Without warning, my father would knock on the door in the middle of night, drunken and begging my mother to open it. Later on, they lived their   (1)   lives and my mother was   (2)   my family independently.
    My father was always claiming he had been planning to do something for us, but he had no   (3)  . The man who was   (4)   to love us, in fact, lacked the   (5)   of what it truly meant to love a child.
    Maybe it was his complicated relationship to his father that made him   (6)  . Maybe it was the pain   (7)   with a life of misfortune. Who knows? Whatever it was, it stole him from us, and   (8)   from me. Not understanding me, he simply   (9)   me—not just emotionally, but   (10)   as well. Never once did he hug me.
    My best memories of him were from his   (11)   at participation. Once every month or two, he would   (12)   and drive us to Trucker"s Paradise. To me, the games were fun but easily forgotten. It was the   (13)   of my father that was most treasured.
    It wasn"t until I was much older that I would find evidence of my father"s love.
    When my favorite personal computer came onto the market, I convinced myself that I had to have it even though its price was far   (14)   my mother"s reach. I mowed (割草) every yard I could find that summer,   (15)   it still wasn"t enough. Then my dad agreed to help me   (16)   the rest of the money by selling watermelons. This was the first time that I had ever spent time alone with him. He laughed and repeatedly   (17)   me as "my boy", a phrase he relayed with a sense of   (18)  .
    It just goes to show that however distant the father and however broken the   (19)  , there is still a need for even the smallest bit of   (20)   of a father"s love. Although he had never told me that he loved me, I would regard that day as the greatest evidence of that fact.

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