My father was a self-taught mandolin（曼陀林琴）player. He was one of the best players in our town. He could not 1 music, but if he heard a tune（曲子）a few times, he could play it. When he was young, he was a2 of a small country music band. They played at local dances and the radio station.
At home, Dad often got out his mandolin and played for the family. We three children sang along. 3 played the mandolin like my father. He could 4 your 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 another 6 in a factory later because the money he made atthe band wasn't enough to7 the family. Unluckily he had an 8 one day and lost one finger. He couldn't play as 9 as before. From then on, every time we asked him to play, he would make up reasons to10down our request. However, we missed his performance so much.11, he agreed and said “Okay, but remember, I can't hold down on the strings（琴弦）the way I12to”. When he played the old mandolin, it carried us back to a13,happy time in our lives.
Dad was that kind of man.14was 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.
