给人启示的英语美文阅读
经典美文阅读是初中英语教学的重要组成部分,学生通过经典阅读,不但可以修身养性,还可以提高学生的人文气质和语文水平。下面是本站小编带来的给人启示的英语美文阅读，欢迎阅读!
Love Notes
It's been over eleven years now. It was a wintry afternoon, the snow swirling around the cedar trees outside, forcing little icicles to form at the tips of the deep green foliage clinging to the branches.
My older son, Stephen, was at school, and Reed , my husband, at work ree little ones were clustered around the kitchen counter, the tabletop piled high with crayons and markers. Tom was perfecting a paper airplane, creating his own insignia with stars and dtripes,while Sam worked on a self-portrait, his chubby hands drawing first a head, then legs and arms sticking out where the body should have been. The children mostly concentrated on their work, Tom occasionally tutoring his younger brother on excatly how to make a plane that would fly the entire length of the room.
But Laura, our only daughter, sat quietly, engrossed in her project. Every once in a while she would ask how to spell the name of someone in our family, then painstakingly form the letters one by one. Next , she would add flowers with smaill green stems, complete with grass lining the bottom of the page. She finished off each with a sun in the upper right hand corner,surrounded by an inch or two of blue sky. Holding them at eye level, she let out a long sigh of satisfaction.
"What are you making, Honey?" I asked.
She glanced at her brothers beofre looking back at me:
"It's a surprise," she said, covering up her work with her hands.
Next , she taped the top two edges of each sheet of paper together trying her best to create a cylinder. When she had finished, she disappered up the stairs with her treasure.
It wasn't until later that evening thhat I noticed a "mailbox" taped onto the doors to each of our bedrooms , there was one for Steve. There was one for Tom. She hadn't forgotten Sam or baby Paul.
For the next few weeks, we received mail on a regular basis. There were little notes confessing her love for each of us. There were short letters full of tiny compliments that only a seven-year-old would notice. Iwas in charge of retrieving baby Paul's letteres,page after page of colored scenes including flowers with happy faces.
"He can't read yet." she whispered, " But he can look at the pictures."
Each time I recevied one of my little girl's gifts, it brightened my heart.
I was touched at how carefully she observed our moods. When stephen lost a baseball game, there was a letter telling him she thought he was the best ballplayer in the whole world. After I had a particularly hard day, there was a message thanking me for my efforts, complete with a smile face tucked near the bottom corner of the page.
This same little girl is grown now, driving off every day to the community college. But some things about her have never changed. One afternoon only a week or so ago, I found a love note next to my bedside.
"Thanks for always being there for me, Mom, " it read, " I'm glad that we're the best of friends."
I couldn't help but remember the precious child whose smile has brought me countless hours of joy throughout the years. There are angels among us .
I know , I live with one.
给人启示的英语美文阅读篇二A Dance with Dad
I am dancing with my father at my parents' 50th-wedding-anniver-sary celebration. The band is playing an old-fashioned waltz as we move gracefully across the floor. His hand on my waist is as guiding as it always was, and he hums the tune to himself in a steady, youthful way. Around and around we go, laughing and nodding to the other dancers.
We are the best dancers on the floor, they tell us. My father squeezes my hand and smiles at me. All the years that I refused to dance with him melt away now. And those early times come back.
I remember when I was almost three and my father came home from work, swooped me into his arms and began to dance me around the table. My mother laughed at us, told us dinner would get cold. But my father said, "She's just caught the rhythm of the dance! Our dinner can wait." Then he sang out, "Roll out the barrel, let's have a barrel of fun," and I sang back, "Let's get those blues on the run."
We danced through the years. One night when I was 15, lost in some painful, adolescent mood. My father put on a stack of records and teased me to dance with him. "C'mon," he said, "let's get those blues on the run."
When I turned away from him, my father put his hand on my shoulder, and I jumped out of the chair screaming, "Don't touch me! I am sick and tired of dancing with you!" I saw the hurt on his face, but words were out and I could not call them back. I ran to my room sobbing hysterically.
We did not dance together after that night. I found other partners, and my father waited up for me after dances, sitting in his favorite chair. Sometimes he would be asleep when I came in, and I would wake him, saying, "If you were so tired, you should have gone to bed."
"No, no," he'd say, "I was just waiting for you."
Then we'd lock up the house and go to bed.
My father waited up for me through my high school and college years when I danced my way out of his life
Shortly after my first child was born; my mother called to tell me my father was ill. "A heart problem," she said, "now, don't come. It's three hundred miles. It would upset your father."
A proper diet restored him to good health. My mother wrote that they had joined a dance club. "The doctor says it's a good exercise. You remember how your father loves to dance."
Yes, I remembered. My eyes filled up with remembering.
When my father retired, we mended our way back together again; hugs and kisses were common when we visited each other. He danced with the grandchildren, but he did not ask me to dance. I knew he was waiting for an apology from me. I could never find the right words.
As my parents' 50th anniversary approached, my brothers and I met to plan the party. My older brother said, "Do you remember that night you wouldn't dance with him? Boy, was he mad? I couldn't believe he'd get so mad about a thing like that. I'll bet you haven't danced with him since."
