My parents are construction workers. They have big rough hands and dirty fingernails. In the hard days, they do everything, moving tons of steel, carrying bags concrete. They often come home tired and wordless. But, one day, I saw my father staring at something in a peaceful manner. It is a pink flower coming out from the crack on our old brick wall. He stared for a long long time. I’ve never seen him so restful.
My parent, they can’t read, they can’t write. But they but all five of us to college. They work like animals to give us a better life. When I ask myself, how can I be batter? I thought of my father in that day. I thought if I could offer a beautiful garden, where people can go in and share the song of life. That will be my answer to my parents’ effort! I want to be a hard working labor just like them, but connecting life to beauty with dirty hands.
I am writing to tell you why I have to be in the garden rather then in the classroom and to show you how my English is. I need to be in this school in order to stay in the garden. I’ll be grateful if you can grade me on this letter instead on the exam...
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