第一篇文章 Santa Claus–The Real Story
I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her. On the way, my big sister dropped the bomb:" There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even dummies know that!"
My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the turth, and I knew that the turth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her "world-famous" cinnamon buns. I knew they wre world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true.
Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything.
She was ready for me.
“No Santa Claus?” she snorted…”Ridiculous! Don’t you believe it! That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!
Now, put on your coat, and let’s go.”
“Go? Go where Grandma “I asked. I hadn’t even finished my 2nd world famous cinnamon bun…
“Where” turned out to be Kerby’s General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything.
As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days.
“Take this money,” she said, “and buy something for someone who needs it I’ll wait for you in the car.”
Then she turned and walked out of Kerby’s.
I was only eight years old. I’d often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself.
The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for.
I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors,
the kids at school, and the people who went to my church. I was just
about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid
with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs.
Pollock’s grade-two class.
Bobby Decker didn’t have a coat. I knew that because he never went out at recess during the cold weather.
His mother always wrote a note telling the teacher that he had a bad
cough but all us kids knew Bobby Decker didn’t have a cough, he didn’t
have a good coat.
I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy
Bobby Decker a coat! I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to
it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.
“Is this a Christmas present for someone?” the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down.
“Yes ma’am,” I replied shyly. “It’s for Bobby.” The nice lady smiled
at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a good winter coat. I
didn’t get any change, but she put the coat in a bag, smiled again, and
wished me a Merry Christmas.
That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat (a little tag fell out
of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) in Christmas paper and
ribbons and wrote, “To Bobby, From Santa Claus” on it.
Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me
over to Bobby Decker’s house, explaining as we went that I was now and
forever officially, one of Santa’s helpers.
Grandma parked down the street from Bobby’s house, and she and I
crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma
gave me a nudge. “All right, Santa Claus,” she whispered, “get going.”
I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present
down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of the
bushes and Grandma.
Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.
Fifty years haven’t dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker’s bushes.
That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were: ridiculous.
Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.
第二篇文章A Useless Life
A farmer got so old that he couldn't work the fields anymore. So he would spend the
day just sitting on the porch. His son, still working the farm, would look up from
time to time and see his father sitting there. "He's of no use any more," the son
thought to himself, "he doesn't do anything!" One day the son got so frustrated by this,
that he built a wood coffin, dragged it over to the porch, and told his father to
get in.Without saying anything, the father climbed inside. After closing the lid,
the son dragged the coffin to the edge of the farm where there was a high cliff. As he approached
the drop, he heard a light tapping on the lid from inside the coffin.He opened
it up.Still lying there peacefully, the father looked up at his son. "I know you
are going to throw me over the cliff, but before you do, may I suggest something?"
"What is it?" replied the son."Throw me over the cliff, if you like," said the
father, "but save this good wood coffin. Your children might need to use it."