I did not tell him he was right.
My younger brother promised to get the band. "Make sure they can play waltzes and polkas," I told him.
I did not tell him that all I wanted to do was dance once more with my father.
When the band began to play after dinner, my parents took the floor. They glided around the room, inviting the others to join them. The guests rose to their feet, applauding the golden couple. My father danced with his granddaughters, and then the band began to play the "Beer Barrel Polka".
"Roll out the barrel," I heard my father singing. Then I knew it was time. I wound my way through a few couples and tapped my daughter on the shoulder.
"Excuse me," I said, looking directly into my father's eyes and almost choking on my words, "but I believe this is my dance."
My father stood rooted to the spot. Our eyes met and traveled back to that night when I was 15. In a trembling voice, I sang, "Let's get those blues on the run."
My father bowed and said, "Oh, yes. I've been waiting for you."
Then he started to laugh, and we moved into each other's arms.
与父亲共舞
在父母五十周年结婚纪念日那天我与父亲跳舞了。乐队演奏着旧式的华尔兹，我们在地板上优美地滑动着。他的手环着我的腰，像以往一样指引着我，平和而又充满活力地哼着调子。我们跳了一圈又一圈，不时地向其他舞者笑着点头致意。他们说我们是舞场中最优秀的舞者。父亲握着我的手，露出了微笑。
我们继续着舞步，这时我想起在我三岁那年，父亲下班回家，一把将我搂在怀里，围着桌子开始跳舞。母亲笑着说，饭都要凉了。但父亲却说：“她刚好跟上舞蹈的节奏，饭可以等会再吃。”然后，他开始哼唱：“Roll out the barrel, let's have a barrel of fun。”我就唱道：“Let's get those blues on the run。”那天晚上，他教我跳波尔卡、华尔兹，还教我跳狐步舞。那晚我们连饭都没吃。
我们每天都要跳舞。在我五岁时，父亲教我跳shuffle off to Buffalo。后来，我们在露营少女团夏令营中，赢得了舞蹈比赛的冠军。我们还去美国劳军联合组织所在的地方表演吉特巴舞。每次父亲进入舞池之后，都会与所有的人跳舞，与在场的女士们旋转，甚至还有士兵。我们都为父亲欢呼、鼓掌，因为他是一个真正的舞者。
我十五岁那年的一个晚上，或许由于青春期的多愁善感，我非常悲伤。父亲拿出一堆唱片，非要我跟他跳舞。“来吧，”他说，“Let's get those blues on the run。”我没理他，独自承受着自己的痛苦。他走过来把手放在我的肩上。我跳下椅子，对他吼道：“别碰我!别碰我!我讨厌和你跳舞!”我看到了他脸上受伤的表情，但话已出口，我无法收回。我痛哭着跑回了房间。
从那之后，我再也没和父亲跳过舞。我有了其他舞伴，而父亲总是会穿着法兰绒睡衣，坐在自己最喜欢的椅子上，等我回家。有时当我回来，他已经睡着了。我便把他叫醒，告诉他：“既然你这么累，就该早点去睡觉。”
他总是会说：“不，没有。我在等你呢。”
然后，我们就锁上房门，各自去睡了。
在我上高中和大学的几年里，每次我出去跳舞，父亲都会一直等我回家。
在我的第一个孩子出生不久的一个晚上，母亲打电话告诉我说父亲病了：“是心脏的问题。现在不要过来，三百英里太远了，你父亲会生气的。等等吧，有了结果我会告诉你。”
父亲的检查显示他压力有些过重，不过合理的饮食使他恢复了健康。只是暂时的小毛病。背部椎间盘问题，心脏问题，白内障晶体移植。但是他从未停止跳舞。母亲写信说他们参加了一个舞蹈俱乐部。“你还记得你父亲多么喜欢跳舞吗?”
是的，我记得。我的眼中充满了对过去的回忆。
父亲退休之后，我们又聚在了一起。每次见面，我们都要相互拥抱，亲吻。但是父亲从未让我陪他跳舞。他和外孙女们跳舞。我的女儿们还不识字就知道怎么跳华尔兹。
“一、二、三，一、二、三，”父亲总是数着舞步。“能来和我跳支华尔兹吗?”每次我希望父亲对我说出这句话的时候，心里都会感到阵痛。但是我知道父亲在等我的道歉，而我总是很难找到恰当的语言。
而随着父母结婚五十周年纪念日的到来，我的兄弟和我计划为他们举办一次舞会。我哥哥说：“还记得你拒绝陪他跳舞的那个晚上吗?天哪，他简直疯了。真不敢相信他为了此事竟如此伤心。从那以后，你肯定没和他跳过舞吧。”
我没有回答，但他说得没错。
弟弟说他能够搞定一支乐队。
我告诉他：“一定要保证他们能够演奏华尔兹和波尔卡舞曲。”
他说：“爸爸可以跳任何一支曲子。你不想跳吗?是不是很紧张啊?”我没有告诉他，我只是想和父亲再跳一次舞。
晚餐过后，乐队开始演奏，父母步入了舞池。他们在房间里翩翩起舞，并邀请其他人加入。客人们都站起来，一齐为这对金婚夫妇喝彩。父亲开始和他的外孙女跳舞，乐队演奏起了“Beer Barrel Polka”。
我听见父亲在唱：“Roll out the barrel”。我知道现在是最佳时机。我知道要想让父亲和我跳舞，我需要说些什么。我穿过人群，拍了拍女儿的肩膀。
“对不起。”我说，有一种窒息的感觉。“我想这是我的舞曲。”
父亲呆了一样站在那里。我们都注视这对方，思绪飞回到我十五岁的那个夜晚。我用略带颤抖的声音唱道：“Let's get those blues on the run。”
父亲鞠躬道：“噢，当然。我一直在等你。”
说完，他大笑起来。我们挽着彼此的胳膊，停了一下，以便跟上舞曲的节奏。
给人启示的英语美文阅读篇三Mother’s Hands
Night after night, she came to tuck me in, even long after my childhood years. Following her longstanding custom, she'd lean down and push my long hair out of the way, then kiss my forehead.
