The pickle jar (咸菜坛子), as far back as I can remember, sat on the floor beside the dresser in my parents' bedroom. When he got ready for bed, Dad would 1 his pockets and throw his coins into the jar. When the jar was 2, we would take the coins to the bank. He would smile 3, "These are for my son's college money. He'll 4work so hard all his life like me."
The years passed, and I finished 5and took a job. Once, while visiting my parents, I 6 that the pickle jar in my parents' bedroom was gone. A lump(哽咽) rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside the dresser where the jar had always stood. My dad was a man of few words, and never 7 me on the values of determination, love, and faith. The pickle jar had taught me all these virtues (美德) far more than the most flowery words could have done.
When I 8, I told my wife Susan about the important role the pickle jar had 9in my life. In my mind, it defined, more than 10 else, how much my dad had loved me. No matter how 11 things got at home, Dad continued to drop his coins into the jar.
The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born, we spent the 12 with my parents. After dinner, Susan carried the baby into my parents' bedroom to diaper (换尿布) her. When Susan came back into the living room, there were tears 13 her eyes. She took my hand and 14 me into the room. "Look," she said 15, her eyes directing me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser. To my 16, there, as if it had never been removed, stood the old pickle jar, the bottom already 17 with coins. I walked over to the pickle jar, dug down into my pocket, and 18 all the coins. I dropped the coins into the jar, as my father always did. I 19 and saw Dad who was carrying Jessica. Our eyes 20, and I knew he was feeling the same emotions I felt. Neither one of us could speak.
