I love to watch my father paint and I love to hear him talk while he paints. The words always come out soft. As a mason (泥瓦匠) , he doesn’t have a studio, and I’ve always felt a little sorry for him, having to paint in our backyard, which is not exactly picturesque. Dad doesn’t seem to see the backyard when he’s painting, though. It’s not just the canvas he sees either. It’s something much bigger. He gets this look in his eye like he’s gone beyond the yard, the neighborhood, the world.

“A painting is more than the sum of its parts,” he would tell me, and then go on to explain how the cow by itself is just a cow, and the meadow by itself is just grass and flowers, and the sun is just a beam of light, but put them all together and you’ve got magic.

I understood what he was saying, but I never felt what he was saying until one day when I was up in the sycamore tree (梧桐树) . I’d never seen a view like that! I got the feeling that I was flying above the earth. The view from the sycamore was more than rooftops and clouds and wind and colors combined. It was magic. It wasn’t long before I found the spot that became my spot. I could sit there for hours, just looking out at the world. Sunsets were amazing. Some days they’d be purple and pink, some days they’d be a blazing orange, setting fire to clouds across the horizon.

Then came the day. When I was sitting in the branches of my tree, I found two trucks parked right beneath me. Four men came out of the trucks, and started unloading tools, gloves, ropes and saws (锯子) .

Pretty soon they spotted me. One of the men called, “Hey! You’d better come down from there. We gotta take this thing down.”

I managed to choke out, “The tree?”

“Yeah, now come on down.”

I had a younger sister, Michelle. But as a big brother, I rarely cared for her.

On a Sunday in March when I was 8, Easter (复活节) came. As usual, my sister and I would search for the hidden baskets full of candy and other things prepared for us. On that Easter morning, I got up early.

“Michelle!” I whispered to my sister, who was still sleeping in her bedroom. “Wake up. It’s Easter. We have to go and find our baskets.” She rolled over in bed and finally got up. “Mom and Dad are still sleeping,” I warned her as we walked out into the kitchen. “If we’re quiet, we can find our baskets without waking them up.”

It didn’t take long for me to find my basket, which had candy, toys, etc. This basket was obviously mine because it contained the latest issue of my favorite magazine. My sister continued searching in every room while I dropped my basket off at the kitchen table and started separating candy into different categories. 20 minutes later, my sister told me, “I can’t find it. I looked all over. Can you help me?” I decided to help her not because I felt sorry for her, but because I thought it was fun to find the missing basket.

We started searching through the cabinets (贮藏柜). Later, our parents were awake. Dad headed straight for the bathroom, while Mom walked out to make coffee. “Mom, I’ve found my basket,” I told her. She smiled and asked, “Where’s yours, Michelle?”

That’s when my six-year-old sister started to cry. “Let’s keep looking,” Mom said, taking hold of my sister’s hand. After searching the living room they went to the closet (贮藏室). There Michelle finally found her basket. But when she picked up her basket, we found everything in it had all been bitten and damaged by mice.

Michelle dropped her basket on the floor, looking upset.

Then I walked slowly into my sister’s room with my basket.

I couldn’t stop thinking about watermelons. I’ve saved my money to buy my own. One giant, juicy, wonderful watermelon all for me. I was going to eat it all up, except for the seed. Dad joked that if I ate the seeds, a watermelon would grow inside my stomach. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Then my stomach would be happy all the time!

At the store I looked for the biggest, the juiciest, the most wonderful watermelon. And there it was, right behind some cantaloupes (甜瓜). They were small and light, not like my giant, juicy, wonderful watermelon.

I picked up my watermelon and put it on the floor. I rolled it down the aisle. I rolled my treasure to the checkout line. The grocery clerk lifted my watermelon for the cashier to weigh. Fifteen pounds! After I paid, the clerk set it back on the floor for me. I rolled it out the door, then along the sidewalk, three blocks to my house. Sweat dripped from my forehead onto the watermelon.

“Lucy! What are you doing with that watermelon?” Mom asked.

“I saved up my money and bought it at the grocery store. I’m going to eat it all by myself.” Mom frowned. “You’ll get sick,” she warned.

“Please?” I begged. “I’ve been saving for it.”

Mom thought about it, then smiled as if she knew something. “OK, but only if you eat it outside,” she said.

I rolled my giant, juicy, wonderful watermelon out the back door to our picnic table. Mom brought out a knife and some paper plates. My sister followed her. “Ooh, watermelon,” she said. “I want some.”

“Sorry,” I told her, “I’m going to eat it all by myself.” My sister whined to Mom.

But Mom said, “Your sister bought it herself. She decided what to do with it.” My brother came out next. He wanted to take a bite as well.

I said loudly, “No way. I’m going to eat it all by myself.”

My brother howled, but Mom again said, “It’s your sister’s watermelon. She decides.”

Mom cut the watermelon into four pieces, then cut each of those in half. Eight pieces in total. I reached for my first piece and took a bite. Red juice ran down my chin.

My father came out. “Oh, watermelon!” he said, seeing it.

“Don’t even ask,” said my brother. “She won’t share,” my sister added.

Paragraph 1: The four of them stood together around the picnic table, watching me.

Paragraph 2: Mom smiled as if she had known all that I would share.