給人啟示的英語(yǔ)美文閱讀
給人啟示的英語(yǔ)美文閱讀
經(jīng)典美文閱讀是初中英語(yǔ)教學(xué)的重要組成部分,學(xué)生通過(guò)經(jīng)典閱讀,不但可以修身養(yǎng)性,還可以提高學(xué)生的人文氣質(zhì)和語(yǔ)文水平。下面是學(xué)習(xí)啦小編帶來(lái)的給人啟示的英語(yǔ)美文閱讀，歡迎閱讀!
給人啟示的英語(yǔ)美文閱讀篇一
Love Notes
It's been over eleven years now. It was a wintry afternoon, the snow swirling around the cedar trees outside, forcing little icicles to form at the tips of the deep green foliage clinging to the branches.
My older son, Stephen, was at school, and Reed , my husband, at work .Mythree little ones were clustered around the kitchen counter, the tabletop piled high with crayons and markers. Tom was perfecting a paper airplane, creating his own insignia with stars and dtripes,while Sam worked on a self-portrait, his chubby hands drawing first a head, then legs and arms sticking out where the body should have been. The children mostly concentrated on their work, Tom occasionally tutoring his younger brother on excatly how to make a plane that would fly the entire length of the room.
But Laura, our only daughter, sat quietly, engrossed in her project. Every once in a while she would ask how to spell the name of someone in our family, then painstakingly form the letters one by one. Next , she would add flowers with smaill green stems, complete with grass lining the bottom of the page. She finished off each with a sun in the upper right hand corner,surrounded by an inch or two of blue sky. Holding them at eye level, she let out a long sigh of satisfaction.
"What are you making, Honey?" I asked.
She glanced at her brothers beofre looking back at me:
"It's a surprise," she said, covering up her work with her hands.
Next , she taped the top two edges of each sheet of paper together trying her best to create a cylinder. When she had finished, she disappered up the stairs with her treasure.
It wasn't until later that evening thhat I noticed a "mailbox" taped onto the doors to each of our bedrooms , there was one for Steve. There was one for Tom. She hadn't forgotten Sam or baby Paul.
For the next few weeks, we received mail on a regular basis. There were little notes confessing her love for each of us. There were short letters full of tiny compliments that only a seven-year-old would notice. Iwas in charge of retrieving baby Paul's letteres,page after page of colored scenes including flowers with happy faces.
"He can't read yet." she whispered, " But he can look at the pictures."
Each time I recevied one of my little girl's gifts, it brightened my heart.
I was touched at how carefully she observed our moods. When stephen lost a baseball game, there was a letter telling him she thought he was the best ballplayer in the whole world. After I had a particularly hard day, there was a message thanking me for my efforts, complete with a smile face tucked near the bottom corner of the page.
This same little girl is grown now, driving off every day to the community college. But some things about her have never changed. One afternoon only a week or so ago, I found a love note next to my bedside.
"Thanks for always being there for me, Mom, " it read, " I'm glad that we're the best of friends."
I couldn't help but remember the precious child whose smile has brought me countless hours of joy throughout the years. There are angels among us .
I know , I live with one.
給人啟示的英語(yǔ)美文閱讀篇二
A Dance with Dad
I am dancing with my father at my parents' 50th-wedding-anniver-sary celebration. The band is playing an old-fashioned waltz as we move gracefully across the floor. His hand on my waist is as guiding as it always was, and he hums the tune to himself in a steady, youthful way. Around and around we go, laughing and nodding to the other dancers.
We are the best dancers on the floor, they tell us. My father squeezes my hand and smiles at me. All the years that I refused to dance with him melt away now. And those early times come back.
I remember when I was almost three and my father came home from work, swooped me into his arms and began to dance me around the table. My mother laughed at us, told us dinner would get cold. But my father said, "She's just caught the rhythm of the dance! Our dinner can wait." Then he sang out, "Roll out the barrel, let's have a barrel of fun," and I sang back, "Let's get those blues on the run."
We danced through the years. One night when I was 15, lost in some painful, adolescent mood. My father put on a stack of records and teased me to dance with him. "C'mon," he said, "let's get those blues on the run."
When I turned away from him, my father put his hand on my shoulder, and I jumped out of the chair screaming, "Don't touch me! I am sick and tired of dancing with you!" I saw the hurt on his face, but words were out and I could not call them back. I ran to my room sobbing hysterically.
We did not dance together after that night. I found other partners, and my father waited up for me after dances, sitting in his favorite chair. Sometimes he would be asleep when I came in, and I would wake him, saying, "If you were so tired, you should have gone to bed."
