When I was a kid in Minnesota, watermelon was expensive. One of my father's friends, Bernie, was a rich businessman, who owned a large store in St. Paul.
Every summer, when the first watermelons arrived, Bernie would call. Dad and I would go to Bernie's place. We' d sit on the edge of the dock（码头）, feet dangling（摇晃）, and got ready for a big meal.
Bernie would take his knife, cut our first watermelon, hand us both a big piece and sit down next to us. Then we'd bury our faces in watermelon, eating only the heart-the reddest, juiciest, firmest, sweetest, most seed-free part-and throw away the rest.
