Father's love is like the warmth of a sun to give you strength and faith, like the hardness of a diamond to show you his consistent support and strong mind. I am so thankful to feel the love from my father. Raising me up is not easy, and I still can remember that daddy got up early to send me to school when I was a child no matter rainy day or sunny day. He drove a motor to pick me up each weekday after his work and bought snacks for me frequently on the way back home. Greatness comes from daily life and is father's kind care. As I grow up gradually, I do cherish the moment with my parents, especially studying in Canada. Thank you, my dear dad, for teaching me how to be a brave and responsible girl keeping in positive mind. There is an old saying "Trees prefer calm while wind not subside; Son chooses filial whileparents died ." Speak out your love to dear parents and care more about them, and I am sure that they will feel it strongly. "Daddy, I love you".
After the terrible earthquake, there are lots of children out of school. Some of them are even homeless.
Their schools and houses have destroyed. They can just live in the open air.They don t have enough school things or clothes .As we all know,every kid has the right to go to school,but now they are in trouble.As a Chinese,we should help them as possible as we can. We can raise some money and things for them. And we can also write to them to encourage them. I hope they will return to school as soon as possible with our help
Before I was going to senior school, my father had never said a word to show his love to me, so that I thought he did not love me very much and sometimes I was upset about it. However, when I left home for senior school, he called me frequently and just asked me some simple questions like: how’s your study and life? When do you come home? or something like that. Gradually, I realize that he misses me although he would never say it out. So this is father’s love, not so obvious but definitely deep.
mother's love wi people's praises for its selfle e . in fact, father's love is as great as that. they bury their love in the deep bottom of their hearts and will never show it. my father is of this kind. i remembered once i felt ill. mother wa 't at home at that moment. father acted as a father and as a mother as well. when he came home from work, he would cook di er for me first. the way he fed me made me think of my kind and tender mother. his eyes were full of love and expectation. i did feel a father's love at that time.
motherly love by its very nature is unconditional. mother loves the newborn infant because it is her child, not because the child has fulfilled any specific condition, or lived up to any specific expectation.unconditional love corresponds in one of 'the deepest longings, not only of the child, but of every human being; on the other hand, to be loved because of one's merit, because one deserves it, always leaves doubt: maybe i did not please the person whom i want to love me, maybe this or that--there is always a fear that love could disappear. furthermore, "deserved" love easily leaves a bitter feeling that one is not loved for oneself, that one is loved only because one pleases, that one is, in the last analysis, not loved at all but used. no wonder that we all cling to the longing for motherly love, as children and also as adults. the relationship to father is quite different. mother is the
home we come from, she is nature, soil, the ocean; father does not represent any such natural home. he has little connection with the child in the first years of his life, and his importance for the child in this early period cannot be compared with that of mother. but while father does not represent thenatural world, he represents the other pole of human existence; the world of thought, of man-made things, of law and order, of discipline, of travel and adventure. father is the one who teaches the child, who shows him the road into the world. fatherly love is conditional love. its principle is "1 love you because you fulfill my expectations, because you do your duty, because you are like me." in conditional fatherly love we find, as with unconditional motherly love, a negative and a positive aspect. the negative aspect is the very fact that fatherly love has to be deserved, that it can be lost if one does not do what is expected. the positive side is equally important. since his love is conditional, i can do something to acquire it, i can work for it; his love is not outside of my control as motherly love is.
It is cold, so bitter cold, on this dark, winter day in 1942. But it is no different from any other day in this Nazi concentration camp. I stand shivering in my thin rags, still in disbelief that this nightmare is happening. I am just a young boy. I should be playing with friends; I should be going to school; I should be looking forward to a future, to growing up and marrying, and having a family of my own. But those dreams are for the living, and I am no longer one of them. Instead, I am almost dead, surviving from day to day, from hour to hour, ever since I was taken from my home and brought here with tens of thousands other Jews. Will I still be alive tomorrow? Will I be taken to the gas chamber tonight?
Back and forth I walk next to the barbed wire fence, trying to keep my emaciated body warm. I am hungry, but I have been hungry for longer than I want to remember. I am always hungry. Edible food seems like a dream. Each day as more of us disappear, the happy past seems like a mere dream, and I sink deeper and deeper into despair. Suddenly, I notice a young girl walking past on the other side of the barbed wire. She stops and looks at me with sad eyes, eyes that seem to say that she understands, that she, too, cannot fathom why I am here. I want to look away, oddly ashamed for this stranger to see me like this, but I cannot tear my eyes from hers.
