Who do you think came up with the idea for the Paralympics (残奥会)？The man who organized the sporting events which became the Paralympic Games1was a doctor，Ludwig Guttmann.

      In  his  teens，Ludwig  Guttmann  was  interested  in medicine and worked as a2in a hospital.Then he3from medical school and became a doctor when he was 25 years old.

        Ludwig Guttmann4a successful career for the next  few years.5 ， because Ludwig Guttmann and his family  were Jews，life in Germany was becoming very6for them. In 1938 Ludwig Guttmann7to the UK with his  family where he continued his research8the best way to  treat patients.

      The Second World War was going on and there were a lot of soldiers9in the fighting.Often they10the use of their legs and needed11and help.The disabled soldiers were often12and angry for they couldn't really live a normal life.Ludwig Guttmann used his new13to look after their injuries and he also tried to give them emotional strength.

       Ludwig Guttmann14taking part in sports could help a person's body as well as his mind and began to use15 as a treatment to help his patients.He wanted to give them back their self­respect and dignity and16them to take part in sports.

       In 1948 the hospital held a sporting event called “The International Wheelchair Games”．By 1952 the event began to17bigger with disabled athletes from other countries attending.By 1960 the games were called the International Stoke Mandeville  Games  and they  were  held  in  Rome alongside the18Summer Olympics.By 1968 there were 750 athletes from 29 different countries.Ludwig Guttmann himself died in 1980，even19the games were called “Paralympics”，but there is no20that he is the founder and father of the Paralympic Games.It's thanks to his hard work that we are all able to enjoy the Paralympics.

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    I had introduced myself to others by saying, “Hi, I am J's mother” or “A's mom” rather than my own name. Another mother 1 asked me, “And do you have a(n)2?”

    My friend 3 me a few days before. I kept on talking for five minutes about my 4 When I 5 she asked, “So, is there anything going on with 6?”

    At first, I didn't understand 7she was asking me that. Hadn't I just told her what was going on with me? But then I realized that 8 I said had actually been about myself. It was all about my kids. I love being a mom. The kids were my world.9 it was my kids' world, and I just lived in it and 10it didn't fall apart.

    The phone call with my friend made me 11 that I needed to start thinking about who else I am 12 being a mother. I realized that to be a good 13 I also had to be my own person-not just someone who only 14 to take care of other people.

    I joined a club and started doing some volunteer work. I took a writing class online. I am now a regular 15to several magazines and write a monthly blog. I don't make a lot of money by writing, but I feel more 16 as a person. I am 17 and growing, and that makes me more 18 and a better mother.

Now when I 19 myself, I say, “Hi, my name is Randi,” and it feels 20 to be me.

A Good Man

    It's a late Saturday afternoon in early March, and I am sweating in search of the only gift my son wants from Los Angeles: a 1 to the homes of the stars such as Brad Pitt and Jet Li.

    A cheerful taxi driver says, “No problem. Map sellers are everywhere!” When the taxi stops, a fellow 2 with a thin folded sheet and says: “Ten dollars.”

    Ten dollars! With absolute 3I inform him, “That's too much.” The map man leaves. I begin walking, certain I'll find a (an)4 star map soon.

    I am 5. There's hardly anybody on the street. There don't seem to be many real stores, just cars and bars. No maps. No stars. Blocks pass. The sun begins to sink. At the edge of West Hollywood6fellow wanders ahead, selling star maps to some teenage girls.

    Ten dollars7. Forget it. My son will 8.

    That night, I call my wife. “Did you get one of those maps to the stars? He's been talking about 9else.”

    This10is hard to ignore. It's late. At all-night markets: no maps. I head back to the hotel. Morning is coming. There will be one last11. After I check out, I take a taxi. But at nine in the morning, map sellers are 12 to be found.

    “You know,” says the driver, “The guys with the maps just aren't up yet!” He's right.

    “Forget it. Let's go to the airport.”

    “Well,” says the driver, “I could 13 you one if you like.”

    Sure. Trust this guy? I might as well throw cash onto the freeway. But exiting the taxi, I14 my last chance. I hand him $13 and my business card. Three weeks pass. I've15 on the star map. My son has stopped mentioning it.

