You Did More Than Carry My books

    Mark was walking home from school one day when he noticed the boy ahead of him had dropped all of the books he was carrying, along with a baseball bat and several other things. Mark 1down and helped the boy pick up these articles. 2 they were going the same way, he helped to carry some of them for him. As they walked Mark 3 the boy's name was Bill, that he 4 computer games, baseball and history, that he was having a lot of 5  with his other subjects and that he had just broken 6 with his girlfriend.

    They arrived at Bill's home first and Mark was 7 in for a Coke and to watch some television. The afternoon passed 8 with a few laughs and some shared small talk, and then Mark went home. They 9to see each other around school, had lunch together once or twice, and then both ended up from the same high school. Just three weeks before 10 , Bill asked Mark if they 11 talk.

    Bill 12 him of the day years ago when they had first met. “Do you 13wonder why I was carrying so many things home that day?” asked Bill. “You see, I 14 out my locker because I didn't want to leave a mess(脏乱)15anyone else. I had planned to run away and I was going home to 16 my things. But after we spent some time together 17 and laughing, I realized that 18 I had done that, I would have19 a new friend and missed all the fun we would have together. So you see, Mark, when you picked up my books that day, you did a lot more. You 20 my life.”

    I arrived at my mother's home for our Monday family dinner. Mother was 1 quilt after quilt from the boxes, 2 showing me their beauties. She was preparing for a quilt show at the Elmhurst Church. When we began to 3and put them back into the boxes, I noticed something at the4of one box.

    “What is this?” I asked.

    “Oh?” Mom said, “That's Mama's quilt.”

    I 5 the quilt. It looked as if a group of school children had pieced it together; 6designs, 7 pictures, a winding line on the right.

    “Grandmother made this?” I said, 8 My grandmother was a master at making quilts. This 9 didn't look like any of the quilts she had made.

    “Yes, right before she died. I 10 it home with me last year and made some 11” she said. “I'm still 12 on it. See, this is what I've done so far.”

    I looked at it more 13 At the center of the quilt, she had sewn a piece

of14 with these words:  “My mother made many quilts. She didn't get all lines15. But I think this is beautiful. I want to see it 16. Her last quilt.”

    “Oh, this is so nice, Mom,” I said. It17to me that by completing my grandmother's quilt, my mother was honoring her own 18. I realized, too, that I held in my hands a family

    19. It started with the loving hands of one woman, and 20 with the loving hands of another.

    When I was young at school, I loved to talk, a characteristic not always appreciated by Miss Jordan, my tenth-grade English teacher.

    She was a teacher no one wanted because she was so1 She stood about five-foot-five, was very thin and wore her hair pulled back in a way that gave her a horsy2She wore those half-circular reading glasses. Whenever she got upset, she would lower her head and look at you over the top of her glasses.

    One day in her class I was busy talking. I didn't 3 she had stopped teaching and was4straight at me. “Young lady, I would like to see you after school.”

    Later Miss Jordan5in a low, but very firm voice that showed she expected me to listen when she was talking. For6 she told me to write a thousand-word essay on education and its effect on the economy. She wanted it in by the following Wednesday.

    Well, I met my deadline. I was7. It was a good paper. And I expected a sign of 8 from her. The next day in class9 she was looking at me over her glasses. She called me forward and10 my paper. “Go back and rewrite,” she said. “Remember, each paragraph is supposed to begin with a topic sentence.” When she gave my paper back a second time, she 11 the grammar. The third time, the spelling. The fourth time, it was punctuation. The fifth, it wasn't neat enough. I was12!

    The sixth time, I rewrote the whole paper 13in ink, leaving generous space. When she saw it, she removed her glasses and smiled She finally14 the paper. After that, I put the whole thing out of my15.

    Two or three months passed. One day Miss Jordan came into the class and said to us: Class, do you still16 an essay contest held citywide? They've announced the 17 I am happy to inform you that Mary has won third prize in the essay contest 'On the Impact of Education on the Economy'.”

    I was amazed and18 It was the first time I had ever won a prize. Years later, I told a reporter that story, and my comments — including my unfriendly19 of Miss Jordan's appearance. Miss Jordan wrote me, and said that her appearance wasn't what was important. What was important was the20 I had learnt. When I wrote and rewrote that paper for her, I began to learn how to discipline myself.

