He says the problem with teachers is, “What will a kid learn from someone who chose to become a teacher?” He reminds the other dinner guests that it's true what they say about teachers: Those who can, do; those who can't, teach.

    I decide to bite my tongue instead of biting his and stop myself from reminding the other dinner guests that it's also true what they say about lawyers—that they make money from the misfortune of others.

    “I mean, you're a teacher, Taylor,” he says to me. “Be honest. What do you make?”

    I wish he hadn't asked me to be honest, because now I have to teach him a lesson.

    You want to know what I make?

    I make kids work harder than they ever thought they could.

    I can make a C+ feel like a great achievement and an A－ feel like a failure.

    How dare you waste my time with anything less than your very best?

    I make parents tremble in fear when I call them:

    I hope I haven't called at a bad time,

    I just wanted to talk to you about something Billy said today.

    Billy said, “Leave the kid alone. I still cry sometimes, don't you?”

    And it was the bravest act I have ever seen.

    I make parents see their children for who they are and what they can be.

    You want to know what I make?

    I make kids wonder.

    I make them question.

    I make them criticize.

    I make them think.

    I make them apologies and mean it.

    I make them write, write, write.

    And then I make them read.

    I teach them to solve math problems that they once thought impossible.

    I make them understand that if you have brains then you follow your heart and if someone ever tries to judge you by what you make, you teach them a lesson.

    Let me make this simple for you, so you know what I say is true;

    I make a great difference! What about you?

    My father had returned from his business visit to London when I came in, rather late, to supper. I could tell at once that he and my mother had been discussing something. In that half-playful, half-serious way I knew so well, he said, "How would you like to go to Eton?"

    "You bet," I cried quickly catching the joke. Everyone knew it was the most expensive, the most famous of schools. You had to be entered at birth, if not before. Besides, even at 12 or 13, I understood my father. He disliked any form of showing off. He always knew his proper station in life, which was in the middle of the middle class, our house was medium-sized; he had avoided joining Royal Liverpool Golf Club and went to a smaller one instead; though once he had got a second-hand Rolls-Royce at a remarkably low price, he felt embarrassed driving it, and quickly changed it for an Austin 1100.

    This could only be his delightful way of telling me that the whole boarding school idea was to be dropped. Alas! I should also have remembered that he had a liking for being different from everyone else, if it did not conflict(冲突) with his fear of drawing attention to himself.

    It seemed that he had happened to be talking to Graham Brown of the London office, a very nice fellow, and Graham had a friend who had just entered his boy at the school, and while he was in that part of the world he thought he might just as well phone them. I remember my eyes stinging (刺痛) and my hands shaking with the puzzlement of my feelings. There was excitement, at the heart of great sadness.

"Oh, he doesn't want to go away," said my mother, "You shouldn't go on like this." "It's up to him," said my father. "He can make up his own mind."

    After spending a year in Brazil on a student exchange program, her mother recalled(回忆), Marie Colvin returned home to find that her classmates had narrowed down their college choices. “Everyone else was already admitted to college,” her mother, Rosemarie Colvin, said from the family home. “So she took our car and drove up to Yale and said, 'You have to let me in .' ”

    “Impressed--she was a National Merit (全国英才) finalist who had picked up Portuguese in Brazil. Yale did, admitting her to the class of 1978, where she started writing for the Yale Daily News and decided to be a journalist,” her mother said.

    On Wednesday, Marie Colvin, 56, an experienced journalist for The Sunday Times of London, was killed as Syrian forces shelled(炮击) the city of Homs. She was working in a temporary media center that was destroyed in the attack.

    “She was supposed to leave Syria on Wednesday”, Mrs. Colvin said. “Her editor told me he called her yesterday and said it was getting too dangerous and they wanted to take her out. She said she was doing a story and she wanted to finish it.”

    Mrs. Colvin said it was pointless to try to prevent her daughter from going to conflict （冲突）zones. “If you knew my daughter,” she said, “it would have been such a waste of words. She was determined, she was enthusiastic about what she did, it was her life. There was no saying 'Don't do this.' This is who she was, absolutely who she was and what she believed in: cover the story, not just have pictures of it, but bring it to life in the deepest way you could.” “So it was not a surprise when she took an interest in journalism,” her mother said.

    It puzzled Emily when she was aware of something wrong. She tripped upon men's clothing "hidden" around her house.

    The 38-year-old woman says, at the beginning, she was confused to see quite a few photographs in her phone that she did not remember taking. She was the subject but something was different. Her friends started falling away and she did not know why. Her long-term relationship with her boyfriend also ended suddenly.

    Now she knows those men's clothing belonged to one of her "alternatives" and the same person was responsible for her closest friends' leaving her.

    In an interview, Emily said she was not allowed to name "the man" who takes over her body. She was not allowed to name any of her six alternative persons. She said, "I am aware that they are not real people, not physical people. They exist in an imaginative world. However, all those alternatives should be treated with dignity and respect."

    Emily has what's called Dissociative Identity Disorder（DID分离性身份识别障碍）, a condition characterized by the presence of two or more split personalities that have power over a person's behaviour.

    Her condition resulted from a car accident five years ago. It was August, 2012, when her vehicle broke down on the side of the road. A speeding driver crashed into her car. She wasn't physically injured but she suffered a mental condition caused by severe brain injury. Shortly after that, she discovered she wasn't alone inside her head. Switching between personalities happens frequently but there is no real pattern. It can be weeks between incidents then, for whatever reason, it happens more regularly.

    One of her alternatives is a smoker, even though she is not. Upon waking, she says there are messages in her head that she is a smoker. She describes her lifestyle as "isolated".

    "People consider DID as tragedy" she says, "I just want to make an effort to tell others that we deserve respect, that we are legally accepted members of society, and we hope to live a normal life. I'm not stupid, I'm not spiting or running around people with knives. I have a mental problem but try to live a normal life. I completed a course at Harvard, I wrote a book, I'm able to communicate well. I mother my two kids well. I'm not on welfare."

    Actually, she volunteers for an organization helping children. She also spends time speaking out about her condition and has written a book on the subject, hoping to help others who are experiencing the same trouble.

    LONDON Tuesday April 11—Dustin Hoffman fan Pamela Crack got the shock of her life when the movie star telephoned her as she was doing her housework.Crack, 58, said she was "flabbergasted" when she picked up the phone and heard the star at the other end.

    "It's not every day you get a Hollywood superstar phoning you when you're doing the housework," Crack told the Sun."It was a moment I'll never forget."

    Hoffman was in the back of a London taxi driven by Crack's husband, Dave, when he made the call after being told Pamela was a fan. Dave Crack later became the star of Hoffman's speech at the Bafta award ceremony Sunday, where the 62-year-old American actor presented the Best Film award.

    "He said to give him a mention," Hoffman told the audience to a burst of laughter. "Cheers Dave."Taxi driver Crack said the Hollywood star was a joy to drive from the moment he got into the taxi eating a cheese and tomato sandwich.

    "I said 'You're that Dustin Hoffman, aren't you?' and he said, 'Yes I am—would you like a sandwich?' I was a bit surprised but I took a sandwich from him and ate it hungrily."