Sonya and her family have been homeless since she was 3 years old. Over the years, they have moved more than 15times to different shelters around New York City. Moving around was hard on Sonya。At school, Sonya hid her homeless from teachers and other students. She didn't want to be treated differently from other kids.

    In sixth grade, Sonya discovered a way to deal with some of her stress. She began studying dance at her middle school. “IT was a way for me to express myself, instead of just holding everything in,”she explains. Soon, Sonya auditioned（试演）for a summer dance camp run by Alvin Alley, a famous dance company. She was accepted. “I was excited,”says Sonya.

    Dancing became an even more important part of Sonya's life in high school. But things were not going well for Sonya at school. Each time her family moved to a new shelter, Sonya often took care of her younger sisters and brothers. She helped them get ready in the morning and took them to school. They would be on time, but Sonya would be late.

    Worrying about her family kept Sonya from thinking about her own future. That changed the summer after 11^th grade. Sonya learned she would have to go to summer school to graduate. She became determined to succeed, no matter what. “It was a wake-up call,”she says.“I had to focus on school and on myself.”

    Sonya made up the work that she had missed, and finally graduated from high school. No one in her family had gone to college before. But in September 2015, Sonya enrolled in the State University of New York at Potsdam. She plans to become a doctor for kids and to teach dance to children who have disabilities.

The First Hello

    The man from the telephone department got off the bus, and made his way to the tea stall, wiping the sweat off his head, face, then slipping his handkerchief under his shirt to wipe his neck and back. It was a year ago that the phone line had been installed, six months later men from the public works department had come to put up the phone booth—a neat box-like structure, with a glass window, and wooden ledges, yellow in colour. And days after that, a painter had taken an entire day to colour in broad, black brushstrokes, the words: STD Booth, local and STD allowed.

    No one could tell that the last word had been misspelled. Besides, he had taken the entire day. After he had a cup of tea, he left, waving cheerfully. And now months later, someone else was here again.

    Everyone watched the man as he sat on the bench. No one said a word, and soon the sound of him slurping his tea filled the hot afternoon. A few leaves fell, heavy in the heat, and sometimes a car passed, on its way to the main city farther away.

    When the man had finished, he tried to pay but the tea shop owner who sat behind his steaming kettle and the washed upturned cups, waved him away.

    “You are our guest here.”

    So the man took his handkerchief out again and wiped his face.

    They crowded around him as he shut himself up in the phone booth. When the children pressed their nose against the glass, he shooed them away, as he took out a shiny black soon changed to an excited yell as they saw him dial a number, pressing a finger into the ringed dialer of the phone and letting it go all the way in a half-circle. A while later, they hear him say into the mouthpiece, “Hello.”

    “Hello,”the children around the booth took up the cry, the teashop owner broke into a smile and the men waiting for a bus smiled and said hello to each other. The sadhu(印度的僧人)who sat under the banyan tree nodded wisely. As the sound carried, more hellos were heard. The women winnowing grain giggled as they tried the word tentatively, the shepherds feeding their flocks called out to their sheep, laughing as they used the word.

    “It's a big occasion, ”said the headman, in an awed(敬畏的) voice.

    “It is.” agreed those around him. The telephone man emerged and handed over a small chit of paper to the headman. “This is the telephone number.”

    The headman looked at it respectfully as if it were a mantra(符咒). The others around him read out the numbers slowly, digit-by-digit.

    The telephone man was now too tired to notice the cheering around him. He knew he had to wait long before the bus to take him back arrived. As he sipped his second cup of tea, he remembered something else.

    “Oh, you can't start using the phone now. The minister will come next month and inaugurate it. ”

    No one said a word. No one was surprise. They had waited so long; a month more did not really matter.

    This year's flu season is pretty scary. To try to minimize the effects, public officials are still urging anyone who hasn't yet gotten their flu shot to get one as soon as possible. However, even if every single person got a shot in the arm, the vaccine(疫苗)—with its excellent 36 percent effectiveness—would not prevent everyone from getting infected with the annoying virus. Knowledge is power, so here's what goes on in your body when you come down with the flu.

    The influenza virus primarily attacks your nose, throat, and the tubes that lead to your lungs. But the flu is so much more than that. Your muscles ache, your head hurts, and your appetite goes down, among other things. To our surprise, almost all of these symptoms have less to do with the virus itself than with your immune(免疫的)response to them. Unfortunately, the very defense you have in place to get rid of the flu is the reason you feel so painful when you recover.

    The virus usually enters through your mouth, typically by way of your hands. But it takes a few days for symptoms to set in. While this process might cause some harm to your nose and throat, it's nothing major, and nothing like the symptoms that typically accompany a bad or even mild case of the flu.

