It's a small gas station that has snacks, drinks, cigarettes, and candies. The young man behind the counter knows his 1by name and what they usually want to buy. He treats children and adults with equal2He reads science fiction behind the counter when business is3

    One day, three people rushed in and grabbed food off the shelves as fast as they could,4not planning to pay for it. He hit the “panic button”, then went over the counter and 5the front door. It was obvious they were homeless, and equally obvious that they weren't going6with the food. They7the food and simply crowded together in panic— knowing the police were8 the way.

    Imagine what they must have felt like when they were told they didn't have to steal if they were that9“We have food in the back, expired (到期) but still 10to eat. If you need food, you11have some.”

    They were told to12what they had dropped and put it back, and then asked to sort out the mess. They were doing just that13the police arrived. The officers were told the situation was under control and the police were no longer14.

    This wasn't what they had 15.They were being treated as human beings who could right the wrong they'd done. Shocked, they quickly followed orders to take turns and use the restroom to clean up themselves.

    Soon three 16people walked out with all the17their arms could hold. They were18that, if they needed to come back again, they were to ask and not just grab.

    And then the young man went back to read until the next customer came in. He would be the 19 person in the world to say he was a hero. But he gave three people something they were badly in need of —a20 amount of self-respect and a little bit of hope.

    I am a girl, but I was born to be a rebel（叛逆者）. I like games that can be 1 . Some of the sports I like, even boys won't play!

Wrestling（摔跤）is 2  seen as a sport for men, but I 3 to see if I could do it.

    Every Saturday morning, I got out of bed early to go and watch my brother  4 . From morning to night, I would sit watching the5  have all the fun. Since then, wrestling has been part of my 6.

    For three years, I 7  all the boys and became the best player in the team. My 8 memory of wrestling is when a boy walked off  9  because he'd lost to a girl.

    My last 10  was at this year's Girls' State Wrestling Championships.

    I was so  11 . I was sure I would win. My heart was beating hard when the match started. I could see 12  but my competitor. When the final whistle blew, I had  13 by four points. The cameras and 14 all turned to me: I was the new wrestling champion. I felt so15 . But after a few minutes of enjoying being a champion,16began to run through my knee.

    Because I hurt my knee, my 17 of being a national champion ended. Even so, I still18 to wrestle next year when I go to college. I have 19that you can do anything you want if you put your 20 into it.

    Today my son didn't feel well and came home from school early. I decided to take him to lunch. On the way, he saw a woman pushing her cart along the street. He said to me, “Ma, she's wearing baseball cleats(夹板) as 1. I just wish I made enough money to be able to 2 a pair of comfortable shoes for 3 I see that doesn't have shoes.”

    We drove to a shopping center and he went inside. He 4 thought out what he'd get. He 5 the most comfortable and the longest lasting shoes that would keep her 6too. He 7 two pairs: athletic shoes and also boots for the winter, along with a six pack of socks.

    We drove back to find her and give her this 8. I had no intention of taking a 9, but I was holding my phone as I saw her reach up to 10 him. It choked me up and I couldn't 11 that moment. I opened the camera as quickly as I could and 12 it. It brought tears to my eyes as he hugged her and then helped her 13 the tags and put them on. He quietly got back into the 14 and he sat there for a minute or so. When he looked over at me he said, “Ma, today is her birthday. She was so 15.”

    He didn't ask questions or talk 16 about her situation. He simply 17. He took basically one week of his pay and made this lady's birthday 18. I challenge everyone to love a 19 with the 20 of a child. Show compassion and give what you can. It doesn't have to be a lot. 

    When Dave was eighteen, he bought a secondhand car for 200 so that he could travel to and from work more1 than by bus. It worked quite well for a few years, but then it got so old, and it was costing him 2much in repairs that he decided that he had better3it.

    He asked among his friends to see if anyone was particularly4 to buy a cheap car, but they all knew that it was falling to pieces, so5of them had any desire to buy it. Dave's friend Sam saw that he was 6 when they met one evening, and said, "What's 7, Dave?"

    Dave told him, and Sam answered, "Well, what about advertising it in the paper? You may8more for it that way than the cost of the advertisement!" Thinking that Sam's9was sensible(合理的),he put an advertisement in an evening paper, which read "For sale: small car, 10 very little petrol, only two owners. Bargain at 50."

    For two days after the advertisement first appeared, there was no 11.But then on Saturday evening he had an enquiry(询问).A man rang up and said he would like to12 him about the car. "All right," Dave said, feeling happy. He asked the man whether ten o'clock the next morning would be13or not. "Fine," the man said, "and I'll 14my wife. We intend to go for a ride in it to 15it."

    The next morning, at a quarter to ten, Dave parked the car in the square outside his front door, 16to wait there for the people who had17 his advertisement. Even Dave had to18that the car really looked like a wreck(残骸).Then, soon after he had got the car as clean19 it could be, a police car stopped just behind him and a policeman got out. He looked at Dave's car and then said, "Have you reported this 20 to us yet, sir?"

    The friendship between us lasts forever. Mary Allen was my best friend— 1a sister. We did 2together, piano lessons, movies, swimming, horseback riding, and 3.

    When I was 13, my family moved. Mary and I kept in4through letters, and we saw 5on special occasions—like my wedding and 6.Soon we were busy7children and moving to new homes, and we wrote less8.One day a card that I 9came back stamped "Address Unknown". I had no 10how to find Mary.

    Over the years, I thought of Mary often. I wanted to11stories of my children and then grandchildren. I needed to share my sorrow when my brother and then my mother died. There was an 12place in my heart that only a friend like Mary 13fill.

    One day I was reading a newspaper 14I noticed a picture of a young woman 15looked a lot like Mary and whose last name was Wagman—Mary's married name. "There must be thousands of Wagmans, " I thought, but I wrote to her 16.

    She called as soon as she got my letter. "Mrs Tobin！" she said 17, "Mary Allen Wagman is my mother." Minutes later I heard a voice that I 18at once, even after 50 years. We laughed and cried and asked about each other's lives.

    Now the empty place in my heart is 19, and there's one thing that Mary and I know20 we won't lose each other again!

    "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.