    Once upon a time, there was a poor man. His 1 was also very poor — a small and empty house, which was2 with spider webs (蜘蛛网). People tried to 3 coming into his house as they didn't want to come to such a 4 place. And the poor man thought that poverty (贫困) was the  5 for his unlucky life.

    Then, the poor man 6 a wise man and told him about his poverty. The man felt sorry for the poor man and gave him a vase (花瓶). “This will save you from 7,” the wise man8. The poor man took the 9 from the wise man and wanted to sell it at first and then spend the money on drinking, as usual. Besides, why would he 10 such a beautiful thing? But then he started 11 the vase carefully and decided not to take it to the market. He brought the vase back to his house, put it on the table and started watching it again.

    “It's not 12for such a beautiful thing to be empty,” the poor man thought. So he pick some flowers and put them into the vase. It became even 13. “Not good that such a beautiful thing stands next to a spider web,” the poor man 14 again.

    So the poor man started cleaning his house. He cleaned the dust, washed the floor and whitened the walls. And it became clear that his house wasn't poor, 15 rather warm and comfortable. And the poor man wasn't a poor man anymore, but a hard-working host, who had no time to think about poverty.

    The room in the workhouse where the boys were fed was a large stone hall. At one end the master, in his cook's uniform, and two women served the food. This 1 a bowl of thin soup three times a day, with a piece of bread on Sundays. The boys ate 2 and were always hungry. The bowls never needed 3. The boys polished them with their spoons until they 4. After three months of this slow starvation, one of the boys told the others that so hungry was he 5 one night he might eat the 6 sleeping next to him. He had a wild 7 eye, and the other boys 8 him. After a long 9, they decided that one of them should ask for more food after supper that evening, and Oliver was 10.

    The evening arrived: the soup was served, and the bowls were 11 again in a few seconds. Oliver went up to the master, with his bowl in his hand. He felt very 12, but also 13 with hunger.

    "Please, sir, I want some more."

    The master was a fat, healthy man, but he turned very pale. He looked at the little boy in front of him with 14. Nobody else spoke.

    "What?" he asked at last, in a 15 voice.

    "Please, sir," replied Oliver, "I want some more."

    The master 16 him with the serving spoon, then seized Oliver's arms and 17 for the beadle (执事). The beadle came quickly, heard the terrible news, and immediately ran to tell the board.

    "He asked for me?" Mr. Limbkins, the fattest board member, asked in 18. "Is this really true?"

    19, Oliver was led away to be locked up, and a(n) 20 of five pounds was offered to anybody who would take him away and use him for work.

(Adapted from Oliver Twist《雾都孤儿》)

    I was the fool at school, regarded as a special needs student. I was termed as such, obviously, because I was not interested in school and did not care for my 1.

    Over time, I started to believe in my stupidity. I 2 the fact that I was in special needs classes and poured it out as anger and depression. But one activity 3 this view of myself: chess.

    I started to play chess with my father after school simply because I wanted to 4 him at something. My father was a 5 man, fond of physics, writing, religion…, almost every 6 . He was called a walking dictionary. So, winning in chess against my father would be a 7 that I had intellectual power. On the small chessboard, I had a chance to 8 my so-called inability.

    Game after game, I wanted to beat my father even more. I started to study chess books and play against a chess computer to 9 my skills. One weekend, I finally checkmated(将杀)my father on a ferry ride, which made me feel 10.

    Two years later, I became the second board on my school chess team, with our top board being the best high school player in the state. But before the tournament season, our top player 11 to come. There came my chance to play as top board against the best players in other states.

    I was determined to show who I had become: a(n)12 person able to win with calculation, logic and will. My most 13 game came in the final round. Our team was facing a high school which only excellent students attended. It was 14 a match between a special needs student and a smart soul. My opponent(对手) was playing well and kept 15 while I kept defending to keep my king safe. He spent long trying to break down my defenses, but could not find the final push. I 16 with more defensive moves, trying to make it as difficult for him as possible. With little 17 left, he started to make rapid moves.18 he could make the final decision, he ran out of time. Honestly, as his clock flag fell, I jumped up out of my seat and kissed the floor out of excitement. Of course it was not the most sportsmen-like 19, but I could not control my emotions.

While holding my winner's cup, I knew I was not 20. The inferiority complex(自卑感) had melted away, and I realized that underneath our thoughts, each person is a genius.