默默的父爱英语手抄报1～6年级一等奖手抄报 After Mom died, I began visiting Dad every morning before I went to was frail and moved slowly, but he always had a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice on the kitchen table for me, along with an unsigned note reading, “Drink your juice”.Such a gesture, I knew, was as far as Dad had ever been able to go in expressing his fact, I remember, as a kid I had questioned Mom “Why doesn't Dad love me!” Mom frowned.“Who said he doesn't love you!”“Well, he never tells me,” I plained.“He never tells me either,” she said, smiling.“But look how hard he works to take care of us, to buy us food and clothes, and to pay for this 's how your father tells us he loves us.” Then Mom held me by the shoulders and asked, “Do you understand!”I nodded understood in my head, but not in my still wanted my father to put his arms around me and tell me he loved owned and operated a small business, and after school I often hung around while he always hoped he'd ask me to help and then praise me for what I never tasks were too dangerous for a young boy to attempt, and Mom was already worried enough that he'd hurt hand fed scrap steel into a device that chopped it as cleanly as a butcher chops a rack of machine looked like a giant pair of s
