Is there a magic cutoff period when offspring become accountable for their own actions? Is there a wonderful moment when parents can become spectators (旁观者) in the lives of their children and shrug, "It' s their life," and feel nothing?

    When I was in my twenties, I stood in a hospital corridor waiting for doctors to put a few stitches in my son's head. I was asked, "When do you stop worrying?" A nurse said, "When they get out of the accident stage." My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.

    When I was in my thirties, I sat on a little chair in a classroom and heard how one of my children talked incessantly, disrupted (打断) the class, and was headed for a career making license plates. As if to read my mind, a teacher said, "Don't worry. They all go through this stage, and then you can sit back, relax, and enjoy them." My mother listened and said nothing.

    When I was in my forties, I spent a lifetime waiting for the phone to ring and the cars to come home, the front door to open.

    My friends said that when my kids got married I could stop worrying and lead my own life. I wanted to believe that, but I was haunted by my mother' s wan ( 淡淡的 ) smile and her occasional words, "You look pale. Are you all right? Call me the minute you get home."

    Can it be that parents are sentenced to a lifetime of worry? Is concern for one another handed down like a torch to blaze the trail of human frailties and the fears of the unknown? Is concern a curse? Or is it a virtue that elevates us to the highest form of life?

    One of my children became quite irritable recently, saying to me, "Where were you? I've been calling for three days, and no one answered. I was worried!!!"

    I smiled a wan smile.

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.

    Many independent Chinese women like to earn their own bread, even if their husbands are already bringing home the bacon. But a recent survey suggests that such women find more joy from relationships, rather than successful careers.

    About 73 percent of the 7,000 women surveyed in Beijing, Shanghai and Guangzhou said they would choose to work even if their husbands earned enough for the family. The survey also found that 77 percent define happiness as "enjoying a relationship".

    But striking a balance between career and family can bring challenges to the woman's career advancement.

    "In my company, women usually have an equal or even a higher starting salary than men," said Li Hua, general manager of Beijing Chuangjiashe Book Circulation Company. "However, as they begin to climb up the career ladder, women often meet problems along the way, while men can climb the ladder more easily."

    Both physical and emotional differences can prevent some women from taking tough positions, Li said. But family life is often the main difficulty for Chinese career women.

    Despite these challenges, however, some experts believe it's reasonable for some women to want to be breadwinners.

    "In this way, the roles of a family are decided by the parents' abilities rather than their gender（性别）," said Gu Donghui, a sociology professor at Fudan University.

    Gu says women should have the freedom to decide if they want to stay at home or work to support the family. "Everyone has a different interpretation（解释）of what it means to find self-worth".

    Wang Haibin, an economic expert from Renmin University shares that view: "Traditionally, we tend to regard the family as the cell unit of society. Some members have always been expected to make sacrifices for it. But, it really doesn't matter who earns more. Economic independence and personal choice is essential for both sexes in the family."

Both humans and animals have enemies. It is easy for us to know the difference between our friends and our enemies. But can other animals do the same? Elephants can! They can use their sense of vision and smell to tell the difference between people who mean a threat and those who do not. In Kenya, researchers find that elephants react differently to clothing worn by men of the Maasai and Kamba ethnic groups. Young Maasai men hunt animals and thus mean a threat to elephants; Kamba men are mainly farmers and are not a danger to elephants.

In an experiment conducted by animal scientists, elephants were first presented with clean clothing or clothing that had been worn for five days by either a Maasai or a Kamba man. When the elephants noticed the smell of clothing worn by a Maasai man, they moved away from the smell faster and took longer to relax than when they noticed the smells of either clean clothing or clothing worn by a Kamba man.

Clothing color also plays a role. In the same study, when the elephants saw red clothing not worn before, they reacted angrily, as red is typically worn by Maasai men. Rather than running away as they did with the smell, the elephants acted angrily toward the red clothing.

