【推荐1】I grew up in a poor family. This was something I did not realize until l was older. 1thought everyone in the city took the bus. because everyone in my neighborhood took the bus. I thought everyone in the city used the food bank, because all my friends’ families ate the same government-labeled food as my family ate. We all wore hand-me-down clothes.

Shopping with my mom made me first understand that my family was a little different. My mom used paper money that looked different from the paper money others in line were using, I asked my mom why our money looked different. She said that we used food stamps that were provided by government so we could eat.

In high school, I was still embarrassed and wished we were not so poor, but I loved my mom and the other members of my family and knew we had things to be proud of. Though my mother was uneducated, she taught me how to love and told me to believe in myself. Growing up in poor family taught me perseverance. I have always believed in myself and my abilities. I knew I could focus on schoolwork and build a life that looked different from my childhood.

As I became a man, I started understanding how my experiences made it possible for me to be resilient, and how to respect people for who they are as an individual — and not by what they have. I think there are a lot of fixed images placed on those experiencing poor life that do not actually come from the people experiencing it. These opinions come from people on the outside trying not to look into the experience. Hardworking, trust-worthy, reliable, clean, efficient, successful and disciplined are all words not specially connected with poor life. But those words are very much shown by those experiencing poor life. I am proud to be who I am and proud of where I’m from.

【推荐2】“Are you listening, Simon?” Simon’s teacher asked. It was a pretty usual question.

Simon shook his head, smiling. He hardly listened or tried hard in class. Talking was so much fun. He wanted to be heard rather than listen.

“Listen, and you’ll learn something.” Mrs. Jacobs tried every day, but Simon never paid attention.

That evening, his throat really hurt. The next morning, when he opened his mouth to say “Good morning”, nothing came out but a croak.

Simon’s mother looked at him. “Honey, you’ve lost your voice.”

“Can I stay home?” He tried to ask, but words didn’t come out. Instead, his mother checked him for a fever and decided it was good for him to go to school, even if he couldn’t talk.

When he got to school, Mrs. Jacobs said “Hello” to him, and he just nodded. When his friends asked him what TV shows he watched last night, he just shrugged. By the time the bell rang for class, almost everyone was looking at him as if he’d grown a third eye.

Penny raised her hand. “Mrs. Jacobs, why isn’t Simon talking?”

“He never stops talking.” Richard said worriedly.

Everyone started talking at once. They were excited, worried, and surprised.

Simon sat in class bored. He watched them talk to each other as if the teacher wasn’t there, but he couldn’t even do that. In math class he could hold up fingers if the answer was less than 10, but that wasn’t fun. He decided to try to pay attention.

He could do his homework that night. It gave him TV and game time with his work all done.

The next day, even though his voice was coming back, he stayed quiet again. The third day, he could talk fine, but he listened and raised his hand to speak.

What a difference that one day made!

【推荐3】On our second day in Barcelona, Spain, my classmates and I headed out to see the sights. We hadn’t had a chance to stop by any banks to take out cash, but we had our bank cards, which, to our American way of thinking, would naturally be accepted anywhere. Our teacher led us to La Sagrada Familia, a church which has been under construction for over 100 years.

She let each of us decide whether we wanted to pay for entrance to the church or return to the hotel after a long day. Many headed for the subway and returned to the hotel. Eager to explore more, two of my friends and I wandered about the plaza (露天广场), but soon the other two decided they wanted to return to the hotel also. I was confident in my abilities and had a subway ticket, so I felt comfortable without them; I got in line to enter the church.

When I reached the window, they asked for the 10-euro admission price. I confidently handed over my bank card, which they denied, asking for cash only. I was shocked. I only had three euros on hand, and my entire group had left. I was leaving the next day to fly to Madrid, and I wasn’t going to get this opportunity again.

Just then, I overheard English being spoken around me. It took about ten minutes to collect my courage to approach the speakers and explained my dilemma: American student, no cash, priceless landmark, no other opportunity to see it. Fortunately, one smiling woman handed me a 20-euro bill. “Go buy me a bottle of wine, and you can keep the change,” she offered. I did so without delay, grateful that I wouldn’t miss this fantastic opportunity.

Perhaps seven euros didn’t mean a lot to her, but it meant a lot to me, and she offered it in such a friendly way that I didn’t feel like a beggar. That simple act of kindness remains in my memory as one of the nicest things a stranger has ever done for me.