Bang. "Stop
that!" I laughed. " Look, Daddy. Look at all wonderful things Santa Claus brought me."
Calm now, he walked into the room and hugged me. "You like what Santa Claus brought you?"
I smiled at him. He smiled at me. There was a tender lingering (逗留不去的) moment, damaged
when I said: "Yes. But what are you going to give me, Daddy?" His smile evaporated. His eyes narrowed
suspiciously-you could see that he thought I was pulling some kind of trick. But then he blushed, as
though he was ashamed to be thinking what he was thinking. He patted my head, and coughed and said: "Well, I thought I'd wait and let you pick out something you wanted. Is there anything particular you
want?"
I reminded him of the airplane we had seen in the toy store on Canal Street. His face sagged. Oh,
yes, he remembered the airplane and how expensive it was. Nevertheless, the next day I was sitting in
that airplane dreaming I was zooming toward heaven while my father wrote out a check for a happy
salesman, who promised to help ship the plane on the bus.
But I wasn't free of New Orleans yet. The problem was a large bottle of wine; maybe it was because
of my departure, but anyway my father had been drinking it all day, and on the way to the bus station, he
scared me by grabbing my wrist and harshly whispering: "I'm not going to let you go. I can't let you go
back to that crazy family in that crazy old house. Just look at what they've done to you. A boy six, almost
seven, talking about Santa Claus! It's all their fault, all those sour old spinsters with their Bibles and their
knitting needles, those drunken uncles. Listen to me, Buddy. There is no God! There is no Santa Claus."
He was squeezing my wrist so hard that it ached. "Kiss me. Please. Please. Kiss me. Tell your daddy
that you love him." But I couldn't speak. I was terrified I was going to miss my bus. And I was worried
about my plane, which was strapped to the top of the taxi. "Say it: 'I love you.' Say it. Please. Buddy. Say
it."
It was lucky for me that our taxi-driver was a good-hearted man. Because if it hadn't been for his help, and the help of some efficient porters and a friendly policeman, I don't know what would have happened
when we reached the station. My father was so drunk he could hardly walk, but the policeman talked to
him, quieted him down, helped him to stand straight, and the taxi-man promised to take him safely home.
But my father would not leave until he had seen the porters put me on the bus.
Once I was on the bus, I crouched in a seat and shut my eyes. I felt the strangest pain. A crushing pain
that hurt everywhere. I thought if I took off my heavy city shoes, those crucifying monsters, the agony
would ease. I took them off, but the mysterious pain did not leave me. In a way it never has; never will.
Twelve hours later I was home in bed. The room was dark. Sook was sitting beside me, rocking in a
rocking chair, a sound as soothing (令人舒畅的) as ocean waves. I had tried to tell her everything that
had happened, and only stopped when I was hoarse (嘶哑的) as a howling dog. She stroked her fingers
through my hair, and said: "Of course there is a Santa Clause. It's just that no single somebody could do
all he has to do. So the Lord has spread the task among us all. That's why everybody is Santa Claus. I
am. You are. Even you cousin Billy Bob. Now go to sleep. Count stars. Think of the quietest thing. Like
snow. I'm sorry you didn't get to see any. But now snow is falling through the stars-" Stars sparkled,
snow whirled inside my head; the last thing I remembered was the peaceful voice of the Lord telling me
something I must do. And the next day I did it. I went with Sook to the post office and bought a penny
postcard. That same postcard exists today. It was found in my father's safety deposit box when he died
last year. Here is what I had written him: Hello pop hope you are well I am and I am turning to
pedal my plane so fast I will soon be in the sky so keep your eyes open and yes I love you Buddy.
years, Buddy seldom saw either of his parents. But he was happy where he was and he had many
kindly relatives, among whom Miss Sook was by far his best friend. Before Christmas, Buddy's
father had managed to get legal custody(法定监护) of him for this Christmas. So, he had a new
suit, with a card pinned with his name and address and made the trip alone, by bus, to New
Orleans.
Several things occurred that kept me awake the whole night. First, the footfalls, the noise of my father
running up and down the stairs, breathing heavily, I had to see what he was up to. So I hid and watched.
There was a Christmas tree and the fireplace downstairs. Moreover, I could see my father. He was
crawling around under the tree arranging a pyramid of packages. I felt dizzy, for what I saw forced me to
reconsider everything. If these were presents intended for me, then obviously they had not been ordered
by the Lord and delivered by Santa Claus; no, they were gifts bought and wrapped by my father. Which
meant that my rotten little cousin Billy Bob and other rotten kids like him weren't lying when they laughed
at me and told me there was no Santa Claus. The worst thought was: Had Sook known the truth, and lied
to me? No, Sook would never lie to me. She believed. It was just that-well, though she was
sixty-something, in some ways she was at least as much of a child as I was.
I waited until I was sure he was in bed and sound asleep. Then I crept downstairs and examined the
tags attached to each of the packages. They all said: "For Buddy." I decided to open the packages: It
was Christmas morning. I was awake, so why not? I won't bother to describe what was inside them: just
shirts and sweaters and dull stuff like that. The only thing I appreciated was a toy gun. Somehow I got the
idea it would be fun to waken my father by firing it. So I did. Bang. Bang. Bang. He raced out of his room, wild-eyed, Bang. Bang. Bang. "Buddy-what the hell do you think you're doing? Bang. Bang. Bang. "Stop
that!" I laughed. " Look, Daddy. Look at all wonderful things Santa Claus brought me."
Calm now, he walked into the room and hugged me. "You like what Santa Claus brought you?"