The researchers believe that the elephants' emotional reactions are due to their different senses of smell and sight. Smelling a possible danger means that a threat is nearby and the best thing to do is run away and hide. Seeing a potential threat without its smell means that risk is low. Therefore, instead of showing fear and running away, the elephants express their anger and become aggressive.

    As a young adult, Noah Webster was a teacher. At that time, the colonies were fighting for independence from Britain. Yet the books that American children used in school all came from Britain. The books were all about British people and British places. Webster wanted books that would mean more to American children. So he wrote three books that used American examples—a grammar book, a spelling book, and a reader. These books were very popular, and millions of them were sold.

    Webster was interested in changing the spellings of words. He wanted words to be spelled the way they were pronounced. For example, he thought the word "head" should be spelled "hed", and the word "laugh" should be spelled "laf". People liked Webster's suggestions.

    However, few words were actually changed. One group of words that were changed were words in which an unpronounced "u" followed an "o". That is why Americans write "color" and "labor", and the British write "colour" and "labour".

    With the money he made from his books, Webster was able to write. It was the first American English dictionary, published in 1828.Webster's dictionary had over 70，000 words and gave the meaning and origin of each. To this day, Webster's work is the example that most dictionaries of American English follow.

    I was in the middle of the Amazon (亚马逊) with my wife, who was there as a medical researcher. We flew on a small plane to a faraway village. We did not speak the local language, did not know the customs, and more often than not, did not entirely recognize the food. We could not have felt more foreign.

    We were raised on books and computers, highways and cell phones, but now we were living in a village without running water or electricity It was easy for us to go to sleep at the end of the day feeling a little misunderstood.

    Then one perfect Amazonian evening, with monkeys calling from beyond the village green, we played soccer. I am not good at soccer, but that evening it was wonderful. Everyone knew the rules. We all spoke the same language of passes and shots. We understood one another perfectly. As darkness came over the field and the match ended, the goal keeper, Juan, walked over to me and said in a matter-of-fact way, "In your home, do you have a moon too?" I was surprised.

    After I explained to Juan that yes, we did have a moon and yes, it was very similar to his, I felt a sort of awe (敬畏) at the possibilities that existed in his world. In Juan's world, each village could have its own moon. In Juan's world. the unknown and undiscovered was vast and marvelous. Anything was possible.

    In our society, we know that Earth has only one moon. We have looked at our planet from every angle and found all of the wildest things left to find. I can, from my computer at home, pull up satellite images of Juan's village. There are no more continents and no more moons to search for, little left to discover. At least it seems that way.

    Yet, as I thought about Juan's question, I was not sure how much more we could really rule out. I am, in part, an ant biologist, so my thoughts turned to what we know about insect life and I knew that much in the world of insects remains unknown. How much, though? How ignorant (无知的) are we? The question of what we know and do not know constantly bothered me.

    I began collecting newspaper articles about new species, new monkey, new spider…, and on and on they appear. My drawer quickly filled. I began a second drawer for more general discoveries: new cave system discovered with dozens of nameless species, four hundred species of bacteria found in the human stomach. The second drawer began to fill and as it did I wondered whether there were bigger discoveries out there, not just species, but life that depends on things thought to be useless, life even without DNA. I started a third drawer for these big discoveries. It fills more slowly, but all the same, it fills.

    In looking into the stories of biological discovery, I also began to find something else, a collection of scientists, usually brilliant occasionally half-mad, who made the discoveries. Those scientists very often see the same things that other scientists see, but they pay more attention to them, and they focus on them to the point of exhaustion (穷尽), and at the risk of the ridicule of their peers. In looking for the stories of discovery, I found the stories of these people and how their lives changed our view of the world.

    We are repeatedly willing to imagine we have found most of what is left to discover. We used to think that insects were the smallest organisms (生物), and that nothing lived deeper than six hundred meters. Yet, when something new turns up, more often than not, we do not even know its name.