"No, no," he'd say, "I was just waiting for you."
Then we'd lock up the house and go to bed.
My father waited up for me through my high school and college years when I danced my way out of his life
Shortly after my first child was born; my mother called to tell me my father was ill. "A heart problem," she said, "now, don't come. It's three hundred miles. It would upset your father."
A proper diet restored him to good health. My mother wrote that they had joined a dance club. "The doctor says it's a good exercise. You remember how your father loves to dance."
Yes, I remembered. My eyes filled up with remembering.
When my father retired, we mended our way back together again; hugs and kisses were common when we visited each other. He danced with the grandchildren, but he did not ask me to dance. I knew he was waiting for an apology from me. I could never find the right words.
As my parents' 50th anniversary approached, my brothers and I met to plan the party. My older brother said, "Do you remember that night you wouldn't dance with him? Boy, was he mad? I couldn't believe he'd get so mad about a thing like that. I'll bet you haven't danced with him since."
I did not tell him he was right.
My younger brother promised to get the band. "Make sure they can play waltzes and polkas," I told him.
I did not tell him that all I wanted to do was dance once more with my father.
When the band began to play after dinner, my parents took the floor. They glided around the room, inviting the others to join them. The guests rose to their feet, applauding the golden couple. My father danced with his granddaughters, and then the band began to play the "Beer Barrel Polka".
"Roll out the barrel," I heard my father singing. Then I knew it was time. I wound my way through a few couples and tapped my daughter on the shoulder.
"Excuse me," I said, looking directly into my father's eyes and almost choking on my words, "but I believe this is my dance."
My father stood rooted to the spot. Our eyes met and traveled back to that night when I was 15. In a trembling voice, I sang, "Let's get those blues on the run."
My father bowed and said, "Oh, yes. I've been waiting for you."
Then he started to laugh, and we moved into each other's arms.
與父親共舞
在父母五十周年結(jié)婚紀(jì)念日那天我與父親跳舞了。樂(lè)隊(duì)演奏著舊式的華爾茲，我們?cè)诘匕迳蟽?yōu)美地滑動(dòng)著。他的手環(huán)著我的腰，像以往一樣指引著我，平和而又充滿活力地哼著調(diào)子。我們跳了一圈又一圈，不時(shí)地向其他舞者笑著點(diǎn)頭致意。他們說(shuō)我們是舞場(chǎng)中最優(yōu)秀的舞者。父親握著我的手，露出了微笑。
我們繼續(xù)著舞步，這時(shí)我想起在我三歲那年，父親下班回家，一把將我摟在懷里，圍著桌子開(kāi)始跳舞。母親笑著說(shuō)，飯都要涼了。但父親卻說(shuō)：“她剛好跟上舞蹈的節(jié)奏，飯可以等會(huì)再吃。”然后，他開(kāi)始哼唱：“Roll out the barrel, let's have a barrel of fun。”我就唱道：“Let's get those blues on the run。”那天晚上，他教我跳波爾卡、華爾茲，還教我跳狐步舞。那晚我們連飯都沒(méi)吃。
我們每天都要跳舞。在我五歲時(shí)，父親教我跳shuffle off to Buffalo。后來(lái)，我們?cè)诼稜I(yíng)少女團(tuán)夏令營(yíng)中，贏得了舞蹈比賽的冠軍。我們還去美國(guó)勞軍聯(lián)合組織所在的地方表演吉特巴舞。每次父親進(jìn)入舞池之后，都會(huì)與所有的人跳舞，與在場(chǎng)的女士們旋轉(zhuǎn)，甚至還有士兵。我們都為父親歡呼、鼓掌，因?yàn)樗且粋€(gè)真正的舞者。
我十五歲那年的一個(gè)晚上，或許由于青春期的多愁善感，我非常悲傷。父親拿出一堆唱片，非要我跟他跳舞。“來(lái)吧，”他說(shuō)，“Let's get those blues on the run。”我沒(méi)理他，獨(dú)自承受著自己的痛苦。他走過(guò)來(lái)把手放在我的肩上。我跳下椅子，對(duì)他吼道：“別碰我!別碰我!我討厭和你跳舞!”我看到了他臉上受傷的表情，但話已出口，我無(wú)法收回。我痛哭著跑回了房間。
從那之后，我再也沒(méi)和父親跳過(guò)舞。我有了其他舞伴，而父親總是會(huì)穿著法蘭絨睡衣，坐在自己最喜歡的椅子上，等我回家。有時(shí)當(dāng)我回來(lái)，他已經(jīng)睡著了。我便把他叫醒，告訴他：“既然你這么累，就該早點(diǎn)去睡覺(jué)。”
他總是會(huì)說(shuō)：“不，沒(méi)有。我在等你呢。”
然后，我們就鎖上房門(mén)，各自去睡了。
在我上高中和大學(xué)的幾年里，每次我出去跳舞，父親都會(huì)一直等我回家。
在我的第一個(gè)孩子出生不久的一個(gè)晚上，母親打電話告訴我說(shuō)父親病了：“是心臟的問(wèn)題?，F(xiàn)在不要過(guò)來(lái)，三百英里太遠(yuǎn)了，你父親會(huì)生氣的。等等吧，有了結(jié)果我會(huì)告訴你。”
父親的檢查顯示他壓力有些過(guò)重，不過(guò)合理的飲食使他恢復(fù)了健康。只是暫時(shí)的小毛病。背部椎間盤(pán)問(wèn)題，心臟問(wèn)題，白內(nèi)障晶體移植。但是他從未停止跳舞。母親寫(xiě)信說(shuō)他們參加了一個(gè)舞蹈俱樂(lè)部。“你還記得你父親多么喜歡跳舞嗎?”
