Dad had a green comb  .He bought it when he married Mum. Every night,he would hand me his comb and say. "Good girl, help Daddy clean it, OK?" I was pleased to do it. At age five, this dull  task brought me such joy. I would excitedly turn the tap  on and brush the comb carefully. Satisfied that I'd done a good job. I would happily return the comb to Dad. He would smile affectionately  at me and place the comb on his wallet. Two years later. Dad started his own business, which wasn't doing so well. That was when things started to change. Dad didn't come home as early and as much as he used to. Mum and I became mad with him for placing our family in trouble. With time, an uncomfortable silence grew between us. After my graduation, Dad's business was getting back on track. On my 28th birthday. Dad came home early. As usual I helped him carry his bags into his study. When I turned to leave, he said," Hey, would you help me clean my comb?" I looked at him a while,then took the comb and headed to the sink. It hit me then: why, as a child, helping Dad clean his comb was such a pleasure. That routine   meant Dad was home early to spend the evening with Mum and me. It meant a happy and loving family. I passed the clean comb back to Dad. He smiled at me and carefully placed his comb on his wallet. But this time, I noticed something different. Dad had aged. He had wrinkles next to his eyes when he smiled, yet his smile was still as heartwarming as before, the smile of a father who just wanted a good life for his family. Why was the author pleased to clean the comb?
Because her father forced her to do. Because others things were dull. Because cleaning the comb could make her happy. Because she knew her father would praise her.