    Then one afternoon, sticking out from under piles of flyers, there it is: a big white envelope. There is a small note. I can hardly read it16 I make out a few phrases一“forgive17 “taxi's been down” and, finally, “here's map for your son.” There's no return address. It's signed, “kind regards, M.”

    I hold the note in my hand18 what my son said to me when I got back from Los Angeles.

    “Did you meet any 19 Dad?” he asked.

Now I know what to tell him.

    “Yes, I did. I met a guy named M.”

    If you never 20 anybody, you'll never find the good guys.

    As a child, I started learning to play the piano, my favorite musical 1 but I was forced to give up when I started my middle school2 I could concentrate more on my studies.

It's one of my biggest3 to stop practicing the piano when I recall sadly today. During the following years, I kept telling my piano teacher that I would4However, I didn't keep my promise because I was 5 with my study6 I lost touch with my teacher. Some years later, my teacher died. I was very sad because I lost such a good teacher. She was a very warm and gentle person. It hurts me to think she may have been 7 that I never returned. I haven't taken lessons since then but to be honest, I 8 to. Sitting at the piano, I couldn't help recalling many 9 —times of my practising at home and playing before my teacher and one time my teacher 10 me after I played entire pieces of music wrong in front of her colleagues. I was so 11 that I could hardly say anything. But her 12helped ease my shame. These memories13good or bad, never caused my14 for playing the piano again.

    This thought then led me to think that 15 is like music, and that we all try to play different 16 in the instrument of our life. Sometimes the pitch (音高) is17when we play it well, but sometimes we are out of tone. However, we all continue to create our own 18style of music. No matter what style our music is, it is 19 that we sing the songs of joy, quietness and love. Though I may never make it back to piano lessons, it doesn't 20 that I've stopped making music.

    When I was a little girl, I remember that when my dad was repairing something, every time he asked me to 1 the hammer, just so we would have a time for a 2 with each other. I 3saw my dad drinking or taking a night out with the boys, all he did after 4 was taking care of his family.

    I 5 and left home for college and since then, my dad had been calling me every Sunday morning, no matter what. And when several 6 later I bought a house, my dad was 7 it by himself for three days in the 80°F summer heat. All he 8 was to hold his paint brush and talk to him. But I was too9in those days, I did not find any time for a conversation with my dad.

    One Sunday 10 we had a telephone talk as usual, I noticed that my dad had 11some things that we discussed 12 . I was in a hurry, so our conversation was 13 . Few hours later that day came a call. My father was in a hospital with an aneurysm(动脉瘤). 14 I bought a ticket for a flight and 15 I was thinking about all 16 occasions(场合) to have a talk with my dad.

    By the time I 17 at the hospital, my father had passed away. Now it was he who did not have 18 for a conversation with me. After his death I 19much more about him, and even more about myself. All he ever asked me was my time. And now he has all my 20every single day.

I was on a family holiday in Palma, Mallorca, in July 2001. One weekend we rented a motorboat and we were going 1, crashing over big waves. It was an exciting, but also a(n) 2 feeling. I began to realize something was wrong only when we got back on 3. We went for a 4, and I sat in the restaurant wondering why the table was swaying. 5 I got back to Britain, such feeling increased, making simple tasks at home 6.

After several more 7 with doctors, I remember feeling 8 when they didn't find a brain tumor: at least that would have explained things. I started to do my own 9, reading related articles and consult experts. Finally I got a(n) 10 diagnosis of MdDS from the National Hospital in London. But they told me there is no 11, and all they could do was help me manage my mental health.

Nearly 20 years on, I'm still living 12 MdDS. People have suggested different ways of treatment and I've 13 all sorts of strange theories, but nothing has 14 for me. I'll never lose heart and I hope something will be 15 within my lifetime.

For me, one way of coping has been to 16 people about the condition. I've found fellow 17 all over the world, and have set up a website in the hope that 18 else has to go through what I did, struggling to get a diagnosis.

One of the most peculiar things about MdDS is that it's 19 triggered, and yet motion—by car, train, plane or boat—can bring temporary 20. Some long time sufferers become almost like travel addicts, desiring that release.