是的，我記得。我的眼中充滿了對(duì)過(guò)去的回憶。
父親退休之后，我們又聚在了一起。每次見(jiàn)面，我們都要相互擁抱，親吻。但是父親從未讓我陪他跳舞。他和外孫女們跳舞。我的女兒們還不識(shí)字就知道怎么跳華爾茲。
“一、二、三，一、二、三，”父親總是數(shù)著舞步。“能來(lái)和我跳支華爾茲嗎?”每次我希望父親對(duì)我說(shuō)出這句話的時(shí)候，心里都會(huì)感到陣痛。但是我知道父親在等我的道歉，而我總是很難找到恰當(dāng)?shù)恼Z(yǔ)言。
而隨著父母結(jié)婚五十周年紀(jì)念日的到來(lái)，我的兄弟和我計(jì)劃為他們舉辦一次舞會(huì)。我哥哥說(shuō)：“還記得你拒絕陪他跳舞的那個(gè)晚上嗎?天哪，他簡(jiǎn)直瘋了。真不敢相信他為了此事竟如此傷心。從那以后，你肯定沒(méi)和他跳過(guò)舞吧。”
我沒(méi)有回答，但他說(shuō)得沒(méi)錯(cuò)。
弟弟說(shuō)他能夠搞定一支樂(lè)隊(duì)。
我告訴他：“一定要保證他們能夠演奏華爾茲和波爾卡舞曲。”
他說(shuō)：“爸爸可以跳任何一支曲子。你不想跳嗎?是不是很緊張啊?”我沒(méi)有告訴他，我只是想和父親再跳一次舞。
晚餐過(guò)后，樂(lè)隊(duì)開(kāi)始演奏，父母步入了舞池。他們?cè)诜块g里翩翩起舞，并邀請(qǐng)其他人加入?？腿藗兌颊酒饋?lái)，一齊為這對(duì)金婚夫婦喝彩。父親開(kāi)始和他的外孫女跳舞，樂(lè)隊(duì)演奏起了“Beer Barrel Polka”。
我聽(tīng)見(jiàn)父親在唱：“Roll out the barrel”。我知道現(xiàn)在是最佳時(shí)機(jī)。我知道要想讓父親和我跳舞，我需要說(shuō)些什么。我穿過(guò)人群，拍了拍女兒的肩膀。
“對(duì)不起。”我說(shuō)，有一種窒息的感覺(jué)。“我想這是我的舞曲。”
父親呆了一樣站在那里。我們都注視這對(duì)方，思緒飛回到我十五歲的那個(gè)夜晚。我用略帶顫抖的聲音唱道：“Let's get those blues on the run。”
父親鞠躬道：“噢，當(dāng)然。我一直在等你。”
說(shuō)完，他大笑起來(lái)。我們挽著彼此的胳膊，停了一下，以便跟上舞曲的節(jié)奏。
給人啟示的英語(yǔ)美文閱讀篇三
Mother’s Hands
Night after night, she came to tuck me in, even long after my childhood years. Following her longstanding custom, she'd lean down and push my long hair out of the way, then kiss my forehead.
