【推荐1】When I was about 12 years old, my older brother, James, smuggled (偷运) a BB gun into the house. Our parents had told us many times that we were not allowed to bring home guns or knives, even if they were just toys. Having any form of weaponry (兵器) in our home was strictly forbidden.

James brought me to his room. He opened his closet door and took out a shoebox that was buried beneath a heap of clothes. The BB gun was inside. I was immediately attracted by the shiny barrel (枪管).

“Can I shoot it, James?” I asked, hopefully.

“No way,” James said, taking it from me and putting it back.

One day, when no one was home, I went into James’ closet and took it out. For some incomprehensible reason — I have no idea what I was thinking — I went to the front window of the second floor in our row house. I cracked the window open. I pointed the gun outside and shot. I quickly shut the window and looked outside secretly.

In a matter of seconds, old Mr. Schlosberg came out of his grocery store. He looked back at his store window. He looked up the street. He looked down the street. Then he looked straight across to our house.

Thankfully, James made it home before Mother or Father.

As he stepped through the door, I could hear old Mr. Schlosberg call his name. “James, James,” he called. “Come here, son.”

After several minutes, James ran back across the street and into the living room. I had retreated into the kitchen. “Alma!” he screamed. “Get out here! You cracked Mr. Schlosberg’s window with my BB gun!”

“Oh, please, James,” I begged. “Don’t let him tell Mother. She will hit my bottom real good!” James sighed. He wiped my tears and went back across the street to Mr. Schlosberg’s. I don’t know what James said to that man, but there was never a mention of the incident again.

Years later, I found out James had used the money he got from his newspaper route to pay for Mr. Schlosberg’s cracked window. He only got one cent for every paper he delivered. He managed to pay back the debt just before he went off to fight in World War Ⅱ.

Since that day, I have never touched a gun: a BB gun, a water gun, a real gun, or any other type.

【推荐2】My brother and I were driving home together and started talking. Because of this distraction, my brother took a wrong turn.

Unfortunately, the wrong turn took us toward a bridge and we had no way of turning back. My brother had to pay to cross. He was clearly frustrated by the mistake and the needless waste of $4.

As we drove forward, my brother noticed a beat-up (破旧的) black Mustang (福特野马汽车) pulled over to the side of the road. A young guy was standing nearby trying to phone someone. I was busy trying to figure out which way we went next but my brother pulled over and asked the guy if he needed any help. And he did. He had a flat tyre.

My brother helped him change the flat. We started getting to know the young man who was from a dangerous neighborhood nearby. He said that this has been a bad week for him; earlier he had gotten into a minor car accident, and now this flat on his way home from work. But he called us “a breath of fresh air” and kept thanking us because he really would have been stuck if we hadn’t come along. After we had finished the job, he thanked us again and pulled out $20 to try to give it to us. “No,” I said. “We were never supposed to even get on that bridge. We took a wrong turn. But now we know why we did. It was to help you. Thank you for turning our mistake into an opportunity to serve.”

What I loved most was watching my brother throughout this process. He was able to turn his annoyance over the mistake into positive energy. He was able to see a chance to help (which I totally missed!) even in an otherwise negative situation, which can only come from a calm mind and an open heart. That was the bridge we were meant to cross.

【推荐3】For more than a century, the Mississippi Delta has been a popular destination for immigrants. Recently, I was assigned to learn more about one immigrant group: the Chinese in Greenville, a small city along the Mississippi River. There I met Raymond Wong. whose family has long been part of the community.

The first wave of Chinese immigrants came to the Mississippi Delta soon after the Civil War, and the pace picked up by the early 1900s. The Chinese initially came to pick cotton, but they quickly started opening grocery stores, mostly in the African-American communities where they lived.

“On my street alone, there were no less than four grocery stores. I’m talking about a minor street,” Wong recalls. “I was raised in a grocery store. All my family — six of us — lived in a couple of rooms at the back of our store. As soon as I could calculate money I had to work in the store.”

In 1968, Wong’s father opened a Chinese restaurant, one of the first in the town. “The restaurant existed for 40 years.” Wong says. Wong remembers a time of big excitement when his family finally could afford to buy a house in a white neighborhood. Then suddenly, that conversation stopped.

“When people found out that we were moving in, they started throwing bottles in the driveway,” Wong says. “We ended up building a house directly behind the grocery.”

And the future? It’s probably not in the Delta. Wong remembers the question his son raised when he was still in high school: “Dad, do you want me to take over the store when you retire?” Wong’s response was immediate: “No. I want you to live better than me.” That’s the story of the typical Delta Chinese.