High school life is coming to an end. Every student got a gift, but few gifts can be nicer than that Linda got from her dad.

What’s special about it? It’s a long story. Ever since kindergarten (学前班), Linda’s father had asked each of his daughter’s teachers to write some words about her in a notebook. Her teachers wrote down their beautiful days with Linda from kindergarten to high school. And Linda’s father kept the notebook until she finished high school. The final gift was so surprising and moving that it made her cry a lot.

Linda’s father has kept this notebook as a secret these years and the notebook has become yellow. “It’s clear everyone else in my life knew about it,” Linda said. “The words from every teacher encourage me. They help me remember my years. Thanks to it, I can look back at the past school years. I can also enjoy the happy memories in the rest of my life. My teachers mentioned my smile. But what they wrote about me most is my deep love for life. I never imagine the gift is so special. I would keep it for myself forever. It will be the most valuable thing in my life.”

Maybe we should think about using this gift from Linda’s father as inspiration (灵感) for gift-giving. The most important thing is something meaningful behind it. Sometimes, the best gift is not the most expensive one.

I was 18 when one morning my father told me I could drive him into a village about 18 miles away, on the condition that I took the car to be repaired at a nearby garage(汽车修理厂). Having just learned to drive and hardly ever having the chance to use the car. I happily accepted. I drove Dad into the village and promised to pick him up at 4 pm, and then drove to a nearby garage. Because I had a few free hours, I decided to catch a couple of movies at a theater near the garage. When the last movie had finished, it was six o’clock. I was two hours late.

I knew Dad would be angry if he found out I’d been watching movies. I decided to tell him that the car needed some repairs and that they had taken longer than expected. I drove up to the place where we had planned to meet and saw Dad waiting patiently. I said sorry and told him that I’d come as quickly as I could, but the car had needed some important repairs.

“I’m disappointed that you feel you have to lie to me, Jason.”

“What do you mean? I’m telling the truth.”

Dad looked at me again. “When you did not show up, I called the garage. They told me that you had not yet picked up the car. So you see, I know there were no problems with the car.” I had to confess to my trip to the movie theater. Dad listened as sadness passed through him.

“I’m angry, not with you but with myself. I have failed because I have brought up a son who cannot even tell the truth to his own father. I’m going to walk home now and consider where I have gone wrong all these years.”

“But Dad, it’s 18 miles to home. It’s dark. You can’t walk home.” My words were useless. Dad began walking along the dusty roads, silently, thoughtfully and painfully. For 18 miles I drove behind him.

This was the saddest experience that I have ever had. It was also the most successful lesson I have never lied to my father after that.