My dad, George, only had an eighth grade education. A quiet man, he didn't understand my world

 Exercise 9
My dad, George, only had an eighth grade education. A quiet man, he didn't understand my world of school activities. From age 14, he worked. And his dad, Albert, took the money my dad earned and used it to pay family expenses.
I didn't really understand his world either: He was a livestock trucker, and I thought that I would surpass(超过)anything he had accomplished by the time I walked across the stage at high school graduation.
Summers in the mid-70s were spent at home shooting baskets, hitting a baseball, or throwing a football. , preparing for my future as a quarterback on a football team. In poor weather, I read about sports or practiced my trombone(长号).
The summer before my eighth grade I was one of a group of boys that a neighboring farmer hired to work in his field. He explained our basic task, the tractor fired up and we were off, riding down the field looking for weeds to spray with chemicals. After a short way, the farmer stopped and pointed at a weed which we missed. Then we began again. This happened over and over, but we soon learned to identify different grasses like cockleburs, lamb's-quarters, foxtails, and the king of weeds, the pretty purple thistle. It was tiring work, but I looked forward to the pay, even though I wasn't sure how much it would amount to.
At home, my dad said, "A job's a big step to growing up. I'm glad you will be contributing to the household." My dad's words made me realize that my earnings might not be mine to do with as I wished.
My labors lasted about two weeks, and the farmer said there might be more work, but I wasn't interested. I decided it was not fair that I had to contribute my money.
Paragraph1:When I brought my paycheck home--it was $ 119--my dad wanted to talk to me.
Paragraph2:I was surprised that my dad allowed me to use the money as I wished.
Exercise 9
When I brought my paycheck home--it was$119--my dad wanted to talk to me.  Knowing that he would talk about my earnings, I pulled a long face and intended to simply walk past him and slip back to my bedroom. “Come here, son.” Dad exclaimed, wearing an accessible expression. My heart sank. What I had been looking forward to—a dreamy new football outfit would finally give way to family expenses. Reluctantly, I inched forward and submitted the paycheck. However, Dad slid the paycheck back into my hand, saying in a tender voice, “You've grown up. You have every right to decide what to do with the money.”
I was surprised that my dad allowed me to use the money as I wished. My previous desperation was immediately erased by great bills. I stepped closer and hugged him tightly. Just at that moment I noticed his grey hair and stiff neck. Memories of his usual cry of pain on the neck came crowding in. I realized how much he had contributed to the family through his tiring work of being a trucker. Tears began to blur my vision, “Dad, thanks for your hard work these years. I shouldn’t have been so selfish and not willing to contribute my money.” On that day, I began to understand Dad’s world and it seemed that he was also on the way into my world.
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