I was tired and hungry after a long day of work.

    When I walked into the living room, my 12 -year-old son 1 up at me and said, “I love you.” I didn't know what to say. For several 2 , all I could do was to 3  there and looked down at him. My first thought was that he must need 4  with his homework or he was trying to 5  me for some news. Finally I asked. “What was that all about?”

    “Nothing.” He said, “My teacher said we should 6  our parents that we love them and see what they say. It's 7 .”

    The next day I called his teacher to find out more about this “experiment” and how the other parents had 8 .

    “Basically, most of the fathers had the 9  reaction as you did.” The teacher said, “When I first 10  we try this”, I asked the children what they thought their parents would say. Some of them thought their parents would have heart trouble. “The 11  is,” the teacher explained. “feeling loved is an important part of 12 . It's something all human beings 13 . What I am trying to tell the children is that it's too 14  we all don't express those feelings. A boy should be 15  to tell his dad that he loves him.”

    The teacher, a middle-aged man, understands how 16  it is for some of us to say the things that would be good for us.

    When my son came to me that evening, I held on to him for 17  second. And just before he 18  away, I said in my deepest, most manly voice, “Hey, I love you, too.”

    I don't know if saying that made either of us healthier, but it did feel pretty good. Maybe next time one of my children says, “I love you.”, it would not take me a whole 19  to think of the right 20 .

    When I told my father that I was moving to Des Moines, Iowa, he told me about the only time he had been there. It was in the 1930s, when he was an editor of the literary magazine of Southern Methodist University（SMU）in Dallas, Texas. He also worked as a professor at SMU, and there was a girl student in his class who suffered from a serious back disease. She couldn't afford the operation because her family was poor.

    Her mother ran a boardinghouse in Galveston, a seaside town near Houston, Texas. She was cleaning out the attic（阁楼）one day when she came across an old dusty manuscript（手稿）. On its top page were the words, “By O. Henry”. It was a nice story, and she sent it to her daughter at SMU, who showed it to my father. My father had never read the story before, but it sounded like O. Henry, and he knew that O. Henry had once lived in Houston. So it was possible that the famous author had gone to the beach and stayed in the Galveston boardinghouse, and had written the story there and left the manuscript behind by accident. My father visited an O. Henry expert at Columbia University in New York, whoauthenticatedthe story as O. Henry's.

My father then set out to sell it. Eventfully, he found himself in Des Moines, meeting with Gardner Cowles, a top editor at the Des Moines Register. Cowles loves the story and bought it on the spot. My father took the money to the girl. It was just enough for her to have the operation she so desperately needed.

My father never told me what the O. Henry story was about. But I doubt that it could have been better than his own story.

    I lifted my wet woollen gloves to my face and wiped the snowflakes from my eyes. I could not feel my nose and my 1 formed a thick fog in the air. The biting wind was making me2. I was fed up! I didn't want to be here. I wanted to go home. But Mum and Dad had 3me to go for a Sunday afternoon walk in the park. I could see my 4 in the snowy path, like a trail of breadcrumbs (一串面包屑) in the forest showing me the way 5.

    I stopped and listened to my 6. I could 7 the wind crying like a homeless dog hungry for a delicious 8. The once-green tree 9, which used to wave gently in the breeze, had become bare, and the grass was covered with a 10 blanket of fresh snow. Then I saw a broken spider's web shining golden beneath a pale sun. My breath was like silky soft 11 floating up into the freezing cold air.

    Suddenly there was Mum, 12 handing me a big cup of hot chocolate. Her big smile immediately 13 my heart.

    "Here you are, Jo. This will keep you 14," she said as she placed a comforting arm around my shoulders and 15 her cheek against mine.

    I slowly took a mouthful of the hot 16 and felt it slowly dripping down my throat like lava (熔岩) 17 down a mountainside. My wet woollen gloves were now warm, not 18. My breath warmed, and I was 19 fed up or cold. I was happy and 20.

    As my husband, Doug, stood on the busy New York city street trying to stop a taxi, I tried to protect my daughter from the cold December wind and rain. I put my head down to kiss my daughter on her 1 where veins crept up (静脉突出) the side of her tiny face.

    Frustrated and wet, my husband gave up his attempt to flag down a taxi. I knew the feeling. Just after her first birthday, we were told our daughter Katie has a 2 brain illness. Since that moment, Doug and I felt like runners in a marathon race where the finish line kept 3. We knew Katie was running out of 4. It had taken months before we finally had a name for the 5, but we were told only a few specialists in the world were qualified to knew how to 6 the precious operations. Now, as we finally found a brilliant (杰出的) doctor to 7 our girl, we were 8 in a strange city in the cold rain.

    Just at the moment, a middle-aged woman pulled over and said, “Pardon me? May I offer you a(n) 9?” Before we could say anything, she continued, “It's really no 10 for me. Just get in.” It was then that I noticed her thick Irish accent, which 11 me up like hot soup.

    We simply said, “Thanks! Roosevelt Hospital, please,” as we 12 on her car for the ride.

    “Are you going 13 the baby?” she asked us.

    I nodded my head, holding back my 14.

    At the hospital, we 15 her over and over again for the ride. As the woman hugged me, I 16 her face was wet with tears in worry. She promised to 17 for us before she left.

    After three more visits to New York and two more 18 surgeries (手术), Katie is cured. But the 19 of the Irish Angel still rang as a constant reminder of a tiny ray of light that appeared in our 20 days.

    A man died and was on his way to another1, either the Heaven or the Hell. He saw an extremely2palace half way and the owner of the palace3him to stay and live in the palace.

    The man said, "I have been working4during my life and now I just want to eat and sleep 5any work."

    The owner of the palace said, "6, there is nowhere else better than here for you. There are a wealth of 7in my palace and you can eat whatever you want without anyone8you. 9, there is10that needs to be done by you." Then, the man settled down in the palace.

    At the beginning, the man felt very11at the rotation（轮流）of eating and sleeping. But 12, he felt a bit lonely and empty. So he went to the owner and complained, "It is13to live by just eating and sleeping every day. Now I show no14in this kind of life any more. Could you help me find a15?"

    The owner replied, "16, there is no job here at all."

    After another several months, the man could not 17 the present life and went to the owner 18, "I really could not stand this sort of life any more. If you do not offer me a job, I would19to go to the Hell instead of living here."

    The owner of the palace smiled contemptuously（轻蔑地）, "Do you think it is the Heaven here? It is20the Hell!"

    During my second year at the city college, I was told that the education department was offering a "free" course, called Thinking Chess, for three credits.

    I 1 the idea of taking the class because, after all, who doesn't want to 2 a few dollars? More than that, I'd always wanted to learn chess. And, even if I weren't 3 enough about free credits, news about our 4 was appealing enough to me. He was an international grandmaster, which 5 I would be learning from one of the game's 6. I could hardly wait to 7 him.

    Maurice Ashley was kind and smart, a former graduate returning to teach, and this 8was no game for him; he meant business. In his introduction, he made it 9 that our credits would be hard-earned. In order to 10 the class, among other criteria, we had to write a paper on how we plan to 11 what we would learn in class to our future professions and, 12, to our lives. I managed to get an A in that 13 and learned life lessons that have served me well beyond the 14.

    Ten years after my chess class with Ashley, I'm still putting to use what he 15 me: "The absolute most important 16 that you learn when you play chess is how to make good 17. On every single move you have to 18 a situation, process what your opponent (对手) is doing and 19 the best move from among all your options." These words still ring true today in my 20 as a journalist.