父亲节英语日记

父亲节英语日记1

　　I think my father is a kind man,he love help people,and always forget to do something for himself.He has a good sence of humor,yes,I like that.That always make us happy.

　　I think he is a friend of mine.Because he always talk with me.I often feel I am not his daughter but his friend.

　　I think that my father is a good father and also a good worker.He works very hard.So he can’t play with me or my mum for long time.He think work will make him happy because work has many funny.So he always teaches me:don’t think work is a hard thing.

　　My father has many hobby.For example,he like reading,and he also like play computer game.He use his hobby to realx.He can feel very happy if he work,and also play.

　　He is a good man,isn’t he?

父亲节英语日记2

　　Today is Father'Day .i love my father so much that i 've done many things for him.

　　in the morning i bought some flowers with pocket money and put them in the vase.in the afternoon i went to buy some vegetables and cooked a simple but delicious dinner for my family .After supper,i gave father the card that i made myself and said" Happy Father's Day" to him.Then i told him to pay more attention to his health and not to overwork.i aslo promised to try my best to get the first place in the coming exam .Hearing this word,father

　　laughed aloud.

　　Today is a special day ,warm and meaningful.

父亲节英语日记3

　　If you ask me, who Loved Me? I must answer, of course, is my favorite dad.

　　Rained today, can give my father to buy clothes and shoes was sent ah, looking forward to a father from Monday through Father's Day, it is also going to rain!

　　I put on my raincoat firm ran home, half an hour later to the home, and even locked the door. At this time the rain had stopped it! Dad called, he says that they are mother and pouring it. And quickly went to where to find them. I shouted a voice:

　　I help my father lift tube, put the finished pouring tube turn up north. Finally, my shoes are wet, but I am still very happy. Mom and Dad did not think I'd come to help, but also very happy. I think as long as Mom and Dad need us, we stay with them, even if we do not buy a gift, they will be very happy.

　　Father's Day, I accompanied my father had, he was pleased, and I am even more happy.

　　Father's Day, Father's Day is not just that we have to think in the end the lack of what Mom and Dad? Mom and Dad need us, we are in front of it? Thanksgiving Dad, Thanksgiving mother. Father's Day, you stay with your parents yet?

父亲节英语日记4

　　I am a girl of ten, and I live in a small mountain village far from Taiyuan. The only person that lives with me is my mother, because my father is away for eight years, working in a city.

　　During the Spring Festival, my father came back home. He looked thin and tired. He gave my mother two thousand yuan, and told her that he would work even harder, earn more money, and then he could take us to the city He stayed at home for only ten days.We are living a poor life now. But what I want most is not money, but my father. I miss him very much!

父亲节英语日记5

　　Father, how great words; The father love, how beautiful melody. Dear dad, when busy, can you find such a festival of father's day?

　　Today, is my dad's first holiday, I carefully prepared a card, then tape posted a petal in the upper left corner. It with the aromatic, with my feelings, as the wind blows gently, the beautiful kind hearts float into dad.

　　The father loves the warmth in June and Thanksgiving. When I was in elaborate greeting card, write the handwriting which asm, I hand in trembling, my heart in the jump, the sincere words from time to time pull at my heart!

　　In fact, father's love is gentle, father use it rough hands stroked my head; Dad with his warm words of comfort me; When he humorous language make me laugh... At that time, I really realized the father loves the also gentle.

　　Dad is the pillar of the family, when his broad shoulders to assume the burden of the family; When I found a piece of white silk on his head; When I find the wrinkles on his face. My heart is with sour.

　　Generation of letters, mostly because their children mother selfless and moved, so for the selfless love left countless love. And for the whole family outside the hustle and bustle of the father? Nothing left.

　　Here, I want to sing loudly father's love is great!

父亲节英语日记6

　　Two years before his death, my father gave me a small suitcase filled with his writings, manuscripts1 and notebooks. Assuming his usual joking, mocking2 air, he told me he wanted me to read them after he was gone, by which he meant after he died.

　　A week after he came to my office and left me his suitcase, my father came to pay me another visit; as always, he brought me a bar of chocolate (he had forgotten I was 48 years old). As always, we chatted and laughed about life, politics and family gossip3. A moment arrived when my father’s eyes went to the corner where he had left his suitcase and saw that I had moved it. We looked each other in the eye. There followed a pressing silence. I did not tell him that I had opened the suitcase and tried to read its contents, instead I looked away. But he understood. Just as I understood that he had understood. Just as he understood that I had understood that he had understood. But all this understanding only went so far as it can go in a few seconds. Because my father was a happy, easygoing4 man who had faith in himself: he smiled at me the way he always did. And as he left the house, he repeated all the lovely and encouraging things that he always said to me, like a father.

　　As always, I watched him leave, envying5 his happiness, his carefree and unflappable6 temperament. But I remember that on that day there was also a flash of joy inside me that made me ashamed. It was prompted by the thought that maybe I wasn’t as comfortable in life as he was, maybe I had not led as happy or footloose7 a life as he had, but that I had devoted it to writing —you’ve understood... I was ashamed to be thinking such things at my father’s expense. Of all people, my father, who had never been the source of my pain — who had left me free. All this should remind us that writing and literrature are intimately linked to a lack at the centre of our lives, and to our feelings of happiness and guilt.

　　But my story has a symmetry8 that immediately reminded me of something else that day, and that brought me an even deeper sense of guilt. Twenty-three years before my father left me his suitcase, and four years after I had decided, aged 22, to become a novelist, and, abandoning all else, shut myself up in a room, I finished my first novel, Cevdet Bey and Sons;