New York was washing by the tropical storm last Friday; it seemed to clean out each inch of dirt at every corner of the city. The chilly wind was blowing outside; I could see the trees dancing in front of my window. I was at home. I should thank the storm for a day-off so I could do some housework. I found a photograph album under my bed, when I was cleaning the house. It was a pretty old one. I opened it; laugh was all I could do at that moment. That was because I saw a picture of mine, which was taken ten years ago. In the picture, my cousins and I were standing together laughing and hugging; we were joyful. I was about nine then dressed in a very unfashionable way. The picture brought back many memories of myself: the cheerful me, the unhappy me, the curious me, the naive me.
             I started to look at the photos one by one. When I turned to one page, I saw a picture of my grandfather and me. In the picture, my grandfather was sitting in the easy chair comfortably; I was sitting on my grandfather's knee, both smiling. As I looked closer, I realized that grandfather's smile was a little bit sickly. In my indistinct memory, I couldn't find any images that indicate my grandfather was unhealthy. What I remembered was his smile, and how much care he had for me. We lived in a village close to the city name-Goung Zhou back in China. Every evening, Grandfather liked to take a walk after supper. Usually he would bring me with him. Grandfather would tell me a story as we walking along a small stream. He and I would stay at the lawn at the end of the stream and watch the sun goes home. The sunsets were beautiful; I couldn't remember when we stopped doing that. Was it after my parents moved to the city?
             I still remember the first time I saw my mother cry. I was sleeping but then I woke up by a drop of tear on my face. I opened my eyes, and saw my mom weeping beside my bed. I was scared, confused, and upset. I had never
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