I don't remember when it first started annoying me — her hands pushing my hair that way. But it did annoy me, for they felt work-worn and rough against my young skin. Finally, one night, I shouted out at her, "Don't do that anymore —your hands are too rough!" She didn't say anything in reply. But never again did my mother close out my day with that familiar expression of her love.
Time after time, with the passing years, my thoughts returned to that night. By then I missed my mother's hands, missed her goodnight kiss on my forehead. Sometimes the incident seemed very close, sometimes far away. But always it lurked, in the back of my mind.
Well, the years have passed, and I'm not a little girl anymore. Mom is in her mid-seventies, and those hands I once thought to be so rough are still doing things for me and my family. She's been our doctor, reaching into a medicine cabinet for the remedy to calm a young girl's stomach or soothe the boy's scraped knee. She cooks the best fried chicken in the world... gets stains out of blue jeans like I never could...
Now, my own children are grown and gone. Mom no longer has Dad, and on special occasions, I find myself drawn next door to spend the night with her. So it was late on Thanksgiving Eve, as I slept in the bedroom of my youth, a familiar hand hesitantly run across my face to brush the hair from my forehead. Then a kiss, ever so gently, touched my brow.
In my memory, for the thousandth time, I recalled the night my young voice complained, "Don't do that anymore — your hands are too rough!" Catching Mom's hand in hand, I blurted out how sorry I was for that night. I thought she'd remember, as I did. But Mom didn't know what I was talking about. She had forgotten — and forgiven — long ago.
That night, I fell asleep with a new appreciation for my gentle mother and her caring hands. And the guilt that I had carried around for so long was nowhere to be found.
媽媽的手
母親總是在我入睡之后，為我掖好被子，然后俯下身子，輕輕撥開(kāi)覆在我臉上的長(zhǎng)發(fā)，親吻我的前額。日復(fù)一日，母親一直保持著這個(gè)習(xí)慣，即使我已不再是小孩子了，這一切卻依然故我。
不知從什么時(shí)候開(kāi)始，母親的這種習(xí)慣漸漸讓我感到不悅----我不喜歡她那雙布滿老繭的手就這樣劃過(guò)我細(xì)嫩的皮膚。終于，在一個(gè)夜晚，我忍不住沖她吼了起來(lái)：“你不要再這樣了，你的手好粗糙!”母親無(wú)言以對(duì)。但從此卻再?zèng)]有用這種我熟悉的表達(dá)愛(ài)的方式來(lái)為我的一天畫(huà)上句號(hào)。
日子一天天過(guò)去，隨著時(shí)間的流逝，我卻總是不由得想起那一夜。我開(kāi)始想念母親的那雙手，想念她印在我前額上的“晚安”。這種渴望忽遠(yuǎn)忽近，但始終潛藏在我心靈深處的某個(gè)角落。
若干年后，我成熟了，已不再是個(gè)小女孩了。母親也已到了古稀之年，可她卻始終沒(méi)有停止過(guò)操勞，用她那雙曾經(jīng)被我視為“粗糙”的手為我和我的家庭做著力所能及的事情。她是我們的家庭醫(yī)生，小姑娘胃痛時(shí)，她會(huì)從藥箱里找出胃藥來(lái)，小男孩擦傷的膝蓋時(shí)，她會(huì)去安撫他的傷痛。她能做出世界上最好吃的炸雞，能把藍(lán)色牛仔褲上的污漬去得毫無(wú)痕跡......
現(xiàn)在，我自己的孩子也已長(zhǎng)大，有了自己的生活，母親卻沒(méi)有了父親的陪伴。有一次，恰好是感恩節(jié)前夜，我決定就睡在母親旁邊的臥室里，陪她度過(guò)這一夜。這是我兒時(shí)的臥室，一切都是那么的熟悉，還有一只熟悉的手猶豫著從我的臉上掠過(guò)，梳理著我前額的頭發(fā)，然后，一個(gè)吻，帶著一如往日的溫柔，輕輕落在了我的額頭。
在我的記憶里，曾幾千次再現(xiàn)那晚的情景和我那稚嫩的抱怨聲：“你不要再這樣了，你的手好粗糙!”我一把抓住母親的手，一股腦說(shuō)出我對(duì)那一晚深深的愧疚。我想，她一定和我一樣，對(duì)那晚的事歷歷在目。然而，母親卻不知我再說(shuō)些什么-----她早忘了，早已原諒我了。
那天晚上，我?guī)е鴮?duì)母親新的感激安然入睡，我感激她的溫柔，和她那呵護(hù)的雙手。多年來(lái)壓在我心頭的負(fù)罪感也隨之煙消云散。
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