Jonathan’s mother died when he was very young and his father brought him up. Both of them shared a very special relationship. Football was not just a game for Jonathan; it was a bond between him and his father. Every match, regardless of whether he played or not, his father would be there, a constant source of firm support.

Though his size prevented him from joining the main team, Jonathan’s determination burned brighter than ever. With each practice, he improved his skills, fueled by the belief that someday his perseverance would pay off. Despite the doubts cast upon him, he pushed forward, never allowing anything to make his passion disappear.

One day, as the sun cast long shadows on the field, the coach approached Jonathan with a telegram (电报) in hand. The weight of the message pressed heavily on the young man’s heart as he read the words that forever changed his world. He swallowed hard and his voice shook as he turned to the coach.

“My father... he died this morning,” Jonathan uttered, his voice filled with sorrow. His body trembled with the weight of his sadness, threatening to consume him. Tears flooded his eyes, rolling down his cheeks.

The coach, understanding Jonathan’s loss, enveloped him in a comforting embrace. The warmth of his arm around Jonathan’s shoulder provided a temporary comfort. Softly, the coach spoke words of relief and understanding, giving Jonathan the time and space he needed to process his overwhelming sorrow.

“Take the rest of the week off, son,” the coach said gently, his voice filled with sympathy. “And don’t even plan to come to the game on Saturday. Your well-being matters more than anything.”

On the day of the game, Jonathan’s college team was losing badly to the opponent team. The coach and the players had all lost hope when they saw Jonathan coming towards them. Jonathan ran up to the coach and begged him to allow him to play this match.

At first, the coach wouldn’t allow him to play.

After the match, the coach found Jonathan in the corner of the locker room.

“I wish my mother had a ring like those the ladies wear at the hotel,” said Hiram Green to himself one day. Hiram was the son of a fisherman, but the fisherman had died when Hiram was a little boy. Hiram’s mother took on sewing work to earn money to support herself and her son. He helped her when he could re out of school hours, and during vacation time. He had two uncles who had taught him how to catch shrimps. With the money he earned by selling them he could buy things for his own use or pleasure. He had a “bank” almost full of what he called his “shrimp money.”

The sight of the flashing diamonds on the hands of some of the summer visitors at the fishing village in which he lived had added a new article to the list of beautiful things his mother would own someday. He had heard that just one single diamond was sometimes worth five hundred dollars or more. This had discouraged him very much.

But one day, he happened to pass a shop in the neighboring town and saw a number of diamond rings displayed in the window. He stopped fascinated, and pressed his face against the glass eagerly to see if any prices were marked upon them. Imagine his surprise when he saw upon the largest one a tag marked $4.75. He looked again to see if he had made a mistake. Perhaps it was $475. But no, he knew enough about figures to see that he was right the first time.

He went home as fast as he could, and ran up into his bedroom. Then, he opened his “bank” and counted its contents. “Three dollars and twenty-two cents!” he cried. “I’ll have that ring before another week.” Hiram worked early and late for the next few days. He caught more shrimps than he had ever caught in the same length of time, and sold them readily.

I was surprised when I received a short message from my father wishing me a happy birthday.

I had expected to hear from my mother, my grandmother and my other relatives but never from my father. Lying in bed, memories of my father flooded back.

When I was a little boy, I regarded my father as a hero able to do anything. However, things slowly began to change. The more I learned, the more I doubted what he said. The gap between us grew and, at last, I didn’t even like communicating with him.

My father, in my mind, had no interest in talking with me. Dinner was the only time we were together. He had no time to watch TV with me. He would tell me to ask my mother if I needed something. He even refused to answer my calls when I phoned from school. I got accustomed to the changes. I thought that perhaps my father no longer loved me, so I hardly communicated with him and even was unwilling to contact him.

As time passed by, however, I began to wonder whether my behavior was right. And I began to be more and more upset. I had no idea how to get along well with him. One day, my mother told me that each time I called, my father was always listening beside her. Suddenly, I hated myself for my cold behaviour toward him.

I tried thousands of times to apologize to my father. In the end, however, I was always too embarrassed about what I had done.