Parents have widely different views on the problem of pocket money. Four new fathers were asked this question and this is how they answered.

    Ashish Khanna: Although many argue that pocket money helps develop children's sense of value, I don't agree. I wouldn't give my child any pocket money. First of all, I never got pocket money and I seem to have a good value for money. If my child ever needed something and I felt it was a reasonable（合理）request , I would buy it for him .

    Sharad Sanghi: No, I wouldn't give my child pocket money because I don't want to create the perception（观念） of “ her ” money and “ my ” money . Besides, if I refuse to buy her something that I think is bad for her, she may buy it with her pocket money on the sly. In this way, I would lose control over my child's requests. I feel it also encourages children to care more about money than anything else. I don't want my child to start judging(评判) other children by the amount of money or pocket money they have.

    Rakesh Shah: Yes, I would give my child pocket money. I feel that children should learn to spend money intelligently and not go overboard spending. They will learn what their limitations（限制）are and feel the difficulty when they have to pay for something that is over their own pockets .

    Rajiv Patel: Yes, I would give my child pocket money because it is important that she learns to manage money. I will give her a fixed amount every month and if she spends the money before the month is over, then she will learn a lesson and not spend money so freely.

    Vikram Desai: Yes, I would certainly give my child pocket money. But I would not give it to him on a weekly or monthly basis. He would have to earn it. If he helped me finish some of my jobs or helped his mother with housework, I would reward him. This helps him realize that “money does not grow on trees” and it requires hard work to earn money.

    A survey said the average Asian dad spent one minute a day with his children. I was shocked. I mean, a whole minute? Every day? Get real. Once a week maybe. The fact is, many Asian males are terrible at kid-related things. In fact, I am one of them.

    Child-rearing (养育) doesn't come naturally to guys. My mother knew the names of our teachers, best friends and crushes. My dad was only vaguely aware there were short people sharing the apartment. My mother bought healthy fresh food at the market every day. My dad would only go shopping when there was nothing in the fridge except a jar of butter. Then he'd buy beer. My mother always knew the right questions to ask our teachers. My dad would ask my English teacher if she could get us a discount on school fees. My mother served kid food to kids. My dad added chili sauce to everything, including our baby food.

    The truth is, mother have superpowers. My son fell off a wall once and hurt himself all over. I demanded someone bring me a computer so I could google what to do. My wife ignored me and did some sort of chanting(咏诵) phrase such as “Mummy kiss it better,” and cured 17 separate injuries in less than 15 seconds.

    Yes, mothers are incredible people, but they are not always correct. Yet honesty forces me to record the fact that mothers only know best 99.99 percent of the time. Here are some famous slip-ups.

    The mother of Bill Gates: “If you're going to drop out of college and hang out with your stupid friends, don't come running to me when you find yourself penniless.” The mother of Albert Einstein: “When you grow up, you'll find that sitting around thinking about the nature of time and space won't pay the grocery bills.” The mother of George W. Bush: “You'll never be like your dad, who became President of the United States and started his own war.”

    You are watching a film in which two men are having a fight. They hit one another hard. At the start they only fight with their fists. But soon they begin hitting one another over the heads with chairs. And so it goes on until one of the men crashes through a window and falls thirty feet to the ground below. He is dead!

    Of course he isn't really dead. With any luck he isn't even hurt. Why? Because the men who fall out of high windows or jump from fast-moving trains, who crash cars or even catch fire, are professionals. They do this for a living. These men are called stuntmen. That is to say, they perform tricks.

    There are two sides to their work. They actually do most of the things you see on the screen. For example, they fall from a high building. However, they do not fall on to hard ground but on to empty cardboard boxes covered with a mattress. Again, when they hit one another with chairs, the chairs are made of soft wood and when they crash through windows, the glass is made of sugar!

    But although their work depends on trick of this sort, it also requires a high degree of skill and training. Often a stuntman's success depends on careful timing. For example, when he is “blown up” in a battle scene, he has to jump out of the way of the explosion just at the right moment.

    Naturally stuntmen are well paid for their work, but they lead dangerous lives. They often get seriously injured, and sometimes killed. A Norwegian stuntman, for example, skied over the edge of a cliff a thousand feet high. His parachute(降落伞) failed to open, and he was killed.

    In spite of all the risks, this is no longer a profession for men only. Men no longer dress up as women when actresses have to perform some dangerous actions. For nowadays there are stuntwomen, too!

    Stars blazed(猛烈地燃烧)in the sky above Spook like a million tiny suns. They shone through the mists, which had during the last year become thinner and weaker. At first, he had thought the world itself was changing. Then he had realized that it was just his feeling. Somehow, by burning tin in his body for so long, he had permanently strengthened his senses to a point far beyond what other Allomancers could attain.

    The burned tin had begun as a reaction to Clubs's death. Spook still felt terrible about the way he'd escaped, leaving his uncle to die. During those first few weeks, Spook had burned his metals as almost a self-punishment he'd wanted to feel everything around him, take it all in, even though it was painful, or perhaps because it was painful.

    But then he'd started to change, and that had worried him. But, the crew always talked about how hard Vin pushed herself. She rarely slept, using pewter(白镴)to keep herself awake and alert. Spook didn't know how that worked he was no Mistborn, and could only bum one metal but he figured that if burning his one metal could give him an advantage, he'd better take it, because they were going to need every advantage they could get.

