Dad had a black comb. He bought it when he married Mum. Every night, he would 【A1】me his comb and say, “Good girl, help Daddy clean it, OK?”

I was【A2】to do it. At the age of five, this dull task brought me such 【A3】.I would excitedly turn the tap【A4】 and brush the comb carefully. Satisfied that I'd done a good job, I would happily return the comb to Dad. He 【A5】affectionately at me and place the comb in his wallet.

Two years later, Dad started his own 【A6】 , which wasn't doing well. When things started to【A7】 , Dad didn't come home as early and as much as he used to. Mum and I became 【A8】at him for placing our family in trouble 【A9】 time went by, an uncomfortable silence grew between us.

After my graduation from college, Dad’s business was getting back on track. On my 24th birthday, Dad came home 【A10】 . As usual, I helped him carry his bags into his study. When I turned to leave, he said, “Hey, would you help me【A11】 my comb?” I looked at him for a while, then 【A12】 the comb and headed to the sink. It hit me then: why, as a child,【A13】 Dad clean his comb was such a pleasure? That routine(习惯)told me Dad was home early 【A14】the evening with-Mum and me. It 【A15】a happy and loving family.

I passed the clean comb back to Dad. He smiled at me and 【A16】 placed the comb in his wallet. But this time, Inoticed something 【A17】 . Dad had aged. He had wrinkles  next to his eyes when he smiled 【A18】his smile was still as 【A19】as before, the smile of a father who just wanted a good【A20】 for his family.

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