    The real fun starts when your immune system begins to fight. Your immune system comes in two parts: the innate system and the adaptive. The innate immune system is essentially an all-purpose tool. As soon as your body senses the presence of any injury or invader (入侵者), the innate immune system launches into action by producing tiny proteins called cytokines and chemokines. The cytokines reproduce almost immediately and start to attack the virus. This increase in immune cells creates an serious inflammation(炎症) throughout the body. But the worst is still to come. Meanwhile, the chemokines work with the adaptive immune system to help create T cells. These cells are a special type of white blood cell that works in a much more specific way: They find the influenza virus, identify what's special about it, and create something unique on their surface that finds and destroys similar invaders.

    About 6 years ago, I was on a plane next to a woman. I was tired and wanted to take a nap. But before I could go into "ignore pattern", she tapped me on the shoulder to introduce herself.

    "Hi, my name is Helga!"

    We got to talking and eventually it came up that I had started an organization in high school called R.A.K.E.(Random Acts of Kindness, Etc.). As I described what we did, Helga got very serious and told me that she admired me for that. She told me a story about the last time she had flown. She was on the way to Arizona because she had gotten sudden news that her dad's health was on the decline. Later her father's physician called to inform her that her dad had rather suddenly passed away. For the 3-hour plane ride, she sat in silence around strangers.

    When she arrived at the airport in Arizona, she walked to the nearest wall, sat down, and cried. And here is the part I'll never forget about Helga's story. For 2 hours she sat and wept while thousands walked to and fro in the airport. Helga looked at me and said, "Houston, not a single person stopped and asked if I was okay that day." It was that day that I realized how much we need each other. It was that day I realized that kindness isn't normal.

    Kindness isn't normal. That has stuck with me all these years especially now. I work in schools nationwide speaking about sympathy, kindness, empathy (同理心) and love. I'm reminded all the time that, for many of us, kindness is not usually our default setting. We spend so much time worrying about our problems, our lives, our insecurities, getting to our flight so we walk by or ignore people in need of help.

    So, I've made it my mission to do my part in sharing stories with students, teachers, and parents about our need for character and sympathy. I'm always be on the lookout for the little opportunities that surround me every day to do something nice.

    I've come back to check on a baby. Just after dusk I'm in a car down a muddy road in the rain, past rows of shackled(戴镣的) elephants, their trunks swinging. I was here five hours before， when the sun was high and hot and tourists were on elephants' backs.

    Walking now, I can barely see the path in the glow of my phone's flashlight. When the wooden fence post stops me short, I point my light down and follow a current of rainwater across the concrete floor until it washes up against three large, gray feet. A fourth foot twisted above the surface, tied tightly by a short chain and choked by ring of metal spikes(尖刺) When the elephant tires and puts her foot down， the spikes press deeper into her ankle.

    Meena is four years and two months old, still a child as elephants go. Khammon Kongkhaw, her caretaker, told me earlier that Meena wears the spiked chain because she tends to kick. Kongkhaw has been responsible for Meena here at Maetaman Elephant Adventure, near Chiang Mai, in northern Thailand, since she was 11 months old. He said he keeps her on the spiked chain only during the day and takes it off at night. But it's night now.

    I ask Jin Laoshen, the Maetaman worker accompany in me on this nighttime visit, why her chain is still on. He says he doesn't know.

    Mactaman is one of many animal attractions in and around tourist-crowded Chiang Mai. Meena's life is set to follow the same track as many of the roughly 3, 800 captive(被捕获的) elephants in Thailand. When Meena is too old or sick to give rides-maybe at 55, maybe at 75she'll die. If she's lucky, she'll get a few years of retirement. She'll spend most of her life on a chain.

    One spring day, once the flowers have begun to open, a bee will hover (盘旋) and zip through your yard and dive-bomb your picnic table. While you're thinking about avoiding an attack, that bee is focused on something else entirely: me.

    A honeybee has about six weeks to live. Today, like most days, her task is to fly as many as three miles from home, stick her long, straw-like tongue into a hundred or so flowers. When the bee has had her fill, she'll fly home. There the bee will deposit what she has got into the mouth of one of her co-workers, who will relay it to another, and so on for about 20 minutes, until the mixture is ready to be placed into the comb. Then she and her 50,000 or so mates will hover in the dark all night every night, flapping their wings to create hot, breezy conditions to remove the water from the mixture. Several sunrises later, they will seal me off in a golden cell of beeswax. In her lifetime, our bee may visit 4,000 flowers, and yet will produce only one-twelfth of a tea spoon of me.

    The average American consumes nearly a pound and a half of me every year, in tea, on toast, and beyond. If I do say so myself, I am a timeless treasure. Literally--I never go bad.

    Unfortunately, my good health is not guaranteed. The problem lies in the growth of industrial agriculture and the use of pest control chemicals, as well as changes in weather patterns, all of which reduce the number of flowers bees have to visit. I'd appreciate your letting your own garden grow just a little wild. My future depends on all of us fostering spring and summers wild flowers, thus helping the bees, who give so much--to you, to me--without ever asking for anything in return.