Dad had a green comb. He bought it when he married Mum. Every night，he would hand me his 1 and say, “Good girl, help Daddy clean it, OK?”

    I was 2 to do it. At age five, this dull task brought me such 3. I would excitedly turn the tap4and brush the comb carefully. Satisfied that I'd done a good job, I would happily return the comb to Dad. He would5affectionately(深情地）at me and place the comb in his wallet.

    Two years latter，Dad started his own 6which wasn't so good . Things started to 7, Dad didn't come home as early and as he used to. Mum and I became8with him for placing our family in trouble. With 9going on，an uncomfortable silence grew between us.

    After my graduation, Dad's business was getting back . On my 28th birthday, Dad came home10. As usually I helped him carry his bags into his study. When I turned to leave, he said，“Hey，would you help me 11 my comb?” I looked at him a while，then 12 the comb and headed to the sink.

It hit me then: why, as a child,13dad clean his comb was such a pleasure. That routine(习惯）meant dad was home early to 14 the evening with Mum and me. It15 a happy and loving family.

    I passed the clean comb back to Dad, He smiled at me and16 placed his comb in his wallet. But this time，I noticed something 17 Dad had aged. He had wrinkles next to his eyes when he smiled,18 his smile was still as 19as before, the smile of a father who just wanted a good 20 for his family.