關於初中生英語美文摘抄閱讀

　　初中英語教學思想觀念的更新,教學方法的改變,都會使初中英語改革不斷深入。讓初中英語課堂洋溢創造,會使初中英語教育事業的發展迎來新的光芒。 下面是小編帶來的，歡迎閱讀!

　　篇一

　　父親最後的擁抱In praise of hugs

　　I grew up bereft ***被剝奪的，缺少的*** of hugs. Neither of my parents was the cuddly type. Greetings involving kissing caused me to wince, and hugging generally just made me feel awkward.

　　Then one hug changed all that. One month before my 40th birthday my dad had heart surgery. As he came round, days later, he grabbed me and hugged me so hard I had to push with all my might to keep my head from pressing down on his newly stitched torso ***身體軀幹***.

　　It was a hug to make up for all those we had never had. Days later as he slowly started to gain strength he told me for the first time ever that he loved me, and through my tears I told him I loved him too.

　　I began planning how to bake him better – with carrot cakes, victoria sponges, jelly and ice cream. My maternal streak kicked in and I fantasised ***幻想*** about wheeling him through the park and feeding him home-made goodies. Then he died.

　　I felt cheated. All my life I had wondered whether my dad cared for me and loved me – I doubted it. Just as I got proof that he did, he passed away.

　　My parents split up when I was two years old and, while I had monthly contact with my dad, my bitter stepmother and my father's old-fashioned stiff upper lip meant we never became close. In fact, I used to dread the visits to see him and count the hours until I could go home again.

　　When I was very little the weekends at my father's house felt cold and unfriendly. During my teens the trips to a hostile house became a dread on the horizon for weeks beforehand. Each stay culminated in an uncomfortable peck on the cheek from Dad as he said goodbye – a moment I cringed about for hours in advance.

　　And yet standing beside the hospital bed watching the life ebb from my sleeping father was painful. I felt like a little girl at his bedside, unable to talk to him yet again. I became fixated with his fingers – fat and soft, lying gently curled beside him. Slowly they transformed from plump sausages to stone – white and immovable. It was his fingers that told me he had gone from this life, not the bleeping of monitors or the bustling of nursing staff.

　　Losing a father whom you have no recollection of ever living with is difficult. Grieving is tricky; I didn't have any obvious close father-daughter memories to cling to and mull and cry over. Most of my memories were of stilted meetings and uncomfortable times together. But I desperately missed him being alive.

　　As time moved on my grief and anger at his untimely death began to recede. I realised that his affirmation of me from his deathbed had filled a gaping hole of insecurity I had constantly carried around.

　　To a child a hug says so many things. It tells you that the person hugging you loves you, cares for you. A hug also confirms that you are a lovable being. Months after Dad's death I realised with a jolt that his lack of hugs said more about him than me. My father was not a demonstrative man and I was, therefore, perhaps, a lovable being.

　　Once I digested this insight my feelings changed from those of a needy child to ones of a very proud daughter. Looking at my father more objectively allowed me to view him clearly: he was a man of few words; he was intelligent, kind and extremely modest. Ironically I began to feel closer to him in death than I had while he was alive.

　　With this new-found wisdom came the freedom to give up trying so very hard to gain the affections of others and to concentrate on finding me. I shattered the family taboo of silence about the break-up of my parents' marriage. I also felt the need to speak out about the detrimental effect I felt my step-parents had had on my life.

　　In some ways the consequences have been quite dire and I no longer have contact with my mother. However, Dad's hug had a profound effect on me. It carried me along a path from childhood to adulthood. At last I am my own woman and one who loves nothing better than a good old-fashioned hug.

　　篇二

　　Butterfly Kisses蝶吻

　　My newlywed husband said the same thing every morning. "You're beautiful today."

　　One glance in the mirror revealed that it was far from the truth.

　　A skinny girl with mashed***搗爛的*** hair on one side of her head and no makeup smiled back at me. I could feel my sticky morning breath.

