I’m a special needs teacher. We don’t usually get storms in May. We were having a fairly unremarkable school day and I’d seen the last of my class of five-year-olds leave when my dad rang to warn me that there was a storm heading straight towards us. At first, I thought he couldn’t be right, but then the storm alarm went off. My own daughter, Kali, was at the school, in the kindergarten class across the hall, and that’s where I headed. Her teacher, Jennifer, was following the standard procedure: moving the 10 children into the hallway,getting them to kneel (跪下) with their elbows on the ground, hands over their heads.

We encouraged the children to sing, to keep up their spirits,but when the sky grew dark dim and the lights went out, it became harder to keep everyone calm. Hail (冰雹) and broken glass showered into the hallway. Instinctively, Jennifer and I took five children each and lay across them. It wasn’t something we had to think about. They were small children; we were adults and we would protect them with our lives. My daughter was among them. I just kept saying over and over, “We’re going to be OK. We’re going to be OK.” But soon I couldn’t hear my own voice above the sound of the school’s metal roof exploding under huge pressure.

Then came a big noise so loud that I’ll never forget it, like a plane but 10 times louder. It was the storm passing directly overhead. Suddenly I realised the roof had gone; the wind had torn it clean off.   We were at the mercy of the elements. My mouth was filled with dirt and I wondered if we were going to be buried alive. Beneath me, the children were packed together tightly. I did my best to cover them, but there was water, too, pouring down. Then I felt a blunt thing against my back. By now, I was simply repeating to myself, “Please go away. Please go away.” I just wanted it to stop.

By the time it did,

Fortunately, no children died or hurt in the storm.

I grew up in a poor family with a single mom addicted to drugs (吸毒上瘾). Often there was no money for food, and I was always hungry.

On my eighth birthday, some close family members were invited to go to a park to celebrate my birthday. No cake. No presents. Except for my aunt, she had an envelope in her hand.

Before everyone sang Happy Birthday, I saw a little boy, probably my age, and a woman, perhaps his mother, digging in the park dustbin (垃圾箱) for food. Both the mother and the son were in rags (衣衫褴褛) with their clothes dirty enough not to tell the color of the clothes.

The sight of them filled me with sympathy. I begged my mom to invite them to my party but my mother was not a fan of strangers. She said no.

I was attracted by them. I didn’t know others struggled like me, and it hurt my heart. I watched them as everyone sang. I watched them as my aunt handed me the envelope. I watched them as I opened it until I saw the content, a new 100-dollar bill. My mother was angry be-cause my aunt gave me such a large amount of money. Maybe she thought my aunt trusted me more than her with cash.

We were poor and lived a hard life. But I had never dug in a dustbin for food. Again, I couldn’t help watching the mother and the son searching for food.

I was watching them when I remembered my previous (以前的) life. Once I had a happy family with more than enough to eat and wear.

My memories of the past were interrupted by my aunt’s voice. My aunt kept talking over my mother, telling me that I could do ANYTHING I wanted with that money. So I did.

Mike, aged 14, was a music fan, especially a fan for violin. He expected to be a music star one day. Unfortunately, born into a poor family depending on delivering newspapers and milk, he couldn’t afford a violin. He had thought of asking his parents to pay for one but finally he abandoned possessing the impossible musical instrument.

Mike’s neighbor, Joseph, happened to be a violinist. The greatest pleasure Mike found after school every day was enjoying the beautiful melodies floating out of Joseph’s window. Not until dark did Mike sneak into his own room. And every time Mike’s mother asked him why he came home late, Mike would say he was lost in music.

“Why not spend more time in your lessons instead, sweetheart? After all, music can’t make money if you’re not so famous.” In order to prove he could realise his dream, he knew he must have his own violin and practise more.

Mike found a job at a nearby church, running errands for the servicemen. One day, another music player happened to learn about Mike’s situation and offered him an old violin as a gift. He even promised to teach him how to play after church services at the weekends. Months later, Mike learned violin very well.

The first performance he made was on the roadside of a lonely street. From time to time passersby stopped to watch him play. And a few even left some coins in his hat lying on the ground. When it was time for Mike to go back, he heard a woman’s cry. Following the sound, Mike spotted her and discovered the truth that she was called Connie, a trainee in a cafeteria, and that she had just had an awful day at work and was yelled by the boss.