My husband and I had been married nearly twenty-two years when I acquired Stevens-Johnson syndrome, a disorder where my immune（免疫的）system responded to a virus by producing painful blisters. Although my long-term evaluation was good, I, who had been so fiercely independent, rapidly became absolutely helpless.

My husband, Scott, stepped up to the plate, taking care of kids and cooking dinners. He also became my personal caretaker, applying the medicine to all of my blisters because my hands couldn't do the job. Needless to say, I had negative emotions, bouncing from embarrassment to shame caused by total reliance on someone other than myself.

I recovered from my illness, but I couldn't seem to recover from the thought that I loved my husband less than he loved me. This seeming distinction in our love continued to annoy me for the year following my illness.

Then recently Scott and I went on a long bike ride. He's an experienced cyclist; I'm quite the green hand. At one point with a strong headwind and sharp pain building in my tired legs, I really thought I couldn't go any further. Seeing me struggle, Scott pulled in front of me and yelled over his shoulder, “Stay close behind me.” As I followed his steps, I discovered that my legs quit burning and I was able to catch my breath. My husband was pulling me along-again.

     I pray my husband will always be strong and healthy. But if he should ever become the struggling one, whether on a bike ride or with an illness, I trust Ill be ready to call out to him, Stay close behind me--my turn to pull you along.

    In the mid-1950s, I was a somewhat bored early-adolescent male student who believed that ________________________ One day, this approach threw me into embarrassment

    In Mrs. Totten's eighth-grade math class at Central Avenue School in Anderson, Indiana, we were learning to add and subtract decimals (小数).

    Our teacher typically assigned daily homework, which would be recited in class the following day. On most days, our grades were based on our oral answer to homework questions.

    Mrs. Totten usually walked up and down the rows of desks requesting answers from student after student in the order the questions had appeared on our homework sheets. She would start either at the front or the back of the classroom and work toward the other end.

    Since I was seated near the middle of about 35 students, it was easy to figure out which questions I might have to answer. This particular time, I had completed my usual two or three problems according to my calculations.

    What I failed to expect was that several students were absent, which threw off my estimate. As Mrs. Totten made her way from the beginning of the class，I desperately tried to determine which math problem I would get. I tried to work it out before she got to me, but I had brain freeze and couldn't function.

When Mrs. Totten reached my desk，she asked what answer I'd got for problem No. 14. “I…I didn't get anything,” I answered，and my face felt warm.

    “Correct,” she said.

    It turned out that the correct answer was zero.

What did I learn that day? First, always do all your homework. Second, in real life it isn't always what you say but how you say it that matters. Third，I would never make it as a mathematician.

    If I could choose one school day that taught me the most, it would be that one.

D

    We may think we're a culture that gets rid of our worn technology at the first sight of something shiny and new, but a new study shows that we keep using our old devices (装置) well after they go out of style. That's bad news for the environment – and our wallets – as these outdated devices consume much more energy than the newer ones that do the same things.

    To figure out how much power these devices are using, Callie Babbitt and her colleagues at the Rochester Institute of Technology in New York tracked the environmental costs for each product throughout its life – from when its minerals are mined to when we stop using the device. This method provided a readout for how home energy use evolved since the early 1990s. Devices were grouped by generation. Desktop computers, basic mobile phones, and box-set TVs defined 1992. Digital cameras arrived on the scene in 1997. And MP3 players, smart phones, and LCD TVs entered homes in 2002, before tablets and e-readers showed up in 2007.

    As we accumulated more devices, however, we didn't throw out our old ones."The Living-room television is replaced and gets planted in the kid's room, and suddenly one day, you have a TV in every room of the house," said one researcher. The average number of electronic devices rose from four per household in 1992 to 13 in 2007. We're not just keeping these old devices-we continue to use them. According to the analysis of Babbitt's team, old desktop monitors and box TV's with cathode ray tubes are the worst devices with their energy consumption and contribution to greenhouse gas emissions(排放) more than doubling during the 1992 to 2007 window.