I smiled at him. He smiled at me. There was a tender lingering (逗留不去的) moment, damaged
when I said: "Yes. But what are you going to give me, Daddy?" His smile evaporated. His eyes narrowed
suspiciously-you could see that he thought I was pulling some kind of trick. But then he blushed, as
though he was ashamed to be thinking what he was thinking. He patted my head, and coughed and said: "Well, I thought I'd wait and let you pick out something you wanted. Is there anything particular you
want?"
I reminded him of the airplane we had seen in the toy store on Canal Street. His face sagged. Oh,
yes, he remembered the airplane and how expensive it was. Nevertheless, the next day I was sitting in
that airplane dreaming I was zooming toward heaven while my father wrote out a check for a happy
salesman, who promised to help ship the plane on the bus.
But I wasn't free of New Orleans yet. The problem was a large bottle of wine; maybe it was because
of my departure, but anyway my father had been drinking it all day, and on the way to the bus station, he
scared me by grabbing my wrist and harshly whispering: "I'm not going to let you go. I can't let you go
back to that crazy family in that crazy old house. Just look at what they've done to you. A boy six, almost
seven, talking about Santa Claus! It's all their fault, all those sour old spinsters with their Bibles and their
knitting needles, those drunken uncles. Listen to me, Buddy. There is no God! There is no Santa Claus."
He was squeezing my wrist so hard that it ached. "Kiss me. Please. Please. Kiss me. Tell your daddy
that you love him." But I couldn't speak. I was terrified I was going to miss my bus. And I was worried
about my plane, which was strapped to the top of the taxi. "Say it: 'I love you.' Say it. Please. Buddy. Say
it."
It was lucky for me that our taxi-driver was a good-hearted man. Because if it hadn't been for his help, and the help of some efficient porters and a friendly policeman, I don't know what would have happened
when we reached the station. My father was so drunk he could hardly walk, but the policeman talked to
him, quieted him down, helped him to stand straight, and the taxi-man promised to take him safely home.
But my father would not leave until he had seen the porters put me on the bus.
Once I was on the bus, I crouched in a seat and shut my eyes. I felt the strangest pain. A crushing pain
that hurt everywhere. I thought if I took off my heavy city shoes, those crucifying monsters, the agony
would ease. I took them off, but the mysterious pain did not leave me. In a way it never has; never will.
Twelve hours later I was home in bed. The room was dark. Sook was sitting beside me, rocking in a
rocking chair, a sound as soothing (令人舒畅的) as ocean waves. I had tried to tell her everything that
had happened, and only stopped when I was hoarse (嘶哑的) as a howling dog. She stroked her fingers
through my hair, and said: "Of course there is a Santa Clause. It's just that no single somebody could do
all he has to do. So the Lord has spread the task among us all. That's why everybody is Santa Claus. I
am. You are. Even you cousin Billy Bob. Now go to sleep. Count stars. Think of the quietest thing. Like
snow. I'm sorry you didn't get to see any. But now snow is falling through the stars-" Stars sparkled,
snow whirled inside my head; the last thing I remembered was the peaceful voice of the Lord telling me
something I must do. And the next day I did it. I went with Sook to the post office and bought a penny
postcard. That same postcard exists today. It was found in my father's safety deposit box when he died
last year. Here is what I had written him: Hello pop hope you are well I am and I am turning to
pedal my plane so fast I will soon be in the sky so keep your eyes open and yes I love you Buddy.
1.When Buddy asked his Daddy for Christmas presents, his father's reaction suggested that _______.
A. He felt sorry he forgot to prepare presents for his son.
B. He thought his son should have known all the presents were sent by him, not Santa Claus.
C. It was difficult for him to accept that his son is so greedy.
D. He was ashamed of not knowing what his son liked.
B. He thought his son should have known all the presents were sent by him, not Santa Claus.
C. It was difficult for him to accept that his son is so greedy.
D. He was ashamed of not knowing what his son liked.
2. Once Buddy was on the bus, he felt the strangest pain . The reason probably is _____________.
A. His father squeezed him so hard that it ached.
B. His father was very drunk and had difficulty returning home.
C. He didn't say "I love you" to his father.
D. He had an argument with his father at home.
B. His father was very drunk and had difficulty returning home.
C. He didn't say "I love you" to his father.
D. He had an argument with his father at home.
3. Which of the following statements is NOT true?
A. Buddy didn't tell his Daddy "I love you" until his death.
B. Buddy's father and Miss Sook were people of different personalities.
C. Buddy still held the belief that there was Santa Claus.
D. Buddy finally mailed a postcard to his father.
B. Buddy's father and Miss Sook were people of different personalities.
C. Buddy still held the belief that there was Santa Claus.
D. Buddy finally mailed a postcard to his father.
4. What can be inferred from the first paragraph?
A. Cousin Billy Bob had a good relationship with Buddy.
B. Miss had no idea of Santa Clause, and lied to Buddy.
C. Father loved Buddy very much and prepared a lot of gifts for him.
D. Buddy was afraid of his father for they had been separated long time.
B. Miss had no idea of Santa Clause, and lied to Buddy.
C. Father loved Buddy very much and prepared a lot of gifts for him.
D. Buddy was afraid of his father for they had been separated long time.
5. The following words can describe Miss Sook except _______.
A. old
B. clever
C. naughty
D. trusted
B. clever
C. naughty
D. trusted
6. Which of the following can be the best title of passage?
A. Is There a Santa Clause in the World?
B. A Christmas Memory
C. How to Celebrate Christmas in a Meaningful Way?
D. A Christmas of a Divorced Family
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B. A Christmas Memory
C. How to Celebrate Christmas in a Meaningful Way?
D. A Christmas of a Divorced Family