　　“Liar,” I shot back with a grin.

　　It was my usual response. My mother's first husband was not a kind man and his verbal and physical abuse forced her and her two children to find a safe place. He showed up on her doorstep one day with roses. She let him in and he beat her with those roses and took advantage of her. Nine months later she gave birth to a 9 lb. 13 oz. baby girl -- me.

　　The harsh words we heard growing up took root. I had trouble seeing myself as someone of value. I had been married two years when I surprised myself. My husbandwrapped***包裹，覆蓋*** his arms around me and told me I was beautiful.

　　“Thank you,” I said.

　　The same thin girl with the mousy***灰褐色的*** brown hair still stared back at me in the mirror, but somehow the words had finally blossomed in my heart.

　　A lot of years have passed. My husband has grey in his hair. I'm no longer skinny. Last week I woke up and my husband's face was inches from mine.

　　“What are you doing?” I asked.

　　I covered my mouth, trying to hide my morning breath. He reached down and kissed my face.

　　“What I do every morning,” he said.

　　He leaves in the early hours of the morning while I sleep. I miss our morning conversations, but I had not realized that he continued to tell me that he loved me even while I slept. When he left, I rolled over and hugged my pillow. I envisioned***預想*** the picture of me lightly snoring***打鼾*** with my mouth open and giggled.

　　What a man! My husband understands my past. He's been beside me as I've grown from an unsure young girl to a confident woman, mother, speaker and author.

　　But I'm not sure that he understands the part he played in that transition. The words I heard growing up pierced***穿通，刺過*** my soul, yet his words pierced even deeper.

　　This Anniversary Day I plan to wake early. I want to tell Richard how much I love him. He may look in the mirror and see an extra pound or two, or wish for the day when his hair was dark and curly, but all I'll see is the man who saw something in me when I couldn't see it myself, and who leaves butterfly kisses, even after twenty-three years of marriage.

　　篇三

　　Every Day is a Lucky Day

　　I teach economics at UNLV three times per week. Last monday, at the beginning of class, I cheerfully asked my students how their weekend had been. One young man said that his weekend had not been so good. He had his wisdom teeth removed. The young man then proceeded to ask me why I always seemed to be so cheerful.

　　His question reminded me of something I'd read somewhere before: "every morning when you get up, you have a choice about how you want to approach life that day," i said. "i choose to be cheerful."

　　"Let me give you an example," I continued, addressing all sixty students in the class. "In addition to teaching here at UNLV, I also teach out at the community college in Henderson, 17 miles down the freeway from where I live. One day a few weeks ago I drove those 17 miles to Henderson. I exited the freeway and turned onto college drive. I only had to drive another quarter mile down the road to the college. But just then my car died. I tried to start it again, but the engine wouldn't turn over. So i put my flashers on, grabbed my books, and marched down the road to the college."

　　"As soon as I got there I called AAA and arranged for a tow truck***拖車*** to meet me at my car after class. The secretary in the provost***教務長，院長*** 's office asked me what has happened. 'This is my lucky day,' i replied, smiling."

　　" 'Your car breaks down and today is your lucky day?' she was puzzled. 'What do you mean?'"

　　" 'I live 17 miles from here.' I replied. 'My car could have broken down anywhere along the freeway. It didn't. Instead, it broke down in the perfect place: off the freeway, within walking distance of here. I'm still able to teach my class, and I've been able to arrange for the tow truck to meet me after class. If my car was meant to break down today, it couldn't have been arranged in a more convenient fashion.'"

　　"The secretary's eyes opened wide, and then she smiled. I smiled back and headed for class." So ended my story.

　　I scanned the sixty faces in my economics class at UNLV. Despite the early hour, no one seemed to be asleep. Somehow, my story had touched them. Or maybe it wasn't the story at all. In fact, it had all started with a student's observation that i was cheerful.