I come from one of those families where you have to yell at the dinner table to get in a word. Everyone has a strong1 and talks at the same time, and no one has a2leading to heated arguments. We often talk or even debate with each other on different topics.

    3 a family like mine has made me more 4 about the world around me, making me tend to 5 anything any one tells me. But it has also made me realize that I'm not a good listener. And when I say “listening”, I'm not 6 to the nodding-your-head-and-politely-answering-Uh-huh-or-Ooh-I-see variety. I mean the kind of listening where you find yourself deeply 7 with the person you're speaking with, when his story becomes so 8that your world becomes less about you and more about him. No, I was never very good at that.

    I spent summer in South Africa two years ago. I worked for a good non-profit 9 called Noah, which works 10 on behalf of children affected by AIDS. But 11 you asked me what I really did in South Africa, I'd tell you one thing: I listened, and I listened. Sometimes I 12 but mostly I listened.

    And had I not spent two months 13, I might have missed the 14moment when a quiet little girl at one of Noah's community centers, orphaned（孤儿）at the age of three, whispered after a long 15 “I love you.”16 that summer, I knew how to hear. I could sit down with anyone and hear their 17 and nod and respond at the18 time—but most of the time I was 19 about the next words out of my own month. Ever since my summer in South Africa, I have noticed that it's in those moments when my mouth is closed and my20 is wide open that I've learned the most about other people, and perhaps about myself.

    One night, when I was eight, my mother gently asked me a question I would never forget. “Sweetie, my company wants to 1 me but needs me to work in Brazil. This is like your teacher telling you that you've done 2 and allowing you to skip a grade(跳级), but you'll have to 3your friends. Would you say yes to your teacher？”She gave me a hug and asked me to think about it. I was puzzled. The question kept me 4 for the rest of the night. I had said “yes” but for the first time, I realized the5 decisions adults had to make.

    For almost four years, my mother would call us from Brazil every day. Every evening I'd 6 wait for the phone to ring and then tell her every detail of my day. A phone call, however, could never replace her 7 and it was difficult not to feel lonely at times.

    During my fourth grade Christmas break, we flew to Rio to visit her. Looking at her large 8 apartment, I became 9 how lonely my mother must have been in Brazil herself. It was then 10 I started to appreciate the tough choices she had to make on 11 family and work. 12 difficult decisions, she used to tell me, you wouldn't know whether you made the right choice, but you could always make the best out of the situation, with passion(热情) and a 13 attitude.

    Back home, I 14 myself that what my mother could do, I could, too. If she 15 to live in Rio all by herself, I, too, could learn to be 16. I learnt how to take care of myself and set high but achievable17.

    My mother is now back with us. But I will never forget what the 18 has really taught me. Sacrifices(牺牲) 19 in the end. The separation(分离) between us has proved to be a 20 for me.

Learning to Accept

    I learned how to accept life as it is from my father. 1, he did not teach me acceptance when he was strong and healthy, but rather when he was 2 and ill.

    My father was 3  a strong man who loved being active, but a terrible illness 4  all that away. Now he can no longer walk, and he must sit quietly in a chair all day. Even talking is 5. One night, I went to visit him with my sisters. We started6about life, and I told them about one of my 7 . I said that we must very often give things up 8we grow—our youth, our beauty, our friends—but it always 9 that after we give something up, we gain something new in its place. Then suddenly my father 10 up. He said, "But, Peter, I gave up 11! What did I gain?" I thought and thought, but I could not think of anything to say. 12 , he answered his own question: "I 13 the love of my family." I looked at my sisters and saw tears in their eyes, along with hope and thankfulness.

    I was also 14by his words. After that, when I began to feel irritated (恼怒的) at someone, I 15 remember his words and become 16. If he could replace his great pain with a feeling of love for others, then I should be 17 to give up my small irritations. In this 18, I learned the power of acceptance from my father.

    Sometimes I 19 what other things I could have learned from him if I had listened more carefully when I was a boy. For now, though, I am grateful for this one 20 .

    I was walking down a dimly lit street late one evening when I heard1coming from behind bushes. 2 I slowed down to listen and panicked when I realized that what I was hearing were the sounds of a struggle. Only yards from where I stood, a woman was being attacked. Should I get3? I was frightened for my own safety, and I hated 4for having suddenly decided to take a(n)5 route home that night. "What if I'm hurt too? Shouldn't I just run to the nearest phone and call the police?" Although it felt like a century, my thought process had only 6seconds. But already the cries were growing7I knew I had to act fast. "How could I walk away from this?" I asked myself.

