It"s a typical Snoopy card: cheerful message, bright colors, though a little yellow and faded now. Although I"ve received fancier, more expensive cards over the years, this is the only one I"ve 1 . One summer, it spoke
volumes to me.
I received it 2 the first June I faced as a widow to raise two teenage daughters alone. In all the emotional
confusion of this sudden single 3 , I even had difficulty in the simplest housework: leaky taps, oil changes,
even barbecues. Those had always been my husband"s 4 I was embarrassed every time I 5 my thumb with
a hammer. My uncertain attempts only 6 the fear inside me: How could I be both a father and mother to my
girls？ Clearly, I 7 the tools and skills.
That morning, my girls pushed me into the living room to see something. (I prayed it wasn"t 8 repair job.)
The "something" turned out to be an 9 and several wrapped things on the carpet. My 10 must have been
plain as I stared from the colorful packages to my daughters" 11 faces.
"Go ahead! Open them!" they urged. As I 12 the packages, I discovered a small barbecue grill and all the
necessary 13 including a green kitchen glove.
"But why？" I asked.
"Happy Father"s Day!" they shouted together.
"Moms don"t get presents on Father"s Day," I said.
"You forgot to open the 14 ," Jane reminded I pulled it from the envelope. There sat Snoopy, merrily wishing
me a Happy Father"s Day."Because," the girls said, "you"ve been a father and mother to us, why shouldn"t you
be 15 on Father"s Day？"
As I fought back tears, I realized they were 16 . I wanted to be a "professional" dad, who had the latest tools.
The girls 17 wanted a parent they could count on to be there, day after day, 18 repeatedly the tasks of basic
care and love.
The girls are grown now, 19 they still send me Father"s Day cards, but none of those cards means as much
to me as that first one. Its simple message told me being a great parent didn"t require any special 20 at all-just a
willing worker.
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