Each time I see a balloon, my mind flies back to a memory of when I was a six-year-old girl. It was a rainy Sunday and my father had recently died. I asked my mom if Dad had gone to heaven. "Yes, honey. Of course." she said.

    "Can we write him a letter?"

    She paused, the longest pause of my short life, and answered, "Yes."

    My heart jumped. "How? Does the mailman go there?" I asked.

    "No, but I have an idea." Mom drove to a party store and returned with a red balloon. I asked her what it was for.

    "Just wait, honey. You'll see." Mom told me to write my letter. Eagerly, I got my favorite pen, and poured out my six-year-old heart in the form of blue ink. I wrote about my day, what I learned at school, how Mom was doing, and even about what happened in a story I had read. For a few minutes it was as if Dad were still alive. I gave the letter to Mom. She read it over, and a smile crossed her face.

    She made a hole in the corner of the letter where she looped (缠绕) the balloon string. We went outside and she gave me the balloon. It was still raining.

    "Okay, on the count of three, let go. One, two, three."

The balloon, carrying my letter, darted upward against the rain. We watched until it was swallowed by the mass of clouds.

Later I realized, like the balloon, that Dad had never let his sickness get him down. He was strong. No matter what he suffered, he'd persevere, dart up, and finally transcend (超越) this cold world and his sick body. He rose into sky and became something beautiful. I watched until the balloon disappeared into the gray and white and I prayed that his strength was hereditar. I prayed to be a balloon.

When the girl asked her mother if they could write to her father, her mother _________.

    A．felt it hard to answer       B．thought her a creative girl

    C．believed it easy to do so        D．found it easy to lie

When the girl was told that she could send a letter to her father, she _________.

    A．jumped with joy                  B．became excited

    C．started writing immediately              D．was worried that it couldn't be delivered

In the eyes of the author, what was the rain like?

    A．An incurable disease.           B．An unforgettable memory.

    C．The hard time her father had.                D．The failures her father experienced.

What would be the best title for the passage?

    A．An unforgettable experience     B．The strong red balloon

    C．Fly to paradise                          D．A great father

Each time I see a balloon, my mind flies back to a memory of when I was a six-year-old girl. It was a rainy Sunday and my father had recently died. I asked my mom if Dad had gone to heaven. "Yes, honey. Of course." she said.
"Can we write him a letter?"
She paused, the longest pause of my short life, and answered, "Yes."
My heart jumped. "How? Does the mailman go there?" I asked.
"No, but I have an idea." Mom drove to a party store and returned with a red balloon. I asked her what it was for.
"Just wait, honey. You'll see." Mom told me to write my letter. Eagerly, I got my favorite pen, and poured out my six-year-old heart in the form of blue ink. I wrote about my day, what I learned at school, how Mom was doing, and even about what happened in a story I had read. For a few minutes it was as if Dad were still alive. I gave the letter to Mom. She read it over, and a smile crossed her face.
She made a hole in the corner of the letter where she looped (缠绕) the balloon string. We went outside and she gave me the balloon. It was still raining.
"Okay, on the count of three, let go. One, two, three."
The balloon, carrying my letter, darted upward against the rain. We watched until it was swallowed by the mass of clouds.
Later I realized, like the balloon, that Dad had never let his sickness get him down. He was strong. No matter what he suffered, he'd persevere, dart up, and finally transcend (超越) this cold world and his sick body. He rose into sky and became something beautiful. I watched until the balloon disappeared into the gray and white and I prayed that his strength was hereditar. I prayed to be a balloon.
【小题1】When the girl asked her mother if they could write to her father, her mother _________.

A．felt it hard to answer	B．thought her a creative girl
C．believed it easy to do so	D．found it easy to lie

【小题2】When the girl was told that she could send a letter to her father, she _________.

A．jumped with joy	B．became excited
C．started writing immediately	D．was worried that it couldn't be delivered

【小题3】In the eyes of the author, what was the rain like?

A．An incurable disease.	B．An unforgettable memory.
C．The hard time her father had.	D．The failures her father experienced.

【小题4】What would be the best title for the passage?

A．An unforgettable experience	B．The strong red balloon
C．Fly to paradise	D．A great father

Each time I see a balloon, my mind flies back to a memory of when I was a six-year-old girl. It was a rainy Sunday and my father had recently died. I asked my mom if Dad had gone to heaven. "Yes, honey. Of course." she said.

    "Can we write him a letter?"

    She paused, the longest pause of my short life, and answered, "Yes."

    My heart jumped. "How? Does the mailman go there?" I asked.

    "No, but I have an idea." Mom drove to a party store and returned with a red balloon. I asked her what it was for.

    "Just wait, honey. You'll see." Mom told me to write my letter. Eagerly, I got my favorite pen, and poured out my six-year-old heart in the form of blue ink. I wrote about my day, what I learned at school, how Mom was doing, and even about what happened in a story I had read. For a few minutes it was as if Dad were still alive. I gave the letter to Mom. She read it over, and a smile crossed her face.

    She made a hole in the corner of the letter where she looped the balloon string. We went outside and she gave me the balloon. It was still raining.

    "Okay, on the count of three, let go. One, two, three."

