Maureen stood by the lake. Suddenly the children came running through the trees with sharp cries of 1 They rushed up to the 2leaning over the clear water, watching the crowds of tiny fish. Some children demanded loudly to go to the boats, but 3those who had been left behind at the ice-cream stall(小摊) came running up to make some announcement or other, and they all4the water and dashed back the 5 they had come. With growing excitement, Maureen6them.

    When she7what had been running for, she stopped running. They were 8things again. The toy stall was9and they were crowded around it. Behind the 10 a calm middle-aged woman was selling a great variety of small rubbish. She took 11from the forest of small hands in exchanging for little boats, plastic dolls, yellow pencils, anything. Maureen leaned against a 12 looking on. The idea of13 washed against her face like a strong current(流), trying to draw her in.

    Nona Parker pushed out to the edge of the group and14what she had bought on the ground so that she could see what money she had left in her white purse. Under Maureen's 15 lay a boat, a mouth organ(口琴) and a brown load of bread. Maureen was so full of the16for the things like that she couldn't bear to look at it. She turned her17sharply. Her face was against the tree. She shut her eyes and 18 eagerly for some money, for the price of a set of toy plates. In a moment, she opened her eyes,19she didn't turn back to the stall. It was too 20to see the others buying whatever they wanted. She rubbed almost round the tree, her eyes on the ground.

    I had offered to watch my 3-year-old daughter, so that my wife could go out with a friend. I was getting some work done in my study while she 1to be having a good time in the other room. No problem, I figured. But then it got a little too2 and I shouted, "What are you doing?" No response. I3my question and heard her say, "Oh…nothing." Nothing?

    I got up from my desk and ran out 4the living room, where I saw her running across the hall. I followed and watched her as her little behind（小屁股）made a quick5into the bathroom. I had her6! I told her to turn around. She 7. I pulled out my big Daddy voice, "Young lady," I said, "turn around!"

    8, she turned toward me. In her hand was what was left of my wife's new lipstick. And every square inch of her face was9with bright red! As she looked up at me with fearful eyes. I heard10voice that had been shouted to me as a child. "How could you… You should know…How many times have you been 11…What a bad thing to…" It was just a matter of my picking out which old 12 I was going to use on her so that she would know what a bad girl she had been. But 13 I could let loose, I looked14 at the sweater on her. In big 15 it said, "I'M A PERFECT LITTLE ANGEL (天使)!" I looked back up into her tearful eyes and, 16seeing a bad girl who didn't listen, I saw a little angel full of17that I had come dangerously close to18. "Sweetheart, let's take a picture so Mommy can see how 19you look." I took the picture and thanked God that I didn't 20 the chance to prove what a perfect little angel he had given me.

    Lisa Condie is a woman in her sixties. She runs a business in Italy. Why did she 1 a business there? Here is her 2.

    At 56, Lisa Condie had two 3 for a trip to Europe. However, she had no one to go 4 because she broke up with her boyfriend, which 5 her plan for a romantic (浪漫的) trip. Lisa wondered if her fifties were just about staying on her own and being 6. She was no longer a wife 7 her husband died early. And her kids had all 8 and left her. She had no idea what to do with the 9 of her life.

Condie spent a few sad days in Rome alone, not 10 Italian or knowing her way around. However, by the end of her trip, she cried at the thought of 11 the magical place. Being alone in Italy had helped her realize that she was 12 strong, smart, and in control of her life. She decided right then that she would one day 13 and live there.

    Two years later, Condie is now living out her 14. She lives in Florence and runs a tour company for women 15 Italy — A Better Way To Travel in Italy. So far, her business has been 16. "I can show them life doesn't have to be over at some point of life. It can 17 anytime you like. You can have 18 again. I do think there's a magic in women 19women," she said. "I feel everybody has a dream that can bring them back to life. As women, we often support other people's dreams, but we 20 need to realize our own dreams."

    Harper, a third- grade teacher in Southwest Washington D.C, was named the city's teacher of the year and is one of four finalists(决赛选手)in the national1. No teacher in D.C. has ever won the national2since 2005.

    "When I got the call I was so surprised. I was like, Wow, are you3?" said Harper, whose school4students who are mostly black and from low-income families. "But I'm5, being able to share my students' amazing stores. ''

    Harper studied law in college but became interested in6After she graduated in 2012, she decided to teach for a public school7her father left the same school. Her father8dropped out of school, but teachers pulled him back in. Finally he9school and became a business owner.

    "I can't imagine if someone had10my dad," Harper often said.

Like her father's11Harper believes every child has the possibility to learn at high levels and she pushes them to reach those12. Her goal is to build a classroom full of confident 8-years old who won't doubt their13.

    Teaching is painstaking but Harper has no plans to14the classroom. She wants to develop her15skills, continue learning from other teachers and keep improving. Her16goal—maybe in 20 years —is to17more students as the country's education secretary(部长).18 ， her focus now is placed on the students she teaches each day.

    "I want my students to know that I19them and I wish them to take an active part in the classroom" she said. "The more they know you care, the more likely they will be20."

    "What kind of stuff do you write?'' one student asked on my first day at the University of Massachusetts. After a decade away from the classroom, I was back to1.

    "I write creative nonfiction," I said, "as you'll be doing.”

    It was a2. I couldn't remember when I'd last written a3essay. But it must have been before my mother fell ill, leaving me feeling my family story wouldn't end4. It seemed that nothing I wrote could change that.5I couldn't write my own stories, I could6my students to tell theirs. "You're going to keep a7in this class, and I want you to tell your stories like they8."

    "Why do they matter? ^" a boy named Michael asked. Looking out at the roomful of students, I9. No one said a word. Many of them, I learned, worked while in school. Most didn't know their stories did matter. They didn't even realize their stories were as10as their own lives.

    Finally, I looked at Michael. "They matter because they're what you have. Stories allow us to make meaning of what we've11I said. Michael didn't look12, but he didn't challenge me, either.

    In his first essay, Michael wrote about how his high school English teacher seeing his13and helped him fill out a college14. I had Michael read his essay out loud. After he finished, the class went so15that we could hear the sound of each other's16. I looked at him and saw a small17in his dark eyes. Then, I said, "That's why you tell your stories."

    I went home that night and18my journal from where it lay, dusty and19. For the first time in months, I had to20.

At thirteen, I was diagnosed (诊断) with a kind of attention disorder. It made school difficult for me. When everyone else in the class was focusing on tasks, I could not.

    In my first literature class, Mrs Smith asked us to read a story and then write on it, all within 45 minutes. I raised my hand right away and said, "Mrs Smith, you see, the doctor said I have attention problems. I might not be able to do it."

 She glanced at me through her glasses, "You are not different from your classmates, young man."

 I tried, but I didn't finish the reading when the bell rang. I had to take it home.

    In the quietness of my bedroom, the story suddenly all became clear to me. It was about a blind person, Louis Braille. He lived in a time when the blind couldn't get much education. But Louis didn't give up. Instead, he invented a reading system of raised dots (点), which opened up a whole new world of knowledge to the blind.

    Wasn't I the "blind" in my class, being made to learn like the "sighted" students? My thoughts spilled out (涌出) and my pen started to dance. I completed the task within 40 minutes. Indeed, I was not different from others; I just needed a quieter place. If Louis could find his way to solve his problems, why should I ever give up?

    I didn't expect anything when I handed in my paper to Mrs Smith, so it was quite a surprise when it came back to me the next day—with an "A" on it. At the bottom of the paper were these words: "See what you can do when you keep trying?"