Every year in America, high-school students who want to go to college take a national examination called the Scholastic Aptitude Test, or SAT in a shortened way. Their score is an important factor in determining which colleges will admit them or whether any will be admitted at all. The Scholastic Aptitude Test measures one's mathematical ability and use of the English language. Traditionally, the English part involved grammatical questions and paragraphs that test reading comprehension.

    But the SAT folks have added a single question, to be answered in an essay, hand-written on the spot. That's an interesting way to test writing ability, but content aside, have you ever seen young people's handwriting lately? Or anyone's for that matter, in this age of computer keyboards? Students write numbers and sign their names on bank checks. They scribble class notes in what can generously be described as the written word.

    Yet today's kids are asked to write, thoughtfully and clearly, for several minutes on this SAT Test. Good luck to the text scorers who must work out difficultly the scrawl (潦草的字迹) of young people who've been typing on computers since the age of three! Teachers insist that good handwriting can not only help one's score on the SAT, but also, later on in life, impress potential employers. And don't forget, we all have to turn to handwriting from time to time, as computers go down when power goes out.

    Then how to improve the handwriting? Well, with a few simple steps you can improve your hand writing.

    Position the pen. You should hold the pen between the forefinger and the thumb, then rest it near the first knuckle (指节) of the middle finger. The rest of your fingers should be curled (卷曲) under your hand and your hand should remain relaxed.

    Evaluate your writing. Make changes to your letters till you like how they look.

    Take your time. Speed is bound to make your writing messy-looking.

    Practice. Practice it a lot; it's not enough to do it once and hope for the best. It has to be something you work at to make great improvements.

    When my sister Gina was born, she had a problem with her heart. Her heart was pretty bad in the beginning and she stayed in the hospital for a month. The first few years were very difficult because she was very sick. She had five operations before she was three years old. She had trouble walking, playing with other children, and going to school.

    Although Gina couldn't laugh and talk, we all knew that she just needed love and care. Our parents wanted to take Gina to a special place in Florida where she could swim with dolphins. Gina was afraid of swimming with them because she had never been around dolphins before. We had also never traveled that far as a family.

    When we got to Florida, we saw where the dolphins lived. It was a place where kids with special needs like Gina could come and spend time. I thought it was going to be a vacation, but it wasn't. Gina had to work hard every day for a week.

    The trip was amazing .Gina laughed and clapped(拍手) when she saw the dolphin, and the dolphin splashed (溅起水花) when it saw Gina. They swam together all day. Gina was able to move her body more than she normally did at home. Mom and dad were proud of Gina. I was, too.

    Two friends have an argument that breaks up their friendship forever, even though neither one can remember how the whole thing got started. Such sad events happen over and over in high schools across the country. In fact, according to an official report on youth violence, “In our country today, the greatest threat to the lives of children and adolescents is not disease or starvation or abandonment, but the terrible reality of violence”. Given that this is the case, why aren't students taught to manage conflict the way they are taught to solve math problems, drive cars, or stay physically fit?

    First of all, students need to realize that conflict is unavoidable. A report on violence among middle school and high school students indicates that most violent incidents between students begin with a relatively minor insult (侮辱). For example, a fight could start over the fact that one student eats a peanut butter sandwich each lunchtime. Laughter over the sandwich can lead to insults, which in turn can lead to violence. The problem isn't in the sandwich, but in the way students deal with the conflict.

    Once students recognize that conflict is unavoidable, they can practice the golden rule of conflict resolution ( 解决): stay calm. Once the student feels calmer, he or she should choose words that will calm the other person down as well. Rude words, name-calling, and accusations only add fuel to the emotional fire. On the other hand, soft words spoken at a normal sound level can put out the fire before it explodes out of control.

    After both sides have calmed down, they can use another key strategy ( 策略) for conflict resolution: listening. Listening allows the two sides to understand each other. One person should describe his or her side, and the other person should listen without interrupting. Afterward, the listener can ask non-threatening questions to clarify the speaker's position. Then the two people should change roles.

    Finally, students need to consider what they are bearing. This doesn't mean trying to figure out what's wrong with the other person. It means understanding what the real issue is and what both sides are trying to accomplish. For example, a shouting match over a peanut butter sandwich might happen because one person thinks the other person is unwilling to try new things. Students need to ask themselves questions such as these：How did this start? What do I really want? What am I afraid of? As the issue becomes clearer, the conflict often simply becomes smaller. Even if it doesn't, careful thought helps both sides figure out a mutual（彼此共同的） solution.

