Thousands of persons in Peru are suffering from the disease cholera. Medical experts say it is the first time in their century that cholera has reached the western part of the world. The Untied States Centers for disease Control says the kind of cholera has been spreading throughout the world since 1961. It was discovered that year in Indonesia. Since the first case in Peru, more than sixteen thousand people have been affected and about one hundred have died.

    Cholera is caused by polluted food and water. People become infected (传染 ) when they eat the polluted food or drink the polluted water. If untreated immediately, they may die within hours. Most victims however , can be saved. treatment includes drugs and replacement of body fluids ( 液体) directly into the blood.

    Medical researchers have developed a vaccine ( 菌苗) medicines to protect against cholera. But the vaccine is only about 50% effective. And it protects against cholera for only about six months. Medical experts say the best way to fight cholera is to prevent it. They also say people should not eat uncooked food or food that has not been cooked long enough. People who live in areas where cholera has been found should wash their hands before eating and cooking. They should drink only water that has been boiled or made pure with chemicals.

    After I mastered my first (协奏曲) at age 14, my parents decided to get me a nice violin. I tried out dozens of instruments before I found my match: a German violin. It was beautiful, but what I liked best about it was its voice. Confident and strong, it was everything I longed to be.

    I'm not sure how much that violin cost, but my parents made me promise never to let it out of my sight. They didn't understand that dragging a large violin case ran counter to my daily middle school task of being invisible (看不见的). I was a strange, absent-minded kid. When I spoke up in class, my comments brought confused silence from teachers and wild laughter from students. Like a deer in a wolf pack, I tried to be quiet and still.

    In contrast, my new violin was almost shockingly loud. Together, we could drown out the rest of my middle school orchestra(管弦乐队) — which was encouraged, since the other kids made sounds like cats' crying. For one glorious hour every day, I was showered with attention. Everyone wanted to hear what I had to say.

    Between classes, I bent under the combined weight of my violin case and a backpack filled with books. My posture suffered, but my confidence grew. With my violin by my side, I found my voice. More and more, I contributed to class discussions and even made a couple of friends.

    Today, I'm just an amateur violinist with a regular day job. As I sit in my community orchestra, sometimes I feel jealous(嫉妒的) my fellow musicians' instruments with their elegant voices. I may not be the best violinist around, but at least I'm still the loudest.

    Our “Mommy and Me” time began two years ago. My next-door neighbor and fellow mother, Christie, and I were out in our front yards, watching seven children of age 6 and under ride the bikes up and down. “I wish I could take one of my children out alone,” said Christie.

    Then we worked out a plan: When Christie takes one of her children out, I'll watch her other three. And when she watches two of mine. I'll take someone out.

    The children were extremely quick to accept the idea of “Mommy and Me” time. Christie's daughter, McKenzie, went first. When she returned, the other children showered her with tons of questions. McKenzie was smiling broadly. Christie looked refreshed and happy. “She's like a different child when there's no one else around,” Christie shared with me quickly. With her mother all to herself, McKenzie didn't have to make an effort to gain attention.

    Just as Christie had noticed changes in McKenzie, I also discovered something different in each of my children. For example, I am always surprised when my daughter, who is seldom close to me, holds my hand frequently. My stuttering (口吃的) son, Tom, doesn't stutter once during our activities since he doesn't have to struggle for a chance to speak. And another son, Sam, who's always a follower when around other children shines as a leader during our times together.

    The “Mommy and Me” time allows us to be simply alone and away with each child-talking, sharing, and laughing, which has been the biggest gain. Every child deserves to be an only child at least once in a while.

    Why do you go to the library? For books, yes--but you like books because they tell stories. You hope to get lost in a story or be transported into someone else's life. At one type of library, you can do just that--even though there's not a single book.

    At a Human Library, instead of books, you can “borrow” people. Individuals volunteer as human “books” and participants in the event can “read” the book--meaning they would have a one-on-one conversation with the volunteer and share in a dialogue about that individual's experience. “Books” are volunteers from all walks of life who have experienced discrimination (歧视) based on race, religion, class, gender identity, age, lifestyle choices, disability and other aspects of their life

    For a certain amount of time, you can ask them questions and listen to their stories, which are as fascinating and as attractive as any you can find in a book. Many of the stories have to do with some kind of stereotype. You can speak with a refugee (难民), a soldier suffering from PTSD, a homeless person or a woman living with HIV. The Human Library encourages people to challenge their own long-held beliefs-to truly get to know, and learn from someone they might otherwise make a quick judgment about.

