There are things which I am thinking about, son: I had been hard on you. I called out 1 when you threw your things on the floor. At breakfast, I found fault, too. You 2 things. You put your elbows on the table. You 3 butter too thick on your bread.
Do you remember that evening when I was 4 in my bedroom, how you came in timidly (羞怯地) with a sort of 5 look in your eyes? When I 6 up over my paper, impatient at the 7, you hesitated at the door. “What is it you want?” I asked. You said nothing, but 8 and threw your arms around my neck and kissed me, and your small arms 9 with an affection. And then you went back to your 10.
Well, son, it was shortly afterwards that my 11 slipped from my hands and a terrible fear came over me. What has habit been doing to me? The habit of finding 12. It was not that I did not love you; it was that I 13 too much from you. I have come to your bedside in the darkness, 14.
Tomorrow I will be a 15 daddy! I will suffer when you suffer and laugh when you laugh. I will bite my tongue when 16 words come. I have always been looking at you as a man. 17 as I see you now, son, lying asleep on your bed, one little 18 under your cheek, you are still a 19. Yesterday you were in your mother's arms, your head on her shoulder. I have 20 too much, too much.
