Unit 3 Computers Language points课时作业

一、阅读理解

Dad and I loved baseball and hated sleep. One midsummer dawn when I was nine，we drove to the local park with our baseballs，gloves，and Yankees caps.

"If you thought night baseball was a thrill，just wait，" Dad told me. "Morning air carries the ball like you've never seen. "

He was right. Our fastballs charged faster and landed more lightly. The echoes of our catches popped as the sun rose over the dew-sprinkled fields.

The park was all ours for about two hours. Then a young mother pushed her stroller toward us. When she neared，Dad politely leaned over the stroller，waved，and gave the baby his best smile.

The mother stared at him for a second，and then rushed away.

Dad covered his mouth with his hand and walked to the car. "Let's go，bud，" he said. "I'm not feeling well. "

A month earlier，Bell's palsy (贝尔氏神经麻痹) had struck Dad，paralyzing the right side of his face. It left him slurring words and with a droopy eyelid. He could hardly drink from a cup without spilling onto his shirt. And his smile，which once eased the pain of playground cuts and burst forth at the mention of Mick Jagger，Woody Allen，or his very own Yankees，was gone.

As I slumped in the car，I began suspecting that our sunrise park visit wasn't about watching daylight lift around us. This was his effort to avoid stares.

It was a solemn drive home.

After that day，Dad spent more time indoors. He left the shopping，driving，and Little League games to Mom. A freelance editor，he turned our dining room into his office and buried himself in manuscripts. He no longer wanted to play catch.

At physical therapy，Dad obeyed the doctor: "Now smile as wide as you can. Now lift your right cheek with your hand. Now try to whistle. "

Only the sound of blowing air came out. My earliest memories were of Dad whistling to Frank Sinatra or Bobby McFerrin. He always whistled. He had taught me to whistle