    The starlight was like daylight to him. During the actual day, he had to wear a cloth tied across his eyes to protect them, and even then going outside was sometimes blinding. His skin had become so sensitive that each little stone in the ground felt like a knife jabbing(猛刺)him through the bottom of his feet. The cold spring air seemed freezing, and he wore a thick cloak(斗篷).

    However, he had concluded that these discomforts were small prices to pay for the opportunity to become whatever it was he had become. As he moved down the street, he could hear people turning over and over in their beds, even through their walls. He could sense a footstep from yards away. He could see on a dark night as no other human ever had.

       ①   Always before, he'd been the least important member of the crew the dismissible boy who served as a handy man or kept watch while the others made plans. He didn't feel annoyed with them for that he'd been right to give him such simple duties.   ②    Because of his street dialect, he'd been difficult to understand, and while all the other members of the crew had been carefully picked, Spook had joined through the back door since he was Clubs's nephew.

    Spook sighed, sticking his hands in his trouser pockets as he walked down the too-bright street. He could feel each and every thread of the cloth.

    Dangerous things were happening he knew that: the way the mists lasted longer during the day, the way the ground shook as if it were a sleeping man, periodically(周期性地)suffering a terrible dream. Spook worried he wouldn't be of much help in the critical days to come. A little over a year before, his uncle had died after Spook fled the city. Spook had run out of fear, but also out of a knowledge of his lack of power.   ③    He wouldn't have been able to help during the campaign.

    He didn't want to be in that position again. He wanted to be able to help, somehow. He wouldn't run into the woods, hiding while the world ended around him. He was sent to gather as much information as he could about the Citizen and his government there, and so Spook intended to do his best. If that meant pushing his body beyond what was safe, so be it.

    He approached a large crossing. He looked both ways down the intersecting(交叉的)streets the view clear as day to his eyes. I may not be Mistborn, and I may not be emperor, he thought. But I'm something. Something new. Something people would be proud of Maybe this time I can help.   ④    

    From composer, musician, and philanthropist (慈善家) Peter Buffett comes a warm, wise, and inspirational book that asks, "Which will you choose: the path of least resistance or the path of potentially greatest satisfaction?"

    You may think that with a last name like this, Buffett has enjoyed a life of endless privilege. But the son of billionaire investor Warrant Buffet says that the only real inheritance handed down from his parents is a philosophy: Build your own path in life. It is a principle that has allowed him to follow his own passions, establish his own identity, and achieve his own successes.

    In Life Is What You Made It, Buffett expounds on the strong set of values given to him by his trusting and broadminded mother, his hardworking and talented father, and the many life teachers he has met along the way.

    Today's society, Buffett assumes, has begun to replace a work ethic (准则), which enjoys what you do, with a wealth ethic, which honors the reward instead of the process. We confuse privilege with material wealth, character with external (外在的) recognition. Yet, by focusing more on substance and less on reward, we can open doors of opportunity and work hard toward a greater sense of achievement. In clear and brief terms, Buffett tells us a great truth: Life is random, neither fair nor unfair.

    From there it becomes easy to recognize the equal dignity and value of every human life—our circumstances may vary but our essence does not. We see that our journey in life rarely follows a straight line but is often met with false starts, crises, and mistakes. How we push through and insist on those challenging moments is where we begin to create the life of our dreams—from discovering our vocations (使命感) to giving back to others.

    Personal and instructive, Life Is What You Make It is about challenging your circumstances, taking control of your fate, and living your life to the fullest.

    Fern loved Wilbur more than anything. She loved to stroke him, to feed him, to put him to bed. Every morning, as soon as she got up, she warmed his milk, tied his bib on, and held the bottle for him.  Every afternoon, when the school bus stopped in front of her house, she jumped out and ran to the kitchen to fix another bottle for him. She fed him again at suppertime, and again just before going to bed.  Mrs. Arable gave him a feeding around noontime each day, when Fern was away in school. Wilbur loved his milk, and he was never happier than when Fern was warming up a bottle for him. He would stand and gaze up at her with adoring eyes.

    For the first few days of his life, Wilbur was allowed to live in a box near the stove in the kitchen. Then, when Mrs. Arable complained, he was moved to a bigger box in the woodshed. At two weeks of age, he was moved outdoors. It was apple-blossom time, and the days were getting warmer. Mr.  Arable fixed a small yard specially for Wilbur under an apple tree, and gave him a large wooden box full of straw, with a doorway cut in it so he could walk in and out as he pleased.

    "Won't he be cold at night?" asked Fern.

    "No," said her father.  "You watch and see what he does."

    Carrying a bottle of milk, Fern sat down under the apple tree inside the yard. Wilbur ran to her and she held the bottle for him while he sucked. When he had finished the last drop, he grunted and walked sleepily into the box. Fern peered through the door. Wilbur was poking the straw with his snout. In a short time he had dug a tunnel in the straw. He crawled into the tunnel and disappeared from sight, completely covered with straw.

    Fern was enchanted. It relieved her mind to know that her baby would sleep covered up, and would stay warm.