    There will always be conflict in schools, but that doesn't mean there needs to be violence. After students in Atlanta started a conflict resolution program, according to Educators for Social Responsibility, “64 percent of the teachers reported less physical violence in the classroom; 75 percent of the teachers reported an increase in student cooperation; and 92 percent of the students felt better about themselves”. Learning to resolve conflicts can help students deal with friends, teachers, parents, bosses, and coworkers. In that way, conflict resolution is a basic life skill that should be taught in schools across the country.

    When I was three years old, I couldn't speak. It was a strange reality that none of the doctors I visited could understand.

    One day, I was shadowing my mother. She found herself looking in a mirror, and through it our eyes met. She began to speak to me through the reflection, and I slowly began to mimic(模仿)her mouth's movements until I formed a word.

    It turned out I'm deaf in my left ear, and have a slight problem in my right. Being hard of hearing has been difficult, but I've never lived in a state of self-hating sorrow. Imagine being able to shut out all sound as you lay your head down to sleep by simply rolling over onto one side. That's my reality when I sleep on my "good ear", and it makes me feel like a superhero sometimes.

    People call my deaf side my "bad ear", but when I wear my hearing aid, I have access to a range of features that some other deaf people don't. In cinemas, for example, with one click of a button I can enjoy a whole film as though it were whispered to me from the mouths of the actors.

    Owning a hearing aid hasn't always felt good, however. On the first day I got my aid, when I was eight, I took it to school for show-and-tell. As I explained how it worked to my classmates, a boy yelled out, "Aren't those for old men?" At that moment, I felt different. It took a long time for me to get over that sense of being so unlike my peers.

    But it's not just school kids who can make us deaf and hard-of-hearing people feel like burdens. Every video on social media that lacks subtitles(字幕), for example, means an entire community of deaf people is unable to enjoy it. Completely deaf people are excluded from enjoying many movies too, as subtitles in cinemas are almost impossible to find.

    And with hearing aids costing around $2,500 each, it can be hard for many people to afford to be able to listen to the things that others take for granted. As for me, I can listen to music, enjoy films, and catch conversations - I'm lucky. I'm deaf, but I can still hear everything. I've been blessed with wonderful life experiences, and I am human. And when it comes to sleeping, I'm even superhuman.

    I'd done it before, and so I had no reason to believe that this time would be any different. I was sure that when I returned home from my mission trip. As always, I'd bring back nothing more some mud on my boots. A hole or two in my jeans and, of course, a lot of great memories.

    The summer before my high school graduation, I went to West Virginia with others as volunteers to repair the homes of those in need. Arriving at our destination, my group was assigned the task of rebuilding sections of a home that had been damaged by fire. No sooner had we parked on the home's dirt driveway than we saw an excited little girl, no more than six years old, standing in the doorway of the family's temporary home. Shoeless and wearing dirty clothes and the biggest smile I'd ever seen, she yelled, "Ma, Ma, they really came!" I didn't know it then, but her name was Dakota, and four more days would pass before she'd say another word near me.

    Behind Dakota was a woman in a wheelchair — her grandmother, we'd soon learn. I also discovered that my job that week would be to help change a fire-damaged dining room into a bedroom for this little girl. Grabbing our tools, we went to work. Over the following days, I noticed Dakota peeking at us every now and then as we worked. A few times, I tried talking with her, but she remained shy and distant, always flying around us like a tiny butterfly but keeping to herself.

    By our fifth and final day, however, this was about to change.

    Before I went to work on her home on that last morning, I spoke for a moment or two with the grandmother. I was especially pleased when she told me how much Dakota loved her new room — so much, in fact, that she'd begged to sleep in it the previous night, even though it wasn't quite ready. As we talked, I noticed something I hadn't seen before — Dakota was hiding behind her grandmother.

    Cautiously, she stepped into view, and I could see that just like her clothes, her face was still dirty. But no amount of soil could hide those bright blue eyes and big smile. She was simply adorable. I wanted so much to hug her, but respecting her shyness, I kept my distance.

