【推荐1】After a lifetime watching football with my father, a cancer diagnosis means I will have to go alone. And this is my dad’s last match.

Out of the lift, we made directly for the seats. The atmosphere was pleasant, without any final-day tension.

The only goal came just after half an hour. That, I think, was the last goal Dad ever saw, but I can’t be certain he did see it. Several times I’d glanced at Dad; on each occasion his eyes had been gazing out of the stadium.

Half-time came and went. I spent it following him in and out of the toilets, making sure he remembered his way back and meanwhile showing the way to some elders. The second half passed without goals. Dad sat in his seat, waiting for the whistle to end the match.

As soon as the last of the players had passed us, the goodbyes began all around us, the air quickly filling with the usual “see you in August” and “have a great summer”. Dad had tried to hide his tears. But by the time Frank and Dave and all the other matchday friends he’d made over the years had started to say their goodbyes, he could no longer disguise them. The tears streamed from him like I’d never seen before. But it was the noise that accompanied them which was the worst part: a long loud high cry; the cry of a child, yet coming from a man in his seventies. Awkwardly, I put an arm around his shoulders to comfort him. He cupped his hands over his face and continued to sob.

He was trembling when he stood up and reached for my hand as we headed towards the top of the steps.

This was it: the end. 25 years after he’d led me into Old Trafford stadium by the hand for my first game, here I was, leading him by his as he left for a final time. At the top of the steps, he grasped the handrail and began to descend, giving no final glance back at the field as he went.

【推荐2】Whenever he can, 15-year-old Elliot Morgan practices basketball in his backyard. He says it’s a good stress-reliever. But it wasn’t that long ago that he didn’t have time for this new hobby. “There were times in the summer when I would spend four or five hours a day on my phone,” he says. When school started in the fall, Morgan found himself scrolling (划屏) as soon as he woke up. “I realize I start to avoid workouts because I’m on my phone,” he says. “It’s affecting my focus.”

It has become clear that social media is a key player in many drivers of unhealthy habits. Social media apps are designed to encourage overuse, and teenagers are more likely to be influenced because their brains are at an important period of development that makes it harder to be free from temptation (诱惑). All of this makes limiting use more challenging — even for families who set rules.

“It’s a really big problem,” says Elliot’s mom, Alyssa. She was shocked when she discovered Elliot had bypassed parental controls and was spending five hours a day on social media. “I asked him, ‘Can you just take a look and see? Just tell me what you think. Does this feel good to you?’” she says.

Elliot hadn’t realized how many hours he was on social media. And he was at a loss. With his mother’s help, he tried to start cutting back. After several months, he decided to delete (删除) social media apps altogether. “After that, I actually sleep enough and feel better,” he says. He’s now closer with his friends because they spend more time talking instead of scrolling. And joining school clubs has also helped him reduce time on his phone.

【推荐3】I went to the dark end of the warehouse and pressed my forehead against the wall, thinking again if this was the way for the rest of my life: working on a brainless, low-paying, dead-end job after two years out of school. I was sleepless again that night.

The next morning, I found several new guys on the job — temporary workers obviously. One of them caught my eye. He was older than the others and wearing a uniform: smartly pressed trousers and a work shirt, complete with his name, Jim, embroidered (刺绣) on the pocket.

I watched him all that day and the rest of the days he worked with us. He was never late or early. He worked at a steady, unhurried pace. He was friendly to everyone he worked with, and the other workers liked him, too. He didn’t try to show anybody up. He did what was asked of him, no more, no less. He didn’t gossip or complain or argue. He just did the job — common labor —with more personal dignity. His attitude and every action showed that he was a professional. Labor might be common; he wasn’t.

When the temporary work was finished, Jim left for another job, but the impression he made on me didn’t. I started setting my own standards. I worked like a businessman fulfilling a contract just the way Jim had done. To my surprise, the managers noticed my new productivity and promoted me. A few years later, I promoted myself to a better-paying job with a different company. And so it went. Eventually, many companies and many years later, I started a business of my own.

Whatever success I’ve had has been the result of hard work and good luck, but I think the biggest part of my luck was the lesson I learned from Jim so long ago. Respect doesn’t come from the kind of work you do; it comes from the way you do the work.