Mark Twain has been called the inventor of the American novel.And he surely deserves additional praise：the man who popularized the clever literary attack on racism.

     I say clever because anti­slavery fiction had been the important part of the literature in the years before the Civil War.H.B.Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin is only the most famous example.These early stories dealt directly with slavery.With minor exceptions，Twain planted his attacks on slavery and prejudice into tales that were on the surface about something else entirely.He drew his readers into the argument by drawing them into the story.

     Again and again，in the postwar years，Twain seemed forced to deal with the challenge of race.Consider the most controversial，at least today，of Twain's novels，Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.Only a few books have been kicked off the shelves as often as Huckleberry Finn，Twain's most widely read tale.Once upon a time，people hated the book because it struck them as rude.Twain himself wrote that those who banned the book considered the novel “trash and suitable only for the slums(贫民窟)．”More recently the book has been attacked because of the character Jim，the escaped slave，and many occurences of the word nigger.(The term Nigger Jim，for which the novel is often severely criticized，never appears in it.)

     But the attacks were and are silly—and miss the point.The novel is strongly anti­slavery.Jim's search through the slave states for the family from whom he has been forcibly parted is heroic.As J．Chadwick has pointed out，the character of Jim was a first in American fiction—a recognition that the slave had two personalities，“the voice of survival within a white slave culture and the voice of the individual：Jim，the father and the man.”

There is much more.Twain's mystery novel Pudd'nhead Wilson stood as a challenge to the racial beliefs of even many of the liberals of his day.Written at a time when the accepted wisdom held Negroes to be inferior(低等的)to whites，especially in intelligence，Twain's tale centered in part around two babies switched at birth.A slave gave birth to her master's baby and，for fear that the child should be sold South，switched him for the master's baby by his wife.The slave's lightskinned child was taken to be white and grew up with both the attitudes and the education of the slave­holding class.The master's wife's baby was taken for black and grew up with the attitudes and intonations of the slave.

     The point was difficult to miss：nurture(养育)，not nature，was the key to social status.The features of the black man that provided the stuff of prejudice—manner of speech，for example—were，to Twain，indicative of nothing other than the conditioning that slavery forced on its victims.

Twain's racial tone was not perfect.One is left uneasy，for example，by the lengthy passage in his autobiography(自传)about how much he loved what were called“nigger shows”in his youth—mostly with white men performing in black­face—and his delight in getting his mother to laugh at them.Yet there is no reason to think Twain saw the shows as representing reality.His frequent attacks on slavery and prejudice suggest his keen awareness that they did not.

     Was Twain a racist？Asking the question in the 21st century is as wise as asking the same of Lincoln.If we read the words and attitudes of the past through the“wisdom”of the considered moral judgments of the present，we will find nothing but error.Lincoln，who believed the black man the inferior of the white，fought and won a war to free him.And Twain，raised in a slave state，briefly a soldier，and inventor of Jim，may have done more to anger the nation over racial injustice and awaken its collective conscience than any other novelist in the past century.

    I remember my mother as a strong woman. She came to America when she was 12—old enough to remember her language, she achieved scores and grades high enough to be admitted to Duke University. With a degree in computer science, she finally became the manager of a company in New York. My mother could give fluent speeches, say “wolves” correctly.

    It was my mother who always stressed the importance of language. From the time I was born, I was read to. I would fall asleep to the sounds of my parents' voices, whether it was my dad's softly accented, or my mother's clear English. The flow of language was unbroken, and whether in Chinese or English, the stream of communication flowed through our house.

    One October morning in sixth grade, after my mother had left to catch the train to the city, I left the house for the bus stop. I was surprised when I saw our car, the door hanging open. As I drew closer, I saw my mother lying on the ground.

    In the hospital, it was hard to believe that the lady who lay before me was my mom. My mother could not remember my name. As the leaves changed colors, it became clear that the stroke had created a wall between my mothers mind and mouth: her mind was not any less dear, but the words she spoke were not what she meant.

    The battle my mother faced taught me the importance of language. Without it, identity does not exist; relationships cannot be formed; stories cannot be told; directions cannot be given, and knowing anything about anyone is impossible. Without language, communication cannot take place. Without language, one cannot express the beauty of a sunset or the kindness of a stranger. The world would pass us by in silence.

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    Last spring, I was fortunate to be chosen to join in an exchange study program. The moment I arrived in Paris, I was greeted by a nice French couple who would become my host parents. The bit of French I had taken in high school began coming out of my mouth; speaking the language would only become more natural over the course of the term. At the airport, we all got into the couple's car and began the journey to their townhouse. We talked the whole way, getting to know one another.

    Every day afterwards, I would eat breakfast with the two of them, and then we'd all go our separate ways for the day. In the evening, my host mother would make delicious dinners for the three of us. My experience was exciting until I received some shocking news from my program coordinator（协调人）: There had been a death in my host parents' family and they would have to go away for several weeks to deal with all the business that arises from the death. That afternoon, I had to move out of one family's house and into another.

