Pembral was a good boy. But he was always forgetting things. Big things, small things, important things, little things. His mother was a patient woman, which was a good thing. Pembral regularly tested her patience. She learned early on to remind him of everything: big things, small things, important things, even the little things. Once in a while the little things that didn’t seem important at the time became more important later.

Sometimes she thought that Pembral forgot things on purpose — things like washing behind his ears; or picking up his toys; or feeding the dog. It bothered (麻烦) her to remind him of these sorts of things. However, for the most part, she knew that his mind just wandered off and it was her job to bring it back.

Fall weather had arrived. The air was cool and fresh, especially in the morning, even if the skies were brilliant blue and the sun was shining brightly. The light of the morning made wisps (缕) of fog come up from the ponds. The trees were changing their summer greens to coats of brilliant yellow, orange and red.

This was a time when Pembral’s mother cooked things that smelled and tasted really good. It seemed like he was just hungrier in the fall or something, and he liked how the windows steamed up and how the kitchen smells filled up the whole house when his mother was cooking up something good at that time of the year.

Pembral’s mother was baking (烤) something special that day: a carrot cake. It was one of Pembral’s favorites. But she needed some things from the store, and sent Pembral to get them. “I need eggs, sugar and raisins (葡萄干),” she said. “Here’s some money,” she went on. “Put it in your pocket where you won’t lose it.”

Pembral pushed the money into his pocket, and headed toward the door. He went outside and down the street, kicking dry leaves on the sidewalk into the air and breathing in their smell, and watching flying birds.

When he got to the store, he picked up a basket and went about shopping.

He was reaching into his pocket for the change when his mother said, “Where are the eggs?”

Once upon a time, there was a young woman named Lily who lived in a small town on the outskirts of a busy city. Ever since she was a little girl, Lily had been interested in the art of public speaking. She would watch famous speeches on television and was amazed at the way the speakers could hold an audience attracted with their words. Even as a young girl, she knew that she wanted to do the same someday.

As Lily grew older, her passion for public speaking only enhanced. She read books and attended workshops to learn everything she could about the subject. She practiced speaking in front of mirrors and even recorded herself to analyze her delivery and improve her technique.

However, despite all of her hard work, Lily found herself struggling to connect with her audience. Her words were great and well-rehearsed (反复排练过的), but she felt that something was missing. It wasn’t until she came across a TED talk on body language that everything clicked into place.

In the talk, the speaker discussed how our body language can convey just as much information as our words, sometimes even more so. A confident posture (姿势) and relaxed facial expression can signal confidence and certainty, while moving your body constantly or avoiding eye contact can reveal nervousness or discomfort. This realization led Lily to study body language and its impact on communication. Armed with this new knowledge, Lily began practicing her own body language skills and studying the techniques of other great speakers. She watched videos of famous speeches and analyzed how the speakers used their bodies to emphasize key points and connect with their audience. She practiced making eye contact and using hand gestures (手势) to emphasize important ideas.

One day, Lily was invited to speak at a conference in front of a large audience. She had prepared her speech thoroughly and felt confident in her content, but she was nervous about how she would behave on stage.

As she walked up to the podium (讲台), Lily reminded herself of the body language techniques she had learned.

After the presentation, several people came up to Lily and praised her for her communication shills.       

Babe Didrikson Zaharias was one of the most extraordinary athletes of all time. She achieved particular success in basketball, track and field, and golf. She also competed in baseball, boxing, diving and many other sports. In 1950, the Associated Press declared Babe Zaharias to be the “Woman Athlete of the Half-Century”.

From a young age, her goal was to be “the greatest athlete to ever live”. As a teenager, she acquired the nickname “Babe” in