I don't remember when it first started annoying me — her hands pushing my hair that way. But it did annoy me, for they felt work-worn and rough against my young skin. Finally, one night, I shouted out at her, "Don't do that anymore —your hands are too rough!" She didn't say anything in reply. But never again did my mother close out my day with that familiar expression of her love.
Time after time, with the passing years, my thoughts returned to that night. By then I missed my mother's hands, missed her goodnight kiss on my forehead. Sometimes the incident seemed very close, sometimes far away. But always it lurked, in the back of my mind.
Well, the years have passed, and I'm not a little girl anymore. Mom is in her mid-seventies, and those hands I once thought to be so rough are still doing things for me and my family. She's been our doctor, reaching into a medicine cabinet for the remedy to calm a young girl's stomach or soothe the boy's scraped knee. She cooks the best fried chicken in the world... gets stains out of blue jeans like I never could...
Now, my own children are grown and gone. Mom no longer has Dad, and on special occasions, I find myself drawn next door to spend the night with her. So it was late on Thanksgiving Eve, as I slept in the bedroom of my youth, a familiar hand hesitantly run across my face to brush the hair from my forehead. Then a kiss, ever so gently, touched my brow.
In my memory, for the thousandth time, I recalled the night my young voice complained, "Don't do that anymore — your hands are too rough!" Catching Mom's hand in hand, I blurted out how sorry I was for that night. I thought she'd remember, as I did. But Mom didn't know what I was talking about. She had forgotten — and forgiven — long ago.
That night, I fell asleep with a new appreciation for my gentle mother and her caring hands. And the guilt that I had carried around for so long was nowhere to be found.
妈妈的手
母亲总是在我入睡之后，为我掖好被子，然后俯下身子，轻轻拨开覆在我脸上的长发，亲吻我的前额。日复一日，母亲一直保持着这个习惯，即使我已不再是小孩子了，这一切却依然故我。
不知从什么时候开始，母亲的这种习惯渐渐让我感到不悦----我不喜欢她那双布满老茧的手就这样划过我细嫩的皮肤。终于，在一个夜晚，我忍不住冲她吼了起来：“你不要再这样了，你的手好粗糙!”母亲无言以对。但从此却再没有用这种我熟悉的表达爱的方式来为我的一天画上句号。
日子一天天过去，随着时间的流逝，我却总是不由得想起那一夜。我开始想念母亲的那双手，想念她印在我前额上的“晚安”。这种渴望忽远忽近，但始终潜藏在我心灵深处的某个角落。
若干年后，我成熟了，已不再是个小女孩了。母亲也已到了古稀之年，可她却始终没有停止过操劳，用她那双曾经被我视为“粗糙”的手为我和我的家庭做着力所能及的事情。她是我们的家庭医生，小姑娘胃痛时，她会从药箱里找出胃药来，小男孩擦伤的膝盖时，她会去安抚他的伤痛。她能做出世界上最好吃的炸鸡，能把蓝色牛仔裤上的污渍去得毫无痕迹......
现在，我自己的孩子也已长大，有了自己的生活，母亲却没有了父亲的陪伴。有一次，恰好是感恩节前夜，我决定就睡在母亲旁边的卧室里，陪她度过这一夜。这是我儿时的卧室，一切都是那么的熟悉，还有一只熟悉的手犹豫着从我的脸上掠过，梳理着我前额的头发，然后，一个吻，带着一如往日的温柔，轻轻落在了我的额头。
在我的记忆里，曾几千次再现那晚的情景和我那稚嫩的抱怨声：“你不要再这样了，你的手好粗糙!”我一把抓住母亲的手，一股脑说出我对那一晚深深的愧疚。我想，她一定和我一样，对那晚的事历历在目。然而，母亲却不知我再说些什么-----她早忘了，早已原谅我了。
那天晚上，我带着对母亲新的感激安然入睡，我感激她的温柔，和她那呵护的双手。多年来压在我心头的负罪感也随之烟消云散。
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