＂BANG!＂ the door caused a reverberation (回声). It was just standing there, with father standing on one side, and me on the other side.

We were both in great anger. ＂Never set foot in this house again!＂ stormed father. With tears welling up in my eyes, I rushed out of the flat and ran along the street.

The street lights were shining, causing rather sad feelings. I wandered aimlessly.

A young father who held a child in his arms walked past me. I felt as if I saw my childhood from another space: happy and carefree.

But now … I don’t know whether it is because I have grown up or because dad is getting old. We differ in our ways of thinking. We are just like two people coming from two different worlds. It feels like there is an iron door between us that can never be opened.

I wandered the streets, without a destination in mind. My heart was frozen on this hot summer night. As I walked on, there were fewer and fewer people on the streets, until I had only the street lights to keep me company. When I finally reached the high-rise apartment block in which I lived, I saw that the light was still on.

I thought to myself: ＂Is father waiting for me, or is he still angry with me？＂

In fact, it was nothing. Perhaps, dad was throwing away some of his old stamps. Perhaps he thought they were useless. I never had the courage to tell him that I liked collecting stamps.

All the lights were off except father’s.

Dad was always like this. Maybe he didn’t know how to express himself. After shouting at me, he never showed any mercy or any moments of regret.

This was how he always was. He has been a leader for so long that telling everyone else what to do has become his second nature.

The light was still on. ＂Am I wrong＂ I whispered, maybe… With the key in my hand, I was as nervous as I had ever been. At last, I decided to open the door. As soon as I opened the door, tears ran down my cheeks. I suddenly realized that the iron door that I had imagined between us did not exist at all. Love—it’s second to none.

There have been times in my life when I felt satisfied.Sometimes it was because I achieved a goal I had set. Sometimes it was because I overcame a fear or passed a test.However,every time I feel that way,I learn again that full isn't full.

When I was a little boy,I felt that the love I had for my mom and dad,and the love they had for me,just filled me up.Surely in a house full of nine people lived a young boy who loved and was loved as fully as a person could stand. Imagine my surprise as I then extended（扩大影响）that love to my grandparents,my uncle & aunt,cousins,etc.As I grew older,I met and married a beautiful woman that I thought entirely filled me up with love.I could not imagine there would be any more room.Then a few short years later we added one daughter and then another daughter to our family.Again,I had room to love and be loved.See what I mean?Every time I feel that life and love are as good as they can get,they get better.

There is a lesson here for us.We ought to always have a heart that is open to expanding.To do more,love more, live more,learn more,overcome more,forgive more and the list could go on.Each of us knows 100 stories about men and women who have proved the impossible to be possible.Every day we stand at the crossroad and must decide if we are going to be a better person today than we were yesterday.

You are not full yet.Young or old,there is still room for more.

I remember walking across campus to my dad's office every day after school for over a decade. Upon my arrival，I would find my dad siting at his desk，surrounded by piles of papers and books. Although the empty chair sitting beside him was probably for a colleague in need of guidance or a college student seeking scheduling help，I always believed that empty chair was for me.

Dad would look up from whatever he was doing and greet me with a smile. Then，as if just at the same time，he'd place the cap on the black felt-tip pen that he used to grade papers or drat notes. The pen cap gesture was my signal. It meant my dad wanted to hear about my day. Sometimes I told him a few things；other times I went on and on about something exciting or dramatic that had happened at school. My dad would listen，nod，and sometimes add his two cents. Without fail，my dad would smile as if hearing about my day was the best part of his day.

This was the routine. From my first grade through the senior year in high school，I had after-school chats with my dad. I can't remember a time when he said he couldn't talk right now，even when he was working on his paper，dealing with challenging issues，or facing budget cuts.

My dad wasn't perfect. He lost his temper sometimes. He worked too much. He experienced periods of depression. But even through the rough patches，my dad was always there for me. He was never too busy or too distracted to hear his son's thoughts and opinions.

So though the critics say that giving a child our undivided attention creates a child who thinks the world spins around him or her，I believe otherwise: Having a parent who listens creates a child who believes he or she has a voice that matters in this world.