完形填空
One summer day my father sent me to buy wire for our farm．At 16, I like 1 better than driving our truck, 2 this time I was not happy．My father told me I’d have to ask for credit at the store．
Sixteen is a 3 age, when a young man wants respect, not charity．It was 1976, and the ugly 4 of racial discrimination was 5 a fact of life．I’d seen my friends ask for credit and then stand, head down, while the store owner 6 whether they were “good for it”．
I knew black youths just like me who were 7 like thieves by the store clerk each time they went into a grocery．
My father was 8 ．We paid our debts．But before harvest, cash was short．Would the store owner 9 us?
At Davis’a store, Buck Davis stood behind the cash desk, talking to a farmer．I nodded 10 I passed him on my way to the hardware shelves．When I brought my 11 to the cash desk, I said 12 , “I need to put this on credit．”
The farmer gave me an amused distrustful 13 ．But Buck’s face didn’t change．“Sure, ”he said 14 ．“Your daddy is 15 good for it．”He 16 to the other man．“This here is one of James Williams’s sons．”
The farmer nodded in a neighborly 17 ．I was filled with pride．James Williams’s son．Those three words had opened a door to an adult’s respect and trust．
That day I discovered that the good name my parents had 18 brought our whole family the respect of our neighbors．Everyone knew what to 19 from a Williams：a decent person who kept his word and respected himself 20 much to do wrong．
