英语阅读：圣诞晚餐 Christmas Eve DinnerI fell in love with the minister’s son the winter I turned fourteen. He was not Chinese. For Christmas I prayed for this blonde-haired boy, Robert, and a slim new a slim new American nose. When I found out that my parents had invited the minister’s family over for Christmas Eve dinner, I cried. What would Robert think of our shabby[2]) Chinese Christmas? What would he think of our noisy Chinese relatives who lacked proper American manners? What terrible disappointments would he feel upon seeing not a roasted turkey and sweet potatoes but Chinese food? On Christmas Eve I saw my mother had outdone[3]) herself in creating a strange menu. She was pulling black veins[4]) out of the backs of fleshy prawns. The kitchen was littered with appalling mounds of raw food: A slimy[5]) rock cod with bulging[6]) eyes that pleaded not to be thrown into the pan of hot oil. Tofu, which looked like stacked wedges[7]) of rubbery white sponges[8]). A bowl soaking dried fungus[9]) back to life. A plate of squid[10]), their backs crisscrossed[11]) with knife markings so they resembled bicycle tires. And then they arrived — the minister’s family and all my relatives in a clamor[12]) of doorbells and rumpled Christmas packages. Robert grunted[13]) hello, and I pretended he was not worthy of existence. Dinner threw me deeper into despair. My relatives licked the ends of their chopsticks and reached across the table, dipping them into the dozen or so plates of food. Robert and his family waited patiently for platters[14]) to be passed to them. My relatives murmured with pleasure when my mother brought out the whole steamed fish. Robert grimaced[15]). Then my father poked ...