    "No", I finally resolved, I could not turn my 8 on the fate of this unknown woman, 9it means10 my own life. I am not a brave man, nor am I11. I don't know where I found the moral courage and physical strength, but 12I had finally decided to help the girl, I became suddenly changed.

    I ran behind the bushes and13the attacker off the woman. Struggling, we fell to the ground, 14we fought for a few minutes until the man jumped up and escaped.15heavily, I got to my feet and 16 the girl, who was sobbing behind a tree. In the darkness, I could certainly 17 her trembling shock. Not wanting to frighten her any further, I at first spoke to her from a 18. "It's OK," I said soothingly. "The man ran away. You're safe now.''  There was a long pause and then I heard the words, uttered in 19. "Dad, is that you?" And then, from behind the tree, 20 my youngest daughter, Katherine. God has a way of allowing us to be in the right place at the right time.

    As my husband, Doug, stood on the busy New York city street trying to stop a taxi, I tried to protect my daughter from the cold December wind and rain. I put my head down to kiss my daughter on her 1 where veins crept up (静脉突出) the side of her tiny face.

    Frustrated and wet, my husband gave up his attempt to flag down a taxi. I knew the feeling. Just after her first birthday, we were told our daughter Katie has a 2 brain illness. Since that moment, Doug and I felt like runners in a marathon race where the finish line kept 3. We knew Katie was running out of 4. It had taken months before we finally had a name for the 5, but we were told only a few specialists in the world were qualified to knew how to 6 the precious operations. Now, as we finally found a brilliant (杰出的) doctor to 7 our girl, we were 8 in a strange city in the cold rain.

    Just at the moment, a middle-aged woman pulled over and said, “Pardon me? May I offer you a(n) 9?” Before we could say anything, she continued, “It's really no 10 for me. Just get in.” It was then that I noticed her thick Irish accent, which 11 me up like hot soup.

    We simply said, “Thanks! Roosevelt Hospital, please,” as we 12 on her car for the ride.

    “Are you going 13 the baby?” she asked us.

    I nodded my head, holding back my 14.

    At the hospital, we 15 her over and over again for the ride. As the woman hugged me, I 16 her face was wet with tears in worry. She promised to 17 for us before she left.

    After three more visits to New York and two more 18 surgeries (手术), Katie is cured. But the 19 of the Irish Angel still rang as a constant reminder of a tiny ray of light that appeared in our 20 days.

    One day when I was 12, my mother gave me an order: I was to walk to the public library, and borrow at least one book for the summer. This was one more weapon for her to 1my strange problem—inability to 2. In the library, I found my way into the “Children's Room.” I sat down on the floor and pulled a few books off the 3 at random. The cover of a book 4 my eye. It 5 a picture of a beagle(小猎兔狗). I had recently had a beagle, the first and only animal companion I ever had as a child. He was my secret sharer, but one morning, he was gone, 6 to someone who had the space and the money to care for him. I never forgot my beagle.

    There on the book's cover was a beagle which looked 7 to my dog. I ran my fingers 8 the picture of the dog on the cover. My eyes ran across the title, Amos, the Beagle with a Plan. 9, I had read the title. Without opening the book, I borrowed it from the library for the summer.

    Under the shade of a bush, I started to read about Amos. I read very, very slowly with difficulty. 10 pages were turned slowly, I got the main idea of the story about a dog who, like mine, had been 11 from his family and who finally found his way back home. That dog was my dog, and I was the little boy in the book. At the end of the story, my mind continued the final 12 of reunion, on and on, until my own lost dog and I were, in my mind, running together. My mother's call returned me to the 13 world. Something 14 me: I had read a book, and I had loved reading that book. Everyone knew I could not read. But I had read it. Books could be incredibly 15 and I was going to read them. I never told my mother about my “miraculous” (奇迹般的) 16 that summer, but she saw a slow but remarkable 17 in my classroom performance during the next year. And years later, she was 18 that her son had read thousands of books, was 19 a PhD in literature, and authored his own books, articles, poetry and fiction. The power of the 20 has held.