The balloon, carrying my letter, darted upward against the rain. We watched until it was swallowed by the mass of clouds.

Later I realized, like the balloon, that Dad had never let his sickness get him down. He was strong. No matter what he suffered, he'd persevere, dart up, and finally transcend this cold world and his sick body. He rose into sky and became something beautiful. I watched until the balloon disappeared into the gray and white and I prayed that his strength was hereditary. I prayed to be a balloon.

1.When the girl asked her mother if they could write to her father, her mother _________.

A．felt it hard to answer       B．thought her a creative girl

C．believed it easy to do so           D．found it easy to lie

2.When the girl was told that she could send a letter to her father, she _________.

A．jumped with joy

B．became excited

C．started writing immediately

D. was worried that it couldn't be delivered

3.In the eyes of the author, what was the rain like?

A．An incurable disease

B．An unforgettable memory.

C．The hard time her father had.

D．The failures her father experienced.

 

Each time I see a balloon, my mind flies back to a memory of when I was a six-year-old girl. It was a rainy Sunday and my father had recently died. I asked my mom if Dad had gone to heaven. “Yes, honey. Of course.” she said.

    “Can we write him a letter?”

    She paused, the longest pause of my short life, and answered, “Yes.”

    My heart jumped. “How? Does the mailman go there?” I asked.

    “No, but I have an idea.” Mom drove to a party store and returned with a red balloon. I asked her what it was for.

    “Just wait, honey. You’ll see.” Mom told me to write my letter. Eagerly, I got my favorite pen, and poured out my six-year-old heart in the form of blue ink. I wrote about my day, what I learned at school, how Mom was doing, and even about what happened in a story I had read. For a few minutes it was as if Dad were still alive. I gave the letter to Mom. She read it over, and a smile crossed her face.

    She made a hole in the corner of the letter where she looped (缠绕) the balloon string. We went outside and she gave me the balloon. It was still raining.

    “Okay, on the count of three, let go. One, two, three.”

The balloon, carrying my letter, darted upward against the rain. We watched until it was swallowed by the mass of clouds.

Later I realized, like the balloon, that Dad had never let his sickness get him down. He was strong. No matter what he suffered, he’d persevere, dart up, and finally transcend this cold world and his sick body. He rose into sky and became something beautiful. I watched until the balloon disappeared into the gray and white and I prayed that his strength was hereditary. I prayed to be a balloon.

1.What does the underlined sentence imply?

A. When the girl asked if they could write to her father, her mother felt it hard to answer.    

B. When the girl asked if they could write to her father, her mother thought her a creative girl.

C. When the girl asked if they could write to her father, her mother believed it easy to do so.        

D. When the girl asked if they could write to her father, her mother found it easy to lie.

2.When the girl was told that she could send a letter to her father, she _________.

A. jumped with surprise                     B. became excited

C. didn’t know how to write                           D. was worried that it couldn’t be delivered

3.In the eyes of the author, what was the rain like?

A. An incurable disease.                              B. An unforgettable memory.

C. The hard time her father had.        D. The failures her father experienced.

4.What would be the best title for the passage?

A. An unforgettable experience.                     B. The strong red balloon.

C. Fly to paradise.                       D. A great father.

 

Each time I see a balloon, my mind flies back to a memory of when I was a six-year-old girl. It was a rainy

Sunday and my father had recently died. I asked my mom if Dad had gone to heaven. "Yes, honey. Of course." she said.    

    "Can we write him a letter?"

    She paused, the longest pause of my short life, and answered, "Yes."

    My heart jumped. "How? Does the mailman go there?" I asked.

    "No, but I have an idea." Mom drove to a party store and returned with a red balloon. I asked her what it was for.

    "Just wait, honey. You'll see." Mom told me to write my letter. Eagerly, I got my favorite pen, and poured out my six-year-old heart in the form of blue ink. I wrote about my day, what I learned at school, how Mom was doing, and even about what happened in a story I had read. For a few minutes it was as if Dad were still alive. I gave the letter to Mom. She read it over, and a smile crossed her face.

    She made a hole in the corner of the letter where she looped the balloon string. We went outside and she gave me the balloon. It was still raining.

    "Okay, on the count of three, let go. One, two, three."

The balloon, carrying my letter, darted upward against the rain. We watched until it was swallowed by the mass of clouds.

Later I realized, like the balloon, that Dad had never let his sickness get him down. He was strong. No matter what he suffered, he'd persevere, dart up, and finally transcend this cold world and his sick body. He rose into sky and became something beautiful. I watched until the balloon disappeared into the gray and white and I prayed that his strength was hereditary. I prayed to be a balloon.

1.When the girl asked her mother if they could write to her father, her mother _________.

A．felt it hard to answer       B．thought her a creative girl

C．believed it easy to do so           D．found it easy to lie

2.When the girl was told that she could send a letter to her father, she _________.

A．jumped with joy

B．became excited

C．started writing immediately

D. was worried that it couldn't be delivered

3.In the eyes of the author, what was the rain like?

A．An incurable disease.

B．An unforgettable memory.

C．The hard time her father had.

D．The failures her father experienced.

4.What would be the best title for the passage?

A．An unforgettable experience          B．The strong red balloon

C．Fly to paradise                           D．A great father