It was 1935, when I was 10 years old, and we lived in Brooklyn, New York.
A few days before 1 , my father was sitting on the chair, 2 , with tears in his eyes. The mailman was 3 our building and asked my father what was 4. I heard my father say that he had 5 his food and that the 6 was past due. He had tried to work as a 7 , but he wasn't a very 8 man, and the work had been too hard for him. "How much do you need?" the mailman asked. My dad said he needed $33 for the rent, and without 9 , the mailman took $50 from his wallet and 10 it to my father. My dad said, I don't know 11 I'll be able to pay you back." The mailman put an arm around my father and said it would be 12 if he paid him back or not. The mailman noticed me and said, "Isaac, things will not be this way forever. If you or your son will 13 this day, there will be times in the future when someone needs your help. Help them within your means and tell them what happened this day. This will be my 14. Merry Christmas.
As long as he lived, my father helped others when he could, and I've done my best to do my part in paying the mailman's 15 back.