    The coordinator told me I'd have a roommate and asked whether I would mind sharing a bedroom with an English speaker. To avoid speaking my native language, I asked not to be placed with an English-speaking roommate. When I got to my new room, I introduced myself to my new roommate Paolo, a Brazilian（巴西人）, the same age as I, whom I was surprised to find playing one of my favorite CDs on his computer! In just a few hours, we knew we'd be good friends for the rest of the term.

    I left France with many stories, so when people ask me what my favorite part of the trip was, they always hear about my Brazilian friend Paolo and the weekdays in class, weeknights on the town, and weekends exploring France we enjoyed together. I would recommend an exchange program to anyone who wants to experience foreign cultures and gain meaningful friendships.

    Alexander John Jordan was born in Madison, Wisconsin in 1914. After graduating from high school, he attended the University of Wisconsin. After about one year of college, Alex dropped out.

    Alex then went from job to job. He drove a taxi and worked for Royavac. He also worked for his father's construction company, where Alex got his basic knowledge of construction.

    In the 1940s, Alex discovered Deer Shelter Rock and began having small picnics on the top of the rock. He then started bringing his tent and camping out. One night, his tent got blown away and from that day, Alex decided he wanted to build something more stable. That was the beginning of his dreams. Alex started off by renting the rock and a bit of land around it from a local farmer. He first built a small studio with a fireplace. Then Alex, with his parents' help, bought 240 acres of land, so he could build as he pleased. What took shape on and around Deer Shelter Rock was truly a wonderful achievement. More wonderful still is the fact that he built much of the original house by himself, carrying the materials up the 75-foot-high rock.

    As curiosity grew surrounding his project, more and more people came to visit the House on the Rock. Alex decided to charge people 50 cents to visit, thinking that would drive them away; however, people gladly paid the fee. In 1960, Alex decided to open the House on the Rock to the public. This increased the interest and the crowds grew. All of the money taken in over the years was put directly back into the House. Alex was devoted to the House on the Rock. It was his life and dream.

    In recent years more and more Chinese schoolchildren are required to wear uniforms at school. Do American children wear school uniforms? In fact, American schoolchildren often wear uniforms if they attend religious or other private schools. Most public schools do not require uniforms. But over the last ten years or so, more of them have moved in that direction, including high schools. Another option is that students may just have to dress alike—for example, white shirts and dark colored pants or skirts. Even schools that do not require uniforms generally have a dress rule about what they consider acceptable. Schools commonly forbid clothing that shows images or words causing displeasure, or simply too much skin. Hats may be forbidden because, for example, different colors may be connected with bad guys.

    Some parents like the idea of uniforms. Some say it means they do not have to spend much on clothing for their kids. Others, though, argue that uniforms represent an unnecessary cost.

    There are also debates about whether uniforms or other dress rules go against civil rights. Students and parents have taken legal action against school dress requirements. Several years ago, a middle school was asked to stop its dress rule unless families had a way out of it. The American Civil Liberties Union of Northern California brought the case for the families of several students who had been punished by the school. Most attention centered on a girl who wore socks with the Tigger character from Winnie the Pooh. The school said its clothing policy, including no pictures of any kind, was needed to control a growing problem with gangs. The families argued that the policy went against free speech rights as protected by the United States and California constitutions.

    The United States Supreme Court says student expression is protected as long as it does not harm the work and the rule of a school. But some educators believe dressing alike helps improve student learning. They believe that uniforms help create a sense of unity and reduce the risk of fights. They also say uniforms make it easier for security reasons to tell if someone belongs to the school or not.

    One of my wonderful memories is about a Christmas gift. Unlike other gifts, it came without wrap(包装).

    On September 11^th, 1958. Mum gave birth to Richard. After she brought him home from hospital, she put him in my lap, saying. "I promised you a gift, and here it is." What an honor! I turned four a month earlier and none of my friends had such a baby doll of their own. I played with it day and night. I sang to it. I told it stories. 1 told it over and over how much I loved it!

    One morning, however, I found its bed empty. My doll was gone! I cried for it. Mum wept and told me that the poor little thing had been sent to a hospital. It had a fever. For several days, I heard Mum and Dad whispering such words as "hopeless", "pitiful", and "dying", which sounded ominous.

    Christmas was coming. "Don't expect any presents this year." Dad said, pointing at the socks I hung in the living room. "If your baby brother lives, that'll be Christmas enough." As he spoke, his eyes filled with tears. I'd never seen him cry before.

    The phone rang early on Christmas morning. Dad jumped out of bed to answer it. From my bedroom I heard him say. "What? He's all right?" He hung up and shouted upstairs. "The hospital said we can bring Richard home!" "Thank God." I heard Mum cry.

    From the upstairs window, I watched my parents rush out to the car. I had never seen them happy. And I was also full of joy. What a wonderful day! My baby doll would be home. I downstairs. My sacks still hung there flat. But I knew they were not empty; they were filled with love!