It was 3:21 a.m. when nine-year-old Glenn Kreamer awoke to the smell of burning. Except for the cracking(爆烈声) of flames somewhere below there was not a sound in the two-storey house at Baldwin Long Island.

    With his father away on night duty at a local factory, Glenn was worried about the safety of his mother, his sister Karen, 14 and his 12-year-old brother Todd. He ran downstairs through the smoke-filled house to push and pull at Karen and Todd until they sat up. Then he helped each one through the house to the safety of the garden. There, his sister and brother, taking short and quick breaths and coughing, fell down onto the lawn.

    The nine-year-old boy raced back into the house and upstairs to his mother's room. He found it impossible to wake her up. Mrs. Kreamer, a victim of the smoke, was unconscious(昏厥的), and there was nobody to help Glenn carry her to the garden. But the boy remained calm and, as a fireman said later, "acted with all the self-control of a trained adult."

    On the bedroom telephone, luckily still working, Glenn called his father and, leaving Mr. Kreamer to telephone the fire brigade and ambulance service, got on with the task of saving his mother.

    First he filled a bucket with water from the bathroom and threw water over his mother and her bed. Then, with a wet cloth around his head he went back to the garden.

    He could hear the fire engine coming up, but how would the firemen find his mother in the smoke-filled house where flames had almost swallowed up the ground floor?

    Grasping firmly a ball of string(线) from the garage, Glenn raced back into the house and dashed upstairs to his mother's room. Tying one end of the string to her hand, he ran back, laying out the string as he went, through the hall and back out into the garden.

    Minutes later he was telling fire chief John Coughlan, "The string will lead you to mother." Mrs. Kreamer was carried to safety as the flames were breaking through her bedroom floor.

    ARNOLD Schwarzenegger is back, once again taking on his iconic killer robot role, the T-800, in August's new movie Terminator Genisys. While the T-800 model—even if it can be evil—has a fond place in moviegoers' hearts, the reality of autonomous machines is no joke, according to scientists.

    Autonomous weapons use artificial intelligence (AI) to choose targets without human help. They were described as “the third revolution in warfare, after gunpowder and nuclear arms” in an open letter signed by over 1,000 important technology figures in July. The list included British scientist Stephen Hawking and Apple co-founder Steve Wozniak. They asked governments around the world to ban autonomous weapons, warning that killer robots could start ethnic cleansings and an arms race.

     “They will look like tanks. They will look like battleships. They will look like jet fighters,” UK robotics professor Noel Sharkey told CNET, a leading technology website.

    But unlike these machines, which require a human hand in their action, so-called “killer robots” would have some decision-making abilities and the ability to act on their own.

     “If any major military power pushes ahead with AI weapon development, a global arms race is almost inevitable,” said the letter released at the 2015 International Joint Conference on Artificial Intelligence in Buenos Aires, Argentina.

    The idea of an automated killing machine was made famous by Schwarzenegger's first Terminator movie in 1984. While no red-eyed robots have been sent after human beings, the idea of AI being used as a weapon has gotten much more likely in the years ever since. The US military is already developing autonomous flying vehicles that can carry out all the steps of a strike mission without a human controlling them, according to a May report in Nature magazine.

    Scientists have even painted a destructive picture of autonomous weapons falling into the hands of terrorists or warlords hoping to carry out ethnic cleansings.

     “The development of full artificial intelligence could lead to the end of the human race,” Hawking said to the BBC in 2016.

Authorities are gradually waking up to the risk of robot wars. Last May, for the first time, the United Nations brought governments together to begin talks on autonomous weapons systems.

    Still, a ban on autonomous weapons is “easier said than done”, commented The Guardian. The dual (双重的) uses of the AI technology—for harm and for good—is difficult to manage. This is because the exact same technology can be used in a wide range of ways, the paper said.

    Every man wants his son to be somewhat of a clone, not in features but in footsteps. As he grows, you also age, and your ambitions become more unachievable. You begin to realize that your boy, in your footsteps, could probably achieve what you hoped for. But footsteps can be muddied and they can go off in different directions.

    My son Jody has hated school since day one in kindergarten. Science projects waited until the last moment. Book reports weren't written until the final threat.

    I've been a newspaperman all my adult life. My daughter is a university graduate working toward her master's degree in English. But Jody? When he entered the tenth grade, he became a “vo-tech(技校)” student. They're called “motorheads” by the rest of the student body.

    When a secretary in my office first called him “motorhead”, I was shocked. “Hey, he's a good kid,” I wanted to say. “And smart, really.”

    I learned later that motorheads are, indeed, different. They usually have dirty hands and wear dirty work clothes. And they don't often make school honor rolls(光荣榜).

    But being the parent of a motorhead is itself an experience in education. We, who work in clean shirts in offices, don't have the abilities that motorheads have. I began to learn this when I had my car crashed. The cost to repair it was estimated at $800. “Hey, I can fix it,” said Jody. I doubted it, but let him go ahead, for I had nothing to lose.

    My son, with other motorheads, fixed the car. They got parts(零件) from a junkyard, and ability from vo-tech classes. The cost was $25 instead of $800.

Since that first repair job, a broken air-conditioner, a non-functioning washer and a non-toasting toaster have been fixed. Neighbors and co-workers trust their car repairs to him.

    These kids are happiest when doing repairs. They joke and laugh and are living in their own relaxed world. And their minds are bright in spite of their dirty hands and clothes.

    I have learned a lot from my motorhead: publishers need printers, engineers need mechanics, and architects need builders. Most importantly, I have learned that fathers don't need clones in footsteps or anywhere else.

My son may never make the school honor roll, but he made mine.