Then she reaches into her pocket, and pulls out a red apple. A beautiful, shiny red apple. Oh, how long has it been since I have seen one! She looks cautiously to the left and to the right, and then with a smile of triumph, quickly throws the apple over the fence. I run to pick it up, holding it in my trembling, frozen fingers. In my world of death, this apple is an expression of life, of love. I glance up in time to see the girl disappearing into the distance.
The next day, I cannot help myself-I am drawn at the same time to that spot near the fence. Am I crazy for hoping she will come again? Of course. But in here, I cling to any tiny scrap of hope. She has given me hope and I must hold tightly to it.
And again, she comes. And again, she brings me an apple, flinging it over the fence with that same sweet smile.
This time I catch it, and hold it up for her to see. Her eyes twinkle. Does she pity me? Perhaps. I do not care, though. I am just so happy to gaze at her. And for the first time in so long, I feel my heart move with emotion.
For seven months, we meet like this. Sometimes we exchange a few words. Sometimes, just an apple. But she is feeding more than my belly, this angel from heaven. She is feeding my soul. And somehow, I know I am feeding hers as well.
One day, I hear frightening news: we are being shipped to another camp. This could mean the end for me. And it definitely means the end for me and my friend. The next day when I greet her, my heart is breaking, and I can barely speak as I say what must be said: "Do not bring me an apple tomorrow," I tell her. "I am being sent to another camp. We will never see each other again." Turning before I lose all control, I run away from the fence. I cannot bear to look back. If I did, I know she would see me standing there, with tears streaming down my face.
Months pass and the nightmare continues. But the memory of this girl sustains me through the terror, the pain, the hopelessness. Over and over in my mind, I see her face, her kind eyes, I hear her gentle words, I taste those apples.
And then one day, just like that, the nightmare is over. The war has ended. Those of us who are still alive are freed. I have lost everything that was precious to me, including my family. But I still have the memory of this girl, a memory I carry in my heart and gives me the will to go on as I move to America to start a new life. Years pass. It is 1957. I am living in New York City. A friend convinces me to go on a blind date with a lady friend of his. Reluctantly, I agree. But she is nice, this woman named Roma. And like me, she is an immigrant, so we have at least that in common.
"Where were you during the war?" Roma asks me gently, in that delicate way immigrants ask one another questions about those years.
"I was in a concentration camp in Germany," I reply.
Roma gets a far away look in her eyes, as if she is remembering something painful yet sweet.
"What is it?" I ask.
"I am just thinking about something from my past, Herman," Roma explains in a voice suddenly very soft. "You see, when I was a young girl, I lived near a concentration camp. There was a boy there, a prisoner, and for a long while, I used to visit him every day. I remember I used to bring him apples. I would throw the apple over the fence, and he would be so happy."
Roma sighs heavily and continues. "It is hard to describe how we felt about each other-after all, we were young, and we only exchanged a few words when we could-but I can tell you, there was much love there. I assume he was killed like so many others. But I cannot bear to think that, and so I try to remember him as he was for those months we were given together."
With my heart pounding so loudly I think it wil1 explode, I look directly at Roma and ask, "And did that boy say to you one day, 'Do not bring me an apple tomorrow. I am being sent to another camp'?"
"Why, yes," Roma responds, her voice trembling.
"But, Herman, how on earth could you possibly know that?"
I take her hands in mine and answer, "Because I was that young boy, Roma."
For many moments, there is only silence. We cannot take our eyes from each other, and as the veils of time lift, we recognize the soul behind the eyes, the dear friend we once loved so much, whom we have never stopped loving, whom we have never stopped remembering.
Finally, I speak: "Look, Roma, I was separated from you once, and I don't ever want to be separated from you again. Now, I am free, and I want to be together with you forever. Dear, will you marry me?"
I see that same twinkle in her eye that I used to see as Roma says, "Yes, I will marry you," and we embrace, the embrace we longed to share for so many months, but barbed wire came between us. Now, nothing ever will again.
Almost forty years have passed since that day when I found my Roma again. Destiny brought us together the first time during the war to show me a promise of hope and now it had reunited us to fulfill that promise.
Valentine's Day, 1996. I bring Roma to the Oprah Winfrey Show to honor her on national television. I want to tell her in front of millions of people what I feel in my heart every day:
"Darling, you fed me in the concentration camp when I was hungry. And I am still hungry, for something I will never get enough of: I am only hungry for your love."
here are four people in my family, my father, my mother, my brother and I. My parents love me so much, they try their best to educate me. My brother seems to be mean to me, but actually, he is the first person to stand by me when I am denied by others.
I am so grateful that I have a happy family, the love from my parents and my brother makes strong.
When I meet difficulties, they will support me and help me to solve them. So family is my backup, no matter where I go, I will also come back to it and see my lovely relatives.