In this task, you're given an article and an answer. Your task is to generate the fill-in-the-blank question for this answer based on the given article. The blanks are always at the end of the question, and can be filled with more than one word or phrase.

[Q]: Article: Occasionally, my father came back drunk. Late at night, he beat on the door, pleading to my mother to open it .He was on his way home from drinking, gambling, or some combination thereof, misspending money that we could have used and wasting time that we desperately needed. It was the late-1970s. My parents were separated. My mother was now raising a group of boys on her own. My father spouted off about what he planned to do for us, buy for us.In fact, he had no intention of doing anything. As a father who was supposed to love us, in fact, he lacked the understanding of what it truly meant to love a child--or to hurt one. To him, this was a harmless game that kept us excited and begging. In fact, it was a cruel, corrosive lie. I lost faith in his words and in him. I wanted to stop caring, but I couldn't. Maybe it was his own complicated relationship to his father and his father's family that caused him cold. Maybe it was the pain and guilt associated with a life of misfortune. Who knows. Whatever it was, it stole him from us, and particularly from me. While my brothers talked about breaking and fixing things, I spent many of my evenings reading and wondering. My favorite books were a set of encyclopedias given by my uncle. They allowed me to explore the world beyond my world, to travel without leaving, to dream dreams greater than my life would otherwise have supported. But losing myself in my own mind also meant that I was completely lost to my father. Not understanding me, he simply ignored me--not just emotionally, but physically as well. Never once did he hug me, never once a pat on the back or a hand on the shoulder or a tousling of the hair. My best memories of him were from his episodic attempts at engagement with us. During the longest of these episodes , once every month or two, he would come pick us up and drive us down the interstate to Trucker's Paradise, a seedy, smoke-filled, truck stop with gas pumps, a convenience store, a small dining area and a game room through a door in the back. My dad gave each of us a handful of quarters, and we played until they were gone. He sat up front in the dining area, drinking coffee and being particular about the restaurant's measly offerings. I loved these days. To me, Trucker's Paradise was paradise. The quarters and the games were fun but easily forgotten. It was the presence of my father that was most treasured. But, of course, these trips were short-lived. It wasn't until I was much older that I would find something that I would be able to _ as evidence of my father's love. When the Commodore 64 personal computer debuted, I convinced myself that I had to have it even though its price was out of my mother's range. So I decided to earn the money myself. I mowed every yard I could find that summer for a few dollars each, yet it still wasn't enough. So my dad agreed to help me raise the rest of the money by driving me to one of the watermelon farms south of town, loading up his truck with wholesale melons and driving me around to sell them. He came for me before daybreak. We made small talk, but it didn't matter. The fact that he was talking to me was all that mattered. I was a teenager by then, but this was the first time that I had ever spent time alone with him. He laughed and repeatedly introduced me as "my boy," a phrase he relayed with a sense of pride. It was one of the best days of my life. Although he had never told me that he loved me, I would _ that day as the greatest evidence of that fact. He had never intended me any wrong. He just didn't know how to love me right. He wasn't a mean man. So I took these random episodes and _ them like a thing most precious, storing them in my mind for the long stretches of coldness when a warm memory would prove most useful. It just goes to show that no matter how friendless the father, no matter how deep the damage, no matter how shattered the bond, there is still time, still space, still a need for even the smallest bit of evidence of a father's love. "My boy."
Answer: shy but thoughtful
[A]: From the passage, the father was _ in the writer's memory.

[Q]: Article: Gadgets can be wildly expensive and quickly out-of-date, but Steven Poole is still the first to buy them. Technological innovations are often quite stupid. The idea that you might want to walk down the street holding a mobile phone in front of your face, just to experience the wonders of video calling, is clearly ridiculous. Luckily for the tech companies, however, there are some people who jump at the chance to buy into new gadgets before they are fully ready and cheap enough for the mass-market. They are called early adopters, and their fate is a terrible one. I should know, since I am one myself. Early adopters have a Mecca: it's Tokyo's Akihabara district, also known as "Electric City". There, in 1999, I bought a digital camera, a gizmo that few people in Britain had heard of. Over the next few years I watched in great sadness as digital cameras became more popular, cheaper and more powerful, until better models could be had for a quarter of the price I had paid. Did I feel stupid? What I actually did was this: I splashed out more money last year for a new one, one that let me feel pleasantly ahead of the curve once again. But I know that cannot last, and I'll probably have to buy another in a few years. Thus early adopters are betting on other people eventually feeling the same desires. And it's worse if that future never arrives. Early adopters of the Betamax home-video format in the 1970s could only look on in sadness when their investment was nullified by the success of VHS. All sorts of apparently splendid inventions, such as videogame consoles like the Atari Jaguar have been abandoned to the dustbin of history right after a few early adopters bought in. Those who invested thousands in a Segway motorized scooter on the wave of ridiculous advertising campaigns that accompanied its launch a couple of years ago can join the club. You might think we should just stop being so silly, save our money, and wait to see what really catches on. But the logic of the industry is such that, if everyone did that, no innovation would become popular. Imagine the third person to buy an ordinary telephone soon after Alexander Graham Bell had invented it. Who was he going to call? Maybe he simply bought two phones, one for a special friend. But still, the usefulness and eventual popularity of the device wasn't clear at the time. Nobody dreamed of the possibility of being able to speak to any one of millions of people. And yet if he, and the hundreds and thousands of early adopters after him, had not bought into the idea, the vast communication networks that we all take for granted today would never have been built. The same goes, indeed, for all new technologies. Those guys holding bricks to their ears that we laughed at in the 1980s made the current mobile phone possible. People who bought DVD players when they still cost a fortune, instead of today's cheap one at the local supermarket, made sure that the new format succeeded. Early adopters' desire for desires supported the future financially. And what did they get for their pains? They got a hole in their bank accounts and inferior, unperfected technology. But still, they got it first. And today they are still at work, buying overpriced digital radios, DVD recorders and LCD televisions, and even 3G phones, so that you will be eventually be able to buy better and less expensive ones. So next time you see a gadget-festooned geek and feel tempted to sneer , think for a minute. Without early adopters, there would be no cheap mobile phones or DVD players; there would be no telephone or television either. We are the tragic, unsung foot soldiers of the technology revolution. We're the desire-addicted pioneers, pure in heart, dreaming of a better future. We make expensive mistakes so you don't have to. Really, we are heroes.
Answer: early adopters are probably welcomed by the tech companies
[A]: It can be inferred from the passage that _ .

[Q]: Article: Every year gray whales swim a 10,000 miles round-trip, from the cold waters near Alaska, down the coast of North America to the warm waters near Mexico, and back again. It is one of the longest migrations of any mammal. All day, all summer long, in the cold waters near Alaska, gray whales eat and eat. Instead of teeth, gray whales have baleen, they are used to getting food from ocean water. They get big mouthfuls of muck from the ocean floor, then push that muck right back out through their baleen. The mucky water flows through, but tiny animals get trapped in the baleen and _ . When the water starts to freeze, the whales begin their long trip south. They swim night and day, without stopping to eat or rest. During the long journey, migrating whales may push their heads out of the water to see where they are. Two months later, the whales reach Mexico. Babies are born here in warm, shallow waters called lagoons. Ocean lagoons have no food for the adults, but the babies are safer here than in the open seas. All winter the babies grow big and strong. In spring first the dads and teenagers leave the lagoons, then the moms with babies. Migrating gray whales swim close to shore, especially moms with babies. The ice is melting up north, and it's time for the hungry whales to make the long journey back to their summer feeding grounds.
Answer: always swim under the ocean
[A]:
During their long journey to Mexico, gray whales _ .