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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.
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 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. 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. clever
C. naughty
D. trusted
B. A Christmas Memory
C. How to Celebrate Christmas in a Meaningful Way?
D. A Christmas of a Divorced Family
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.
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. 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. 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. 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. clever
C. naughty
D. trusted
B. A Christmas Memory
C. How to Celebrate Christmas in a Meaningful Way?
D. A Christmas of a Divorced Family
American middle school students don't seem to care that they're worse at maths than their counterparts(同龄人) in China's Hong Kong and Finland. "I don't need it," my student says. "I'm going to be a basketball star. Or a car mechanic, or a singer."
Middle school students' maths skills were tested by the International Organization for Economic Co--operation and Development. The United States ranked 28th out of 41 countries tested. After all, when was the last time you used algebra(代数)?
But maths isn't just about training Americans to become scientists. It has its own value. It helps you see patterns and develops your logic skills, and it teaches you to concentrate and to separate truth from falsehood. Maths helps you make wise financial decisions, so you can avoid false claims from advertisers, politicians and others. It helps you determine risk. For example, after an airplane crash, studies show that people are more likely to drive than to take a plane in spite of the fact that they are much more likely to be killed or injured while driving. Planes are not like criminals who repeat the same crime over and over. One plane is not more likely to crash just because another plane recently did. In fact, the most dangerous time to drive is probably right after a plane crash because so many people are on the road.
It is not possible to really understand science and the scientific method without understanding maths. A rainbow is even more beautiful and amazing when we understand it.
The precision of maths helps us think in a very special way. How do we bring the learning of maths back to life? I don't have the big answer. I try my best to help pupils find answers to some maths problems. When I can get one to say, "wow, that's great," I feel the joy of a small victory.
1．Some American students don't care about their poor maths results because .
A．maths is useless to most people
B．they have no interest in maths
C．they think maths has nothing to do with their future
D．they don't do well in maths
2．The example in Paragraph 3 is used to show .
A．every coin has its two sides
B．we should not be cheated by fault facts
C．maths is close to our daily life
D．a simple fact shows complicated rules
3．The writer would agree that .
A．it's normal that American kids are weak in maths
B．without maths we'11 miss much in our life
C．maths is the most important subject at school
D．American kids don't work hard at school
4．This text is most probably written by .
A．a student career guide B．a researcher on students’ problems
C．a specialist in students’ studies D．a maths teacher
查看习题详情和答案>>American middle school students don’t seem to care that they' re worse at maths than their counterparts (同龄人) in China's Hong Kong and Finland. "I don't need it," my student says. "I'm going to be a basketball star. Or a car mechanic, or a singer. "
Middle school students' maths skills were tested by the International Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development. The United States ranked 28th out of 41 countries tested. After all, when was the last time you used algebra (代数)?
But maths isn't just about training Americans to become scientists. It has its own value. It helps you see patterns and develops your logic skills, and it teaches you to concentrate and to separate truth from falsehood. Maths helps you make wise financial decisions, so you can avoid false claims from advertisers, politicians and others. It helps you determine risk. For example, after an airplane crash, studies show that people are more likely to drive than to take a plane in spite of the fact that they are much more likely to be killed or injured while driving. Planes are not like criminals who repeat the same crime over and over. One plane is not more likely to crash just because another plane recently did. In fact, the most dangerous time to drive is probably right after a plane crash because so many people are on the road.
It is not possible to really understand science and the scientific method without understanding maths. A rainbow is even more beautiful and amazing when we understand it.
The precision of maths helps us think in a very special way. How do we bring the learning of maths back to life? I don't have the big answer. I try my best to help pupils find answers to some maths problems. When I can get one to say, "wow, that's great," I feel the joy of a small victory.
56. Some American students don't care about their poor maths results because _________.
A. maths is useless to most people B. they have no interest in maths
C. they think maths has nothing to do with their future D. they don't do well in maths
57. The example in Paragraph 3 is used to show _________.
A. every coin has its two sides B. we should not be cheated by fault facts
C. maths is close to our daily life D. a simple fact shows complicated rules
58. The writer would agree that ________.
A. it's normal that American kids are weak in maths
B. without maths we'll miss much in our life
C. maths is the most important subject at school
D. American kids don't work hard at school
59. This text is most probably written by_______.
A. a student career guide B. a researcher on students' problems
C. a specialist in students' studies D. a maths teacher
查看习题详情和答案>>
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