When I was nine years old, I loved to go fishing with my dad. But the only thing that wasn't very fun about it was that he could catch many fish while I couldn't catch anything. I usually got pretty upset and kept asking him why. He always answered, "Son, if you want to catch a fish, you have to think like a fish." I remember being even more upset then because, "I'm not a fish!" I didn't know how to think like a fish. Besides, I reasoned, how could what I think influence what a fish does?

    As I got a little older I began to understand what my dad really meant. So, I read some books on fish. And I even joined the local fishing club and started attending the monthly meetings. I learned that a fish is a cold-blooded animal and therefore is very sensitive to water temperature. That is why fish prefer shallow water to deep water because the former is warmer. Besides, water is usually warmer in direct sunlight than in the shade. Yet, fish don't have any eyelids(眼皮) and the sun hurts their eyes…The more I understood fish, the more I became effective at finding and catching them.

When I grew up and entered the business world, I remember hearing my first boss say, "We all need to think like salespeople." But it didn't completely make sense. My dad never once said, "If you want to catch a fish you need to think like a fisherman." What he said was, "You need to think like a fish." Years later, with great efforts to promote long-term services to people much older and richer than me, I gradually learned what we all need is to think more like customers. It is not an easy job. I will show you how in the following chapters.

    One afternoon last week, I saw three tearful children from my son's school being comforted by teachers. That morning, my 11-year-old had stomach pains, retching(干呕)into a bowl. Talking to other mothers later, I heard about other children with stomachache or difficulty sleeping the night before.

What caused so much pain? Sports day. Sports day might be necessary at a highly-competitive independent school, but not at a village primary school. For the children who can fly like the wind, sports day causes no problem. For those who are overweight or just not good at sport, it is a nightmare(噩梦). Even for those who enjoy running but fall halfway down the track in front of the entire school and their parents, it can prove a disaster.

    Why do we put our children through this annual suffering? Some may say competition is character building; or it's taking part, not winning, that's important; or that it is a tradition of school life. I just felt great pity for those children in tears or in pain.

    Team games at the end of sports day produced some close races, wild enthusiasm, lots of shouting—and were fun to watch. More importantly, the children who were not so fast or quick at passing the ball were hidden a little from everyone's eyes. Some of them also had the thrill of being on the winning side.

    I wish that sports day could be abandoned and replaced with some other less-competitive event. Perhaps an afternoon of team games, with a few races for those who want them, would be less stressful for the children and a lot more fun to watch.

    City Life in Thailand is much like city life in the United States. People live in tall buildings or in houses close together. But outside the cities, life is different. People usually live on farms far apart from one another. They grow their own food or buy fresh food almost every day at the market. But the market is not in a building. It is a floating market located on a river.

    Lamai and her family live on a farm. They grow fruits and vegetables and sell them at the market each day. Long before the sun comes up, Lamai and her brother help their parents. They pick out fruits and vegetables and clean them. Then they load everything into a long boat.

    Their boat is ready by about 6:00 a.m. Lamai and her mother row to the closest floating market. On the way the water is still and peaceful. Lamai sees the bright sun beginning to shine.

    Soon Lamai hears laughing and yelling in the distance. Her mother rows the boat around a corner. Suddenly they are at the floating market. Hundreds of boats are gathered at a wide place in the river. Lamai's mother is selling bananas and ripe tomatoes today. For Lamai a trip to the market is more than just a chance to sell or buy something. It is a chance for her to talk to her friends.

    Today Lamai sees her friend Suki. He is helping his mother prepare meals in their boat. Lamai loves the smell of the fried bananas Suki's mother is making. Lamai's mother rows over to buy a late breakfast. As Lamai eats, she and Suki talk about their summer plans.

    At around 11:00 a.m. people begin to go home. She is sleepy from waking up so early. Her mother has sold most of what they brought to the market. The will leave the market with less food in their boat but with more money for Lamai's family.

