My teacher held up a piece of broken glass and asked, “Who broke this window?” Thirty boys tried to think about not only what they had done, but also what our teacher might have found out. She seldom became angry, but she was this time.

“Oh,” I thought. I was the one who broke the window. It was caused by a naughty throw of a baseball. If I admitted guilt, I would be in a lot of trouble. How would I be able to pay for a big window like that? I didn’t even get an allowance (零花钱). “My father is going to have a temper,” I thought. I didn’t want to raise my hand, but some force much stronger than I was pulled it skyward. I told the truth, “I did it.” Then I was silent. It was hard enough saying what I had.

My teacher went to one of our bookshelves and took down a book on bird field guide. She then began walking towards my desk. I had never seen my teacher to strike a student, but I feared she was going to start with me.

I was so afraid that I closed my eyes tightly.

I was very moved.

When Mike was a seven-year-old kid, his parents usually didn’t give him money because he liked to buy junk food. They knew such food would be harmful to kids’ body.

But one day Mike strongly wished to buy such food. He knew he couldn’t persuade his parents to give him money to buy it, so he was upset. At noon that day, his mom was having a nap in the bedroom while his dad was working out of the home. Mike suddenly found his mom’s wallet on the sofa in the living room. Usually, his mom would put the wallet close to her — not this time.

Mike found a good chance to get money. He thought he could secretly take some from his mom’s wallet without letting her discover it. Then, he slowly walked towards the wallet and opened it. There was lots of money. Mike took a few coins and walked out of the house, going directly to a store in his community.

He bought a bag of food that was very peppery and a bottle of iced Coca-cola. Instead of returning home, he hung around outside to enjoy the food and the drink in case his mom discovered it. When he opened the food bag, a strong, hot and sweet smell rushed into his nose. He tasted some: it was delicious. But it was too hot and his mouth seemed to be on fire. However, he didn’t take notice of it. Minutes later, he ate up the bag of junk food and finished the drink. Then he returned home. His mother was still sleeping.

In the afternoon that day, Mike began to feel uncomfortable and wanted to vomit. He felt pain in his stomach. At first, he could stand it. However, finally, he couldn’t bear it anymore and told his mom that he felt sick. But Mike didn’t tell his mom the truth that he had some hot junk food. Not knowing what was wrong with Mike, his mom was worried.

She hurried to drive him to the hospital.

Mike realized he should admit what he had done.

As the daughter of a truck driver and a secretary, I grew up knowing my mother far better than my father. As a young child I was “Daddy’s little girl,” but then I hit those teen years and my relationship with my father no longer existed. Now we were strangers. He didn’t know how to handle a teenage girl with crazy hormones and a big mouth. I was confused.

I was a rebellious teenager. When my mother attempted to guide me, of course I fought every inch of the way. But she never let go, and finally I got rid of those raging hormones and improper behaviors. It was during this time that I learned an important lesson from my father.

One evening on his way home he saw a woman opening her trunk to take out a spare tire. He stopped, introduced himself and began to take over the task of changing the blown-out tire. When Dad finished changing the tire and returning all of the equipment to the trunk of her car, she offered him a $20 bill for his help. He smiled at her and said, “No need. I have a wife and a daughter who just started driving, and my only hope is that if ever one of them breaks down on the side of the road, someone honest and friendly will stop and do for them what I just did for you.” He said good-bye and left.

This was a side of my father I didn’t see often. Instead, throughout my life, my father taught me the rules of the road and life through loud funny stories. I was 24 years old before I realized how much I had really learned from him.

In 1992, as a volunteer I headed to western Kansas to join the “Walk Across America for Mother Earth.” We were almost halfway there when the left back tire blew out. Quite upset, I maintained control of the car and pulled off of I-70 onto the shoulder of the road. As I went into the trunk for the spare tire and the jack, an 18-wheeler went flying past us at top speed. I was positioning the jack when I heard the loud, harsh sound of air brakes across the road.