    According to its website, the Human Library is “a place where difficult questions are expected, appreciated and answered.” It provides the opportunity for the community to share and understand the experiences of others in their community.

    The Human Library Organization came to be in Copenhagen, Denmark in 2000. Ronni Abergel, his brother Dany, and some colleagues hosted a four-day event during a major Northern European festival, hoping to raise awareness about violence among youth. After the success of this event, Abergel founded the Human Library Organization, which has been growing ever since.

    Though there are a few permanent human libraries, most aren't places at all, but events. Though many do take place at physical libraries, you don't need a library card—anyone can come and be part of the experience. There have been human library events all over the globe, in universities and in pubs, from Chicago to Tunis to Edinburgh to San Antonio.

The stories these "books" tell range from fascinating to heartbreaking and everything in between. And that's the very point of the organization--to prove that no person can be summed up in just one word. It seeks to show people that you truly can't judge a book by its cover—or by its title or label.

    Norman Borlaug, who is making a difference, is known around the world. He is often described as the man who has saved more lives than any other person in history. Norman Borlaug is considered the father of what has been called the Green Revolution. His ideas about agriculture increased crop production and ended hunger in many nations. Mr. Borlaug continues to be a leader among agricultural researchers.

    Norman Borlaug was born in 1914 on a farm in the American state of Iowa. In the middle of the 20th century, world population was expanding faster than food production. Experts said many people in developing countries would face starvation.

    Norman Borlaug was an agricultural researcher at the International Maize and Wheat Improvement Center in Mexico. He developed methods of growing wheat that increased the amount harvested by three times. He later repeated this success in India, Pakistan and Africa.

    His methods of farming saved millions of people who would have starved to death. Norman Borlaug was given the Nobel Peace Prize for his efforts in 1970.

    Norman Borlaug is still urging experts to think about the needs of people around the world. His latest concern is a disease in wheat called UG99. He says it has the power to destroy most of the wheat being grown around the world. He says reductions in agricultural programs have made it harder to take action against such threats.

    Mr. Borlaug's granddaughter Julie works at the center named after him at Texas A&M University in Dallas. She says his worry about food problems rises from the belief that hunger is unacceptable. She says Norman Borlaug still believes it is our responsibility as human beings to feed one another.

    I was 16 when my father finally decided he would send me to wilderness camp for several months. He had threatened to do it many times before, but my mother had always managed to prevent him from doing so. This ti me he insisted on doing it.

    The latest incident was the last straw. Impulsively (冲动地), I had pushed Mr. Ford, my math teacher, down a flight of steps at school. He broke his arm in two places. Anyway, he had agreed not to accuse me as a favor to my dad, who was in the middle of a tight race for sheriff (执法官) in our town. But my reckless behavior had my dad's closest advisor talking.

    "John, he's your son and he's a kid, but he is dragging you down," I heard Jake Hutch tell my dad through his closed office door the night after I pushed Mr. Ford. "If you can't make your son obey the rules, how can you make the law obeyed in this town?"

    So, off to Pisgah National Forest I went. I imagined hours of untold abuse at the hands of some strong sergeants (军士). I was determined not to be broken. I was who I was,

    Nearly every day for six months, a small group of other troubled teens and I carried our 30-pound backpacks on a difficult journey covering about 10 miles. We hiked in a rough wilderness that seemed untouched by civilization.

    Our sergeants were firm but kind, not frightening as I had imagined. We learned how to make a fire without matches and create a shelter with branches and grass. We learned which plants were safe to eat out in the wild. I felt myself change. I was calm and often reflective. My old, impulsive self was gone.

    One morning, six months later, my dad came to pick me up. I ran to hug him and saw happiness and love in his eyes.

    "So what's it like being sheriff?" I asked on the ride home.

    "I lost the race, Danny," he said.

    "I'm sorry, Dad." I knew my behavior probably had a lot to do with the defeat.

    Dad squeezed my shoulder and brought me close. "As long as I don't ever lose you, I'm okay."