When I was growing up, I was embarrassed to be seen with my father. He was badly crippled (跛脚), and when we would walk together, his hand on my arm for balance, people would stare, I would be ashamed of the unwanted attention. If ever noticed or bothered, he never let on.

It was difficult to walk together—and because of that, we didn’t say much as we went along. But as we started out, he always said, “You set the pace. I will try to follow you.”

Our usual walk was to or from the subway, which was how he got to work. He went to work sick, and even in bad weather. He almost never missed a day, and would make it to the office even if others could not. It was a matter of pride for him.

When snow or ice was on the ground, it was impossible for him to walk, even with help... Such times my sister or I would pull him through the streets of Brooklyn, N.Y., on a child’s sleigh to the subway entrance. Once there, he would try to grasp handrail until he reached the lower steps that the warmer tunnel air kept ice free. In Manhattan the subway station was the basement of his office building, and he would not have to go outside again until we met him in Brooklyn on his way home. www.7caiedu.cn

When I think of it now, I am surprised at how much courage it must have taken for a grown man to suffer from shame and disability. And I am also surprised at how he did it—without bitterness or complaint.

He never talked about himself as an object of pity, not did he show any envy of the more fortunate or able. What he looked for in others was a “good heart”, and if he found one, the owner was good enough for him.

Now that I am older, I believe that is a proper standard by which to judge people, even though I still don’t know exactly what a “good heart” is. But I know the times I don’t have one myself.

He has been away for many years now, but I think of him often. I wonder if he sensed my reluctance to be seen with him during our walks. If he did, I am sorry I never told him how sorry I was, how unworthy I was, how I regretted it. I think of him when I complain about my troubles, when I am envious of another’s good fortune, when I don’t have a “good heart”.

1.How did the man treat his father when he was young?

2.As a disabled man, his father____.

3.What does the underlined word “reluctance” mean in the article? It means ____.

4.How did the father get to work usually?

One of my fondest memories as a child is going by the river and sitting idly on the bank. There I would   16  the peace and quiet, watch the water rush   17  and listen to the singing of birds and the rustling of   18  in the trees. I would also watch the bamboo trees   19  under pressure from the wind and watch them   20  gracefully to their original position after the wind had   21  .
When I think about the bamboo tree's ability to bounce back to its original position, the word "resilience" comes to mind. When used in   22  to a person this word means the ability to readily   23  from shock, depression or any other situation that stretches the limits of a person's   24  .
Have you ever felt like you are at your   25  point? Thankfully, you have survived the experience to live to talk about it.
During the   26  you probably felt a mix of emotions that threatened your health. You felt emotionally drained,   27  exhausted and you most likely stood   28   physical symptoms.
Life is a   29  of good times and bad times, happy moments and unhappy moments. The next time you are experiencing one of those bad times or unhappy   30   that take you close to your breaking point, bend,   31   don't break. Try your best not to let the situation get the best of you.
A   32  of hope will take you through the unpleasant ordeal (考验). With   33   for a better tomorrow or a better situation, things may not be as bad as they seem to be. The unpleasant ordeal may be easier to   34  if the final result is worth having.
If life gets   35  and you are at your breaking point, show resilience. Like the bamboo tree, bend, but don't break!

About this time every year, I get very nostalgic(怀旧的). Walking through my neighborhood on a fall afternoon reminds me of a time not too long ago when sounds of children filled the air, children playing games on a hill, and throwing leaves around in the street below. I was one of those children, carefree and happy. I live on a street that is only one block long. I have lived on the same street for sixteen years. I love my street. One side has six houses on it, and the other has only two houses, with a small hill in the middle and a huge cottonwood tree on one end. When I think of home, I think of my street. Only I see it as it was before. Unfortunately things change. One day, not long ago, I looked around and saw how different everything has become. Life on my street will never be the same because neighbors are quickly grown old, friends are growing up and leaving, and the city is planning to destroy my precious hill and sell the property to contractors.
It is hard for me to accept that many of my wonderful neighbors are growing old and won’t be around much longer. I have fond memories of the couple across the street, who sat together on their porch swing almost every evening, the widow next door who yelled at my brother and me for being too loud, and the crazy old man in a black suit who drove an old car. In contrast to those people, the people I see today are very old neighbors who have seen better days. The man in the black suit says he wants to die, and another neighbor just sold his house and moved into a nursing home. The lady who used to yell at us is too tired to bother any more, and the couple across the street rarely go out to their front porch these days. It is difficult to watch these precious people as they near the end of their lives because at once I thought they would live forever.
The “comings and goings” of the younger generation of my street are now mostly “goings” as friends and peers move on. Once upon a time, my life and the lives of my peers revolved around home. The boundary of our world was the gutter at the end of the street. We got pleasure from playing night games or from a breathtaking ride on a tricycle. Things are different now, as my friends become adults and move on. Children who rode tricycles now drive cars. The kids who once played with me now have new interests and values as they go their separate ways. Some have gone away to college like me, a few got married, two went into the army, and one went to prison. Watching all these people grow up and go away makes me long for the good old days.
Perhaps the biggest change on my street is the fact that the city is going to turn my precious hill into several lots for now homes. For sixteen years, the view out of my kitchen window has been a view of that hill. The hill was a fundamental part of my childhood life; it was the hub of social activity for the children of my street. We spent hours there building forts, sledding, and playing tag. The view out of my kitchen window now is very different; it is one of tractors and dump trucks tearing up the hill. When the hill goes, the neighborhood will not be the same. It is a piece of my childhood. It is a visual reminder of being a kid. Without the hill, my street will be just another pea in the pod.
There was a time when my street was my world, and I thought my world would never change. But something happened. People grow up, and people grow old. Places changes, and with the change comes the heartache of knowing I can never go back to the times I loved. In a year or so, I will be gone just like many of my neighbors. I will always look back to my years as a child, but the place I remember will not be the silent street whose peace is interrupted by the sounds of construction. It will be the happy, noisy, somewhat strange, but wonderful street I knew as a child.
【小题1】The writer calls up the memory of the street _____________.

I prefer the stories about the swimmers at the Beijing Olympics，one of which is about Zakia Nassar. She's a 21-year-old Palestinian __21__ Bethlehem studying dentistry in Jenin. Having had neither a __22__ nor a chance to an Olympic-sized pool in the past year, she had no choice but to __23__ on her own at a 12m public pool.
There is a 50-meter __24__ in nearby Nazareth, but the Israeli government did not __25__ her to use it.
Nassar was __26__ to training only when she returned to her parents' home in Bethlehem, __27__ she did so only about every two months for two days or so. __28__ the pool is only 12 meters long.
“My parents and friends always __29__ me, reminding me that I had to keep training if I __30  wanted to go to the Olympics,” she said.
It was only when Nassar __31__ China a month ago that she finally got the opportunity to swim in a 50m pool and enjoyed the __32__ of having a coach.
When she at last took part in the Games, she swam the 50m in 31.97 seconds, a(n) __33__ of seven seconds on her personal __34__. Nassar said it was the most beautiful moment of her life.
She will not __35__ on the cover of Time magazine or __36__ millions of dollars in endorsements（捐款）, but she can always say she won a race at the Olympics. For her, it wasn’t about __37__ the other swimmers or winning a prize, but about __38__ her own goal, __39__ difficult. When I think things are too difficult or I get those “I-just-can’t-do-it,” I think of her. Then I realize how __40__ the task before me really is.