Okay. I’ll admit it. I can be a complainer. After all, there’s so much in this life to complain about: the dirty clothes that don’t make it into the basket, that annoying neighbor’s loud music, my husband’s shoes left casually at the front door, rainy days, traffic…

Complaining is a habit I have developed since childhood, and a skill I have honed (磨练) through the years. My family didn’t seem to mind — they were great complainers, too — though I do recall some eye-rolling and long-drawn sighs from friends and schoolmates when I would voice my negative opinions. In fact, I can distinctly recall the exact moment when I first realized my complaining habit reached its expert level.

One day, as I reminded my husband once again to remove his bills from the dining-room table, put his shoes away, and lower that dog-gone radio, he put up his hand. “Stop! Stop your complaining. It’s driving me crazy.”

I looked at him blank-eyed.

He took a deep breath. “You never hear me complaining, do you?”

“Well,” I answered, “you’re complaining about my complaining, so actually, yes, I am hearing you complain right now.”

His eyes widened. Sweat formed on his upper lip. Then he grabbed his car keys and ran out the door.

Perhaps I’d gone too far, I thought. Maybe I really did complain too much. But, what to do about it? After all, it had been a lifetime habit. And habits are hard to break.

It had been some time since Jack had seen the old man. College, carrier, and life itself got in the way. In fact, Jack moved clear across the country in pursuit(追寻）of thedreams. There, in the rush of hisbusy life. Jack had little time to think about the past and often no time tospendwith hiswife and son. He was working on his future, and nothing could stop him.

Over the phone, his mother told him,“Mr. Belserdied last night The funeral(葬礼）is Wednesday.”Memoriesflashed through his mind like an old newsreel(新闻短片）as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days.

“Jack, did you hear me?”

“Oh, sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It’s been so long since I thought of him. I’m sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago,” Jack said.

“Well, he didn’t forget you. Every time I saw him he’d ask how you were doing. He’d reminisce(回忆）about the many days you spent over ‘his side of the fence’ as he put it,” Mom told him.

“I loved that old house he lived in,” Jack said.

“You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make sure you had a man’s influence in your life," she said.

“He’s the one who taught me carpentry. I wouldn’t be in this business if it weren’t for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things that he thought were important Mom, I’ll be there for the funeral.” Jack said.

Busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his hometown. Mr. Belser’s funeral was small and uneventful. He had no children of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away.

The night before he had to return home. Jack and his Mom stopped by to see the old house next door one more time, which was exactly as he remembered. Every step held memories. Every picture, every piece of furniture... Jack stopped suddenly.

“What’s wrong, Jack?” his Mom asked.

“The box is gone,” he said.

“What box?” Mom asked.

“There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I must have asked him a thousand times what wasinside. All he’d ever tell me was ‘the thing I value most’,” Jack said.

It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack remembered it, except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family had taken it.

“Now I’ll never know what was so valuable to him,” Jack said sadly.

Returning to his office the next day, he found a package on his desk.

Inside he found these words carved: