My father was lame  and very short. I was very shy to be seen with my father when I was growing up. When we walked together, he used to put his hand on my arm for balance, and people would stop to watch us. So I didn't like to go out with him. Sometimes my mother left our town to see her sister, and I had to helphim instead of my mother. I didn't say much as we went along. As we started out, he always said, "You can walk fast. And I can keep up with you." We usually walk to the subway, by which he went to work. He went to work though he was sick or it was bad weather. He almost never missed a day, and could get to the office on time even if others could not. When snow or ice was on the ground, it was impossible for him to walk even with other person's help. At such times my sister or I would pull him across the streets on a child's sleigh  to the subway entrance. When I think of it now, I am surprised how much courage  he had to make his way to the office. I never heard my father _ it. Now he has been gone many years, but I think of him often. I really want to tell him how sorry I feel for it and how deeply I love him. When the writer walked with his father,   _  .
he thought it pleasant to help his father he told his father a lot about his school he felt proud of his father he felt shy of walking with his father