    Slowly, she began walking toward me. It wasn't until she was just inches away that I noticed the folded piece of paper in her tiny hand. Silently, she reached up and handed it to me. Once unfolded, I looked at the drawing she'd made with her broken crayons on the back of an old coloring book cover. It was of two girls — one much taller than the other — and they were holding hands. She told me it was supposed to be me and her, and on the bottom of the paper were three little words that instantly broke my heart. Now almost in tears, I couldn't control myself anymore — I bent down and hugged her. She hugged me, too. And for the longest time, neither of us could let go.

    By early afternoon, we finished Dakota's bedroom, and so I gladly used the rare free time to get to know my newest friend. Sitting under a tree away from the others, we shared a few apples while she told me about her life. As I listened to her stories about the struggles she and her family went through daily, I began to realize how boring various aspects of my own life were.

    I left for home early the next morning. I was returning with muddy boots and holes in my Jeans. But because of Dakota, I brought back something else, too-a greater appreciation for all or the blessings of my life. I'll never forget that barefoot little butterfly with the big smile and dirty face. I pray that she'll never forget me either.

    Fred Rogers was a curious man, six feet tall and without pretense (虚伪). He liked to pray, to play the piano, to swim, and to write, and he somehow lived in a different world than I did. We became friends for some 20 years, and I made lifelong friends with his wife, Joanne. I remember thinking that it seemed as if Fred had access to another realm (领域) like the way pigeons have some special magnetic compass that helps them find home.

    Fred died in 2003, somewhat quickly, of stomach cancer. He was 74. "Just don't make Fred into a saint (圣人)," That has become Joanne's refrain (叠句). 91 now, still full of energy, she lives alone in the same roomy apartment, in the university section of Pittsburgh, that she and Fred moved into after they raised their two boys. Throughout her 50-year marriage to Fred, she wasn't the type to hang out on the set or attend production meetings. That was Fred's thing. He had his career, and she had hers as a concert pianist. For decades she toured the country with her college classmate, Jeannine Morrison, as a piano duo; they didn't retire the performance until 2008.

    "If you make him out to be a saint, people might not know how hard he worked," Joanne said. Disciplined, focused; a perfectionist — an artist. That was the Fred she and the cast and crew knew. "I think people think of Fred as a child-development expert," David Newell, the actor who played Mr. "Speedy Delivery" McFeely, told me recently. "As a moral example maybe. But as an artist? I don't think they think of that." that was the Fred I came to know. Creating, the creative impulse (冲动), and the creative process were our common interests. He wrote or co-wrote all the scripts for the program — all 33 years of it. He wrote the melodies. He wrote the lyrics. He structured a week of programming around a single theme, many of them difficult topics, like war, divorce, or death.

    I don't know that he cared whether people saw him as an artist. He seemed more intent (急切的) that people not see him at all. The focus was always on you. Or children. Or the tiny things. It was hard to see Fred.

    I like you just the way you are. One day he told me where that core message came from. His grandfather, Fred Brooks McFeely, who like the rest of the Rogers family lived in Latrobe, Pennsylvania, about 40 miles east of Pittsburgh. "He was a character," he said. "Oh, a lot of me came from him."

    His grandfather represented a life of risk and adventure, the very things Fred's boyhood lacked. He was a lonely kid, an only child until he was 11, when his sister came. He was bullied. Here comes Fat Freddie! He was sickly. He had asthma. He was not allowed to play outside by himself. He spent much of his childhood in his bedroom.

    He had music, and he had puppets to keep himself amused. He didn't need much. He was expected to fill his father's shoes, become his business partner at the brick company. "My dad was pretty much Mr. Latrobe," he told me. "He worked hard to accomplish all that he did, and I've always felt that that was way beyond me. And yet I'm so grateful that he didn't push me to do the kinds of things that he did or to become a miniature (缩小的) version of him. It certainly would have been miniature."

    Fred wanted to be like his grandfather. "He taught me all kinds of really neat stuff!" he told me. "I remember one day my grandmother and my mother were telling me to get down, or not to climb, and my grandfather said: ‘Let the kid climb on the wall! He's got to learn to do things for himself!' I heard that. I will never forget that. What a support that was. He had a lot of stone walls on his place." "I think it was when I was leaving one time to go home after our time together," Fred told me, "that my grandfather said to me: ‘You know, you made this day a really special day. Just by being yourself. There's only one person in the world like you. And I happen to like you just the way you are."