题目

Christmas was a quiet affair when I grew up. There were just my parents and I. I vowed that someday I’d marry and have six children, and at Christmas my house would vibrate with energy and love. I found the man who shared my dream, but we had not reckoned on the possibility of infertility. Undaunted, we applied for adoption, and then he arrived. We called him Our Christmas Boy because he came to us during that season of joy. Then nature surprised us again. We added two biological children to the family—not as many as we had hoped for, but three made an entirely satisfactory crowd. As Our Christmas Boy grew, he made it clear that only he had the expertise to select and decorate the Christmas tree. He rushed the season, starting his gift list in November. He pressed us into singing carols, our froglike voices contrasting with his musical gift of perfect pitch. Each holiday he stirred us up, leading us through a round of merry chaos. Then, on his 26th Christmas, he left us in a car accident on his way home to his wife and infant daughter. But first he had stopped by the family home to decorate our tree. Grief-stricken, his father and I sold our home, where memories clung to every room, and moved away. Seventeen years later, we grew old enough to return home, and settled into a small quiet house, like the house of my childhood. Our other son and daughter had married and begun their own Christmas traditions in another part of the country. One day, I heard the doorbell ring. There stood our granddaughter, and in her gray-green eyes I saw the reflection of Our Christmas Boy. Behind her, lugging a large pine tree, came her mother and stepfather. They swept past us in a flurry of laughter; and then decorated the tree. “You’ll recognize the ornaments,” said my former daughter-in-law. “They were his. I save them for you.” When I murmured that we hadn’t had a tree for 17 years, our granddaughter said, “Then it’s time to have one!” They asked us to join them the next morning for church and for dinner at their home. Our granddaughter ordered, “I’m singing the solo and I want you to be there.” We had long ago given up the poignant Christmas services, but now, we sat rigid in the front pew, fighting back tears. Our granddaughter’s magnificent voice soared, clear and true, in perfect pitch. How her father would have relished that moment! We had been alerted that there would be a lot of people for dinner---but 35! I could not sort out who belonged to whom, but it didn’t matter. They all belonged to each other. It occurred to me that a true family is not always one’s own flesh and blood. It is a climate of the heart. Had it not been for our adopted son, we would not now be surrounded by caring strangers. Later, our granddaughter asked us to come along with her to a place she likes to go. In the foothills there was his grave. As we stood by the headstone in the chilly but somehow comforting silence, we were not prepared for our granddaughter’s next move. Once more that day her voice, so like her father’s, lifted in song, and the mountainside echoed on and on into infinity. When the last pure note had faded, I felt a sense of peace, of the continuity of life, of renewed faith and hope. The real meaning of Christmas had been restored to us. 67. The author swore that he would ________ when she grew up. A. give birth to six children at least by marrying B. crowd her house with energy and love by having more children C. find a man with the same dream to create a warm home D. make her house a noisy place by adopting a Christmas boy 68. Why did the author and her husband call their adopted son “Our Christmas boy”? A. Because they were unable to have a child   B. Because they wished to be blessed by God C. Because they adopted the boy on Christmas D. Because the boy was actually a gift for Christmas 69.The author and her husband sold their house in order to ________. A. show their grief of losing the son                    B. stop their sudden grief from the loss C. flee from their previous memories                   D. recover from their great sorrow 70. The author reveals to us that the truth of Christmas lies in ________. A. a realistic dream bound to come true     B. a happy moment crowded with children C. a loving family union with an air of a festival       D. a peaceful continuing life with faith and hope 答案：BCDD

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