    Even before my father left us, my mother had to go back to work to support our family. Once I came out of the kitchen, complaining, “Mum, I can't peel(削皮) potatoes. I have only one hand.”

    Mum never looked up from sewing. “You get yourself into that kitchen and peel those potatoes,” she told me. “And don't ever use that as an excuse for anything again!”

    In the second grade, our teacher lined up my class on the playground and had each of us race across the monkey bars, swinging from one high steel rod(杆) to the next. When it was my turn, I shook my head. Some kids behind me laughed, and I went home crying.

    That night I told Mum about it. She hugged me, and I saw her “we'll see about that” look. The next afternoon, she took me back to school. At the deserted playground, mum looked carefully at the bars.

    “Now, pull up with your right arm,” she advised. She stood by as I struggled to lift myself with my right hand until I could hook the bar with my other elbow. Day after day we practiced, and she praised me for every rung(横杠) I reached.

    I'll never forget the next time, crossing the rungs; I looked down at the kids who were standing with their mouths open.

    One night, after a dance at my new junior high, I lay in bed sobbing. I could hear Mum came into my room. “Mum,” I said, weeping, “none of the boys would dance with me.”

    For a long time, I didn't hear anything. Then she said, “Oh, honey, someday you'll be beating those boys off with a bat.” Her voice was faint and cracking. I peeked(偷看) out from my covers to see tears running down her cheeks. Then I knew how much she suffered on my behalf. She had never let me see her tears.

    I will absolutely be the first person to romanticize libraries. I come from a home with thirty-two bookcases, a count that does not include the several dozen boxes of books in the attic labeled "work" and "extra." All these books are courtesy of my parents, both of whom were English majors in their day and in whose footsteps I never hesitated to follow. My childhood dream was of a house with a claw-foot bathtub, stained glass, and (most importantly) an enormous library made of built-in shelves, a sliding ladder, and window seats in every window. As a high school girl, I began working at the county library near my house, following up on two summers of volunteering with their summer reading program. I was all starry eyes and romantic visions of alphabetizing the classics and discovering gems among the new arrivals. What I found instead was that the life of a library was nothing like my daydreams, but far more important than I could have imagined.

    There is no library that is only a library anymore. Modern libraries can't afford and don't try to be only a receptacle for free books. They offer classes, book groups, Internet access, resume and tax help, tutoring, and multimedia resources for anyone who might wander in. Librarians are equipped to help with research and give recommendations. Most libraries have access to interlibrary loans, making the acquisition of nearly any piece of material merely a matter of time. What makes libraries so unique and important, however, is none of the diversity of resources and opportunities for community that they most certainly provide.

    ____________________________________. Every building one enters today comes with some expectation of spending money. Restaurants require paying for service. Shops require the intention of purchasing something. Houses require rent. Anyone who has lived near the poverty line, whether or not they have actually been homeless, has felt the threatening pressure toward expenditure that permeates the public spaces of modern Western culture. Even a free restroom is becoming difficult to find, especially as growing cities experience ever-increasing space restrictions.

    In a library, no one is asked to pay anything simply to sit. For those with few resources besides time, this is a godsend. Libraries are unofficial playgrounds for low-income families on rainy days, homeless shelters in cold months, reprieves from broken homes for grade-school-age children. They are the last bastions of quiet and calm where nothing is asked of one but to exist. Many arguments have been made about how the library is an outdated institution offering outdated services—that in the twenty-first-century how-to books on building sheds and daily newspaper copies are obsolete and the funding used for libraries ought to be reallocated to other programs. I can only assume that those who make such arguments are people who have always been comfortable with the expenditures it takes to move through the world. For those people, libraries can be about books. But not everyone has the luxury of seeing past the space.

    Libraries, as they exist in the twenty-first century, are the only remaining public domain. In a library, anyone of any walk of life can come and go as they choose, and so long as they remain respectful of the space they can remain as long as they wish. Libraries welcome everyone, offering a place to be and easily accessible resources to the most vulnerable populations, whether in downtown Chicago or small-town Oklahoma. My childhood romantic vision of the library is still close to my heart, but the very real work that public libraries do today is so much more critical than a leather-bound edition of Homer or a graphic novel fresh off the press. Those are the things the library gives me, but libraries are for everyone.

    Sandi Patty has been a name synonymous (同义的) with Gospel music because of her singing ability since she released her first album in 1979.

    Patty's newest book. The Voice, takes a deep dive into parts of her life she's kept private for years. Surprisingly, The Voice is not primarily concerned with Patty's singing voice. Patty was always a talented singer. However, she struggled to find her inner voice and speak up for herself. "I was a shy kid. Words were hard for me," Patty said.

    One of the reasons why Patty found it so difficult to use her voice was a traumatic childhood experience. At age six, she was abused by a friend, an experience she opened up for the first time in the book.

    She is sharing the story of her experience now, hoping it will help other people feel less alone. "Feeling alone keeps everybody silent about the tough times in our lives, so we think we're the only ones," Patty said. She wrote in The Voice that she felt like it was her job to make everyone feel better.

    Friendships were essential for helping Patty find the courage to speak up. They reminded her that she didn't need to make others feel better because the people she loved didn't doubt she cared for them.

    Friends and family were crucial for helping Patty confront another struggle she faced—shame. She felt unpleasant for insecurities about her weight and her divorce. "I've heard it explain that guilt tells us we have done something wrong and shame says we are wrong," Patty said.

    "I want people to know that their stories and their voices matter," Patty said. "We have to figure out a way to take our pain away and put it where it needs to be, without letting it guide our lives. Pain is a part of our story. It describes us, but it doesn't need to define us."