I joined the United States Air Force in January of 1962. Whenever I would come home on leave, I would ask Dad to play the mandolin. Nobody played the mandolin like my father. He could touch your soul with the tones that came out of that old mandolin. He seemed to shine when he was playing. You could see his pride in his ability to play so well for his family.

When Dad was younger, he worked for his father on the farm. His father was a farmer and sharecropped a farm for the man who owned the property. In 1950, our family moved from the farm. Dad had gained employment at the local limestone quarry. When the quarry closed in August of 1957, he had to seek other employment. He worked for Owens Yacht Company in Dundalk, Maryland and for Todd Steel in Point of Rocks, Maryland. While working at Todd Steel, he was involved in an accident. His job was to roll angle iron onto a conveyor so that the welders farther up the production line would have it to complete their job. On this particular day Dad got the third index finger of his left hand mashed between two pieces of steel. The doctor who operated on the finger could not save it, and Dad ended up having the tip of the finger amputated. He didn*t lose enough of the finger where it would stop him picking up anything, but it did impact his ability to play the mandolin.

　After the accident, Dad was reluctant to play the mandolin. He felt that he could not play as well as he had before the accident. When I came home on leave and asked him to play he would make excuses for why he couldn*t play. Eventually, we would wear him down and he would say "Okay, but remember, I can*t hold down on the strings the way I used to" or "Since the accident to this finger I can*t play as good". For the family it didn*t make any difference that Dad couldn*t play as well. We were just glad that he would play. When he played the old mandolin it would carry us back to a cheerful, happier time in our lives. "Davey, Davey Crockett, King of the Wild Frontier", would again be heard in the little town of Bakerton, West Virginia.

　In August of 1993 my father was diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer. He chose not to receive chemotherapy treatments so that he could live out the rest of his life in dignity. About a week before his death, we asked Dad if he would play the mandolin for us. He made excuses but said "okay". He knew it would probably be the last time he would play for us. He tuned up the old mandolin and played a few notes. When I looked around, there was not a dry eye in the family. We saw before us a quiet humble man with an inner strength that comes from knowing God, and living with him in one*s life. Dad would never play the mandolin for us again. We felt at the time that he wouldn*t have enough strength to play, and that makes the memory of that day even stronger. Dad was doing something he had done all his life, giving. As sick as he was, he was still pleasing others. Dad sure could play that Mandolin!

Age has reached the end of the beginning of a word. May be guilty in his seems to passing a lot of different life became the appearance of the same day; May be back in the past, to oneself the paranoid weird belief disillusionment, these days, my mind has been very messy, in my mind constantly. Always feel oneself should go to do something, or write something. Twenty years of life trajectory deeply shallow, suddenly feel something, do it.

The end of our life, and can meet many things really do?

During my childhood, think lucky money and new clothes are necessary for New Year, but as the advance of the age, will be more and more found that those things are optional; Junior high school, thought to have a crush on just means that the real growth, but over the past three years later, his writing of alumni in peace, suddenly found that isn*t really grow up, it seems is not so important; Then in high school, think don*t want to give vent to out your inner voice can be in the high school children of the feelings in a period, but was eventually infarction when graduation party in the throat, later again stood on the pitch he has sweat profusely, looked at his thrown a basketball hoops, suddenly found himself has already can*t remember his appearance.

Originally, this world, can produce a chemical reaction to an event, in addition to resolutely, have to do, and time.

A person*s time, your ideas are always special to clear. Want, want, line is clear, as if nothing could shake his. Also once seemed to be determined to do something, but more often is he backed out at last. Dislike his cowardice, finally found that there are a lot of love, there are a lot of miss, like shadow really have been doomed. Those who do, just green years oneself give oneself an arm injection, or is a self-righteous spiritual.

At the moment, the sky is dark, the air is fresh factor after just rained. Suddenly thought of blue plaid shirt; Those were broken into various shapes of stationery; From the corner at the beginning of deep friendship; Have declared the end of the encounter that haven*t start planning... Those years, those days of do, finally, like youth, will end in our life.

In the Orient young bulls are tested for the fight arena in a certain manner. Each is brought to the ring and allowed to attack a picador who pricks them with a lance. The bravery of each bull is then rated with care according to the number of times he demonstrates his willingness to charge in spite of the sting of the blade. Henceforth will I recognize that each day I am tested by life in like manner. If I persist, if I continue to try, if I continue to charge forward, I will succeed.

I was not delivered unto this world in defeat, nor does failure course in my veins. I am not a sheep waiting to be prodded by my shepherd. I am a lion and I refuse to talk, to walk, to sleep with the sheep. I will hear not those who weep and complain, for their disease is contagious. Let them join the sheep. The slaughterhouse of failure is not my destiny.

The prizes of life are at the end of each journey, not near the beginning; and it is not given to me to know how many steps are necessary in order to reach my goal. Failure I may still encounter at the thousandth step, yet success hides behind the next bend in the road. Never will I know how close it lies unless I turn the corner.

Always will I take another step. If that is of no avail I will take another, and yet another. In truth, one step at a time is not too difficult.

Henceforth, I will consider each day*s effort as but one blow of my blade against a mighty oak. The first blow may cause not a tremor in the wood, nor the second, nor the third. Each blow, of itself, may be trifling, and seem of no consequence. Yet from childish swipes the oak will eventually tumble. So it will be with my efforts of today.