    When I was a child, my grandmother Adele took me to museums, restaurants, dances. She showered me gifts from her travels around the world. But I can only remember a book she gave me—one book that, to this day, I have not read. She presented me with her own favorite childhood book: Hans Brinker. My grandmother was happy to share this book with me. She even decorated the title page with her proud writing.

    I tried to read it. I adored reading, and would dive into a new pile of books from the library all at once. But something about Hans Brinker just wouldn't let me in. The story was set in Holland, a long time ago. It felt dull and unfamiliar, even though I was a fan of classics of other times and places. I simply read the first pages over and over. I could not progress.

    Standing on a bookshelf in our living room, the book was like something I avoided. It scolded me for not being interested, for not trying hard enough, for disappointing my grandmother. The book started to fit in, almost forgotten, until Adele asked. Had I read it? Did I like it? Always determined, she wanted to know the answer. I would make some kind of excuse, but feel bad, and open it again, hoping for a new reaction. The book weighed on me.

    Years passed and finally Adele and I both accepted that I would never read Hans Brinker. Eventually I cleared the book from the shelf. The Hans Brinker experience led me to set a rule that I've lived by ever since: Do not ask about a book given as a gift and don't let anything become your barrier. What Adele originally wanted to do is to give book-giving special meaning, but she increased the possibility of the owner to be a disappointment.

    Yesterday I went to the nursing home to visit my grandma. She just got out of the hospital recently where she had some serious operations. I wanted to surprise her after work so I stopped by for a quick visit.

    When I got there, she was so happy to see me. We hugged, kissed and exchanged greetings. Then I heard a woman crying. It was my grandma's roommate. The curtain was drawn so I could not see her. She started calling out a name that wasn't mine but she was certainly talking to me, begging me to go to her side of the room.

I ignored her at first and continued talking with my grandma. Then she started begging and saying, "Please, come to see me!" So I went to see her.

    When I drew the curtain back, she looked so old but flashed me the biggest smile! She opened her arms wide for me to hug her so I bent low and gave her a hug. I sat on her bed and talked with her for a few minutes. She kept calling me by the other name, but I did not correct her. She told me stories as if I had been there when they happened.

Finally I went back to talk with my grandma. Then the woman started crying again, saying, "Please, come back." She finally slept.

    I stopped by the nurse's station and the nurse told me that the lady suffers from Alzheimer's (老年痴呆症). I mentioned the name she had called me. The nurse told me it was the lady's daughter's name. Then I understood why she wanted me to go to visit her.

    We will all get old some day. Some of us will have broken minds like the lady and some of us will have broken bodies like my grandma. As I was leaving, I promised I would go back and visit the lady, even after my grandma moved back to her home.

    Once upon a time, there was a little boy who wanted to meet the king. He set off, walking towards the king's castle. After many years of walking, the king's castle came into his view. However, as the boy drew closer to the outside of the castle, the guards took notice of him.

    "Get out of here!" commanded the guards.

    Well, the little boy didn't have to be told twice. He turned...and ran right away. All he wanted to do was to tell the king wonderful things, and see all the beautiful things in the king's house. But he couldn't even get near the castle! The boy finally stopped running, sat down and cried.

    A young man happened to be coming down the path at the very moment. He saw the little boy and came up. "What's wrong, young man?" he asked.

    "Sir, I walked and walked just to see the king. But these guards made me frightened. I wanted to tell the king how lovely everything is and just tell the king that I just wanted to see him!"

    The man looked at the little boy thoughtfully. "Look, why don't you try again. Don't lose heart. I'll come with you this time."

    The little boy got up and took the man's hand. The king's guards spotted them.

    "Look, mister, we don't have to do this...I don't want you to get hurt. We can just turn around now."

    The man held the little boy's hand and went on. The boy really thought the man might be crazy until he looked back up at the guards. They were all smiling now. The little boy was surprised.

    "Who are you?" asked the little boy in surprise.

    "Why, I'm the king's son. You can enter the castle and be with the king," said the man.

    The little boy broke into a huge smile.