My father was a self-taught mandolin(曼陀林琴) player. He was one of the best players in our town. He could not1music, but if he heard a tune(曲子) a few times, he could play it. When he was young, he was a2of a small country music band. They played at local dances and played for the local radio station on a few occasions.
At home Dad often took out his mandolin and played for the family. We three children sang along.3played the mandolin like my father. He could4your heart with the music that came out of that old mandolin. He seemed to shine when he was playing. You could see his5in his ability to play so well for his family.
But Dad had to find another6in a factory later because the money he made at the band wasn't enough to7the family. Unluckily he had an8one day and lost one finger. He couldn't play as9as before. From then on, every time we asked him to play, he would make up excuses to 10 down our request. However, we missed his performances so much.11, he agreed and said, "Okay, but remember, I can't hold down the strings (琴弦) the way I12 to."
When he played the old mandolin, it carried us back to a13, happy time in our lives. Dad was that kind of man,14 was what he was doing all his life. If he could give 15 to others, he would, especially his family. He was always there, sacrificing(牺牲) his time to see that his family had enough in their life.