    So what's the solution(解决方案)?The team's data only went up to 2007, but the researchers also explored what would happen if consumers replaced old products with new electronics that serve more than one function, such as a tablet for word processing and TV viewing. They found that more on-demand entertainment viewing on tables instead of TVs and desktop computers could cut energy consumption by 44%.

    Gus Wenner runs Rollingstone.com; his father gave him the job. But Jann Wenner, the magazine's co­founder and publisher, was quick to assure critics of the appointment process that his son is terribly talented and had to prove himself before being given the post. Apparently Gus worked his way up from more junior positions with the company, and demonstrated, according to his father, the “drive and discipline and charm, and all the things that show leadership.” Gus Wenner is 22 years old.

    He is certainly not the only kid out of college, or even out of high school, working at daddy's firm. Family contacts are a common way of finding both temporary internships and longtime careers. Opportunities for the children of top 1 percent are not the same as they are for the 99 percent.

    This is hardly a shock, but it is precisely the type of inequality that reveals the hard­ to­ define promise of the “Just Do It” version of the American dream and deepens our cynicism(愤世嫉俗) about how people get ahead. As a consequence, it weakens support for public policies that could address the lack of upward mobility among children born at the bottom, who ought to be given priority. A strong tie between adult outcomes and family background annoys Americans. When an organization conducted a nationally representative survey asking about the meaning of “the American dream”， some typical answers included: “Being free to say or do what you want” and “Being free to accomplish almost anything you want with hard work.” but also “Being able to succeed regardless of the economic circumctances in which you were born.”

    This is exactly the reason that “the American dream” is not only a defining metaphor for the country, but also why Americans have long been willing to tolerate a good deal more economic inequality than citizens of many other rich countries. A belief in the possibility of upward mobility not only morally justifies inequality as the expression of talents and energies, but also extends a promise to those with lower incomes. After all, why would you be a strong advocate for reducing inequality if you believe that you, or eventually your children, were likely to climb the income ladder?

    Hard work and perseverance(毅力) will always be ingredients for success, but higher inequality has made having successful parents, if not essential, certainly a central part of the recipe.

    The belief that talent is something you are born with, and that opportunities are open to anyone with ambition and energy, also has a dangerous consequence. When the public policy is focused on the difficult situation of the poor, this belief can help the concept resurface that the poor are “undeserving” and are the authors of their own situation. Yet we actually know a good deal about why children of the poor have a higher chance of being stuck on poverty as adults.

    The recipes for breaking this intergenerational trap are clear: a nurturing(培养) environment in the early years combined with accessible and high­quality health care and education promote the capacities of young children, heighten the development of their skills as they grow older, and eventually raise their chances of upward mobility.

    Talent is nurtured and developed, and even genes are expressed differently depending upon environmental influences.

    The 1 percent are the goal for these upper­middle­class families, who after all have also experienced significant growth in their relative standing. The graduate and other higher degrees that they hold, for which they put in considerable effort, have put them on the upside of the wave of globalization and technical change that has transformed the American job market.

    An age of higher inequality gives them both more resources to promote the capacities of their children, and more encouragement to make these investments since their children now have all the more to gain.

    For them, an American dream based on effort and talent still lives, and as a result they are less likely, with their considerable cultural and political influence, to support the reshaping of American public policy to meet its most pressing need: the future of those at the bottom.

An Invisible Smile

    Mr Dawson was an old man who always complained a lot, and everyone in town knew it. Kids ever went into his yard to pick a delicious apple. Old Dawson, they said, would come after them with his gun.

    One Friday, 12-year-old Janet was going to stay all night with her friend Amy. They had to walk by Dawson's house on the way to Amy's house, but as they got close, Janet saw him sitting on his front porch and suggested they cross over to the other side of the street. Like most of the children，Janet was scared of the old man.

    Amy said not to worry, Mr Dawson wouldn't hurt anyone. Still, Janet was growing more nervous with each step closer to the old man's house. When they got close enough, Dawson looked up with his usual frown, but when he saw it was Amy, a broad smile changed his entire face as he said, “Hello, Miss Amy. I see you've got a little friend with you today. ”

    Amy smiled back and told him Janet was staying overnight and they were going to listen to music and play games. Mr Dawson said that sounded fun and offered them each a fresh picked apple off his tree. They gladly accepted. Mr Dawson had the best apples in the whole town.

