It was early in the morning, on a lonely road. It's 1heavily. A 9-year-old boy was in the car with his mother, who was  2him to school. Suddenly, the car went off the road, 3several times, and came to rest upside down in a ditch (沟渠) filled with water.

    Luckily, both the mother and son were  4seatbelts. The mother suffered a blow to her head and was unable to move. The boy was frightened but  5. As water came through broken windows in the car, he  6unbuckled (解开) himself, climbed out of the  7window, made his way around to the driver's side, and reached inside the  8to free his trapped mother. With great effort, he managed to  9her, pull her through the window and up to the road, where they were soon  10.

    His mother later recalled her experience of the  11. Being unable to move or even  12to offer instructions or encouragement to her son, she was  13by her little son's action. She recalled  14her boy saying out loud as he pulled her through the water, “I think I can, I think I can!”

    It seemed  15that this little boy's act of courage was from one of his favorite books: The Little Engine that Could. In that  16, when everyone else had  17hope, the Little Engine carried the heavy load of toys and good things to eat over the hill to the children waiting on the other side. He had  18and took action. Obviously this book had left a  19impression before the accident that rainy  20and motivated (激励) the son to take action if the terrifying moments.

    I grew up in a small town. There was a man named Joe, who was uneducated and couldn't talk1. He was good natured but not very smart,2every one teased him.

    One day when was sitting on the porch, he came walking by, I was about 12 and thought it would make me 3grown up to play jokes on him as some 4did.

    He asked what I was doing, I told him that my father had 5his job and that we were short of money. I could see my friends nearby6so I went on with the7.From his8 expression, I'm convinced that I had fooled him 9.

    I knew he lived a 10life with low income, so it was funny when he asked11we needed anything. I told him that we didn't know if we would have enough to12he replied "you poor thing. "

    That night I heard the door13softly. I thought it was the wind whipping against the door, so I 14it. The next morning I found a small box of food outside my house, I knew it was from Bob. I looked into the box of canned food with15in my eyes. I felt ashamed for taking advantage of his 16towards me, I 17the whole story to my father and said I wanted to return the box. My father scolded me and 18that I keep the box; otherwise it would hurt Joe's feelings.

    Although the good was not19 I knew Joe gave the best he had. I did not20the gift.

    Last Sunday, on my return from a trip to Waterloo, I took a taxi from Waterloo Station to my home. We hadn't gone very far 1 the traffic light changed to red. We waited for minutes. Just as the light was changing to 2, a policeman pulled open the door of the taxi,3 in, shouted to the driver, “4that blue car in front. It's been stolen.” and he sat down on the seat beside me. Then he seemed to see me for the first time for he politely 5, “ Sorry sir, but I've got to catch that car.” The taxi driver 6 the speed without saying anything. After a few hundred yards the blue car stopped at 7 traffic light and we drew up 8. The policeman got out, ran round to the driver's door of the blue car, opened it and 9the driver out. I couldn't hear what he said , but after a few minutes the policeman 10 to me and I went up to him. He asked me to help him take the car thief to the nearest11.

    The three of us got into the 12. We drove off 13 the taxi following. I didn't like sitting next to the 14, who was a young , rather tough-looking man, but I had no 15. Fortunately it wasn't far to the police station. 16 we got there the policeman took my name and address, thanked me for my 17 and said I could go home now. So I got back into my taxi and we drove off again. The taxi driver said 18 that it was the second time in a month he had been 19to help the police, and he 20 it wouldn't happen again.

    When I was young, my father invited my grandmother to come from Ecuador and live with us. When I first saw her, I thought she wasn't the person I had 1 for. For the first few days we didn't speak much, beyond her 2 me that I played too many video games. I never 3attention. Then one day, she showed me a 2's multiplication table (乘法表) 4 I was playing my beloved games and told me that I couldn't play any more games until I memorized it. I was5 but had to try to understand the pattern that all these numbers followed. That was when she approached me and explained the 6 to me. Within an hour I had 7 multiplication by twos, and was about to make a break for my video games when she 8 me and told me to learn my 3's table next.9and sad, I sat back down at the kitchen table. Again, she came to the rescue, but this time we didn't stop after three; we kept going. She 10 was old and boring. I thought she was a genius （天才）who 11 everything.

    From then on she taught me a lot. Even when we walked around the streets, she would quiz me on 12 . All of our conversation included education, but in such a(n) 13 way. I began to14learning about math and the world. Over time, we developed a close relationship 15 our lesson. We shared stories with each other every day.

    16, after only a year, she moved back to Ecuador. We didn't spend as much time together as we had 17, but she often sent me letters.

    My grandmother recently passed away. She always wanted me to attend college, and I've made that 18 a reality. I owe my love of math to her 19, because she showed me that there was a 20 beyond video games, and that education was both fun and interesting. She changed my life.

    I met my art teacher Ms. J in the seventh grade and she changed me.

In her first class, she encouraged us to1what art meant. During discussion on facial structure and paintings, she2the “golden ratio (黄金比例)”, a beauty standard and explained how Davinci applied it to his works to ensure they were visually3.

    I couldn't help but think if my4had been measured against the "golden ratio," my score would have been5

    I was born with a facial disfigurement( 缺陷)and my face looked6. After regular appointments with7, my face was changed many times with little improvement. I8seeing myself in the mirror.

    People's strange tones, curious expressions kept telling me that I was9. Worse still, my photo appeared in a magazine with big letter "Face similar to work of Picasso" right below. I felt10

    I told Ms. J about my11and how my face was compared to Picasso's painting.

    "Art isn't about what you see but about what you12." She comforted me and told me that our13appearances were our signatures that we left in the world, which set us14and made us beautiful. And then she showed me a picture of an old man with long white hair. "You see, Davinci doesn't look too pretty, but his works15beauty on us." she added.

    I was struck by her words, and I wondered16I had never thought this way.

     "Being compared to Picasso may seem like a shame, but it's a(n)17.You are unique and you are a masterpiece."

    Today, when I look18the mirror, I will remember the words of my teacher, "beauty is subjective" and I get to know my appearance is my19.

    It takes me years to20that beauty is more than a cold calculation.