    When they left, Janet asked Amy, “Everyone says he's the meanest man in town. How come he was so nice to us?”

    Amy explained that when she first started walking past his house he wasn't very friendly and she was afraid of him, but she pretended he was wearing an invisible smile and so she always smiled back at him. It took a while, but one day he half-smiled back at her.

    After some more time, he started smiling real smiles and then started talking to her. Just a “hello” at first, then more. She said he always offered her an apple and was always very kind.

    “An invisible smile? ”questioned Janet.

    “Yes,”answered Amy, “my grandma told me that if I pretended I wasn't afraid and pretended he was smiling an invisible smile at me and I smiled back at him, sooner or later he would really smile. Grandma says smiles are contagious.”

If we remember what Amy's grandma said — everyone wears an invisible smile, we too will find that we're always on the go trying to accomplish so much, aren't we? It's so easy to get caught up in everyday life that we forget how simple it can be to bring cheer to ourselves and others. Giving a smile away takes so little effort and time. Let's make sure that we're not the ones that others have to pretend to be wearing an invisible smile.

    In 1963, at age 65, my grandfather, Erwin, decided to build a new house. He wasn't quite sure what to do with the old house since it sat where the new house would be. He finally hired a powerful vehicle to push it far out into a small group of trees. That old house sits there to this very day.

    Erwin and his wife, Elida, passed away, and I purchased the farm from their estate. My wife and I raised our sons on this place and have lived here for more than 30 years. When we first moved in, my wife took one look at the deserted house and declared it a hidden danger. I agreed and planned on a large bonfire. But I thought it appropriate to check out the house first, just in case something of worth had been left behind.

    I walked through the tall grass in the meadow where the old house sat. Time had worn it out. The entrance floor had fallen down on itself and most of the windows were gone. We entered through an open window. ①Here lay the reminders of my grandparents' lives: a broken chair, some old clothes ... But the thing that drew my eye was a cardboard box stuffed with papers. I dug through its contents and was instantly transported back in time. There was a tax return from 1957. Greeting cards from old friends and relatives, now all dead and gone. An uncle's third-grade spelling book. So sweet were the memories that the old house was spared the torch.

    As we hurried through our lives, my visits grew infrequent. I might catch a glimpse of the house through the trees and remembered how, as a child, I would struggle to walk in my father's footprints. Even then, I could imagine no nobler calling than farming, just like Dad. Then, one April morning, my father was felled by a massive heart attack, at age 68. The entire family was shocked by his passing, none more than me. Why I visited that old house on a day shortly after my father's funeral is still beyond me. It was as though it were calling; even the trees seemed to whisper an invitation to come, to visit, to stay awhile.

    ②As I stood once again on that ancient floor, my eye was drawn to a pile of papers on the floor. An envelope, yellowed with age, lay on top. A blue stamp on the envelope read "Passed by Naval Censor" How could I have missed this treasure? My father had served aboard the USS Washington during World War II and had written home whenever he could. My grandmother saved all of his letters.

    I removed one letter carefully from its envelope. ③It was dated September 1944. My father would have been somewhere in the South Pacific at that time and all of 18 years old. T studied the familiar handwriting. Dad wondered how the com harvest had been. He supposed that his youngest brother was starting first grade and imagined that he was becoming quite the little man. He asked his mother to greet everyone and said that he missed them all.

    It wasn't hard to read between the lines. Here was a homesick young man, a kid really, who had spent his entire life living upon a sea of flat land grass. Now he was on a different kind of sea, an ocean that was being disturbed by the thunder and the lightning of a world at war. At the bottom of the page, my father had passed on one last message. ④Tears burned my eyes as I read those words he had so carefully emphasized: "All is well here. Please don't worry. I am doing fine."

    As I left the old house that day, I took one last glance back at it over my shoulder. I don't care what any one thinks, I decided. That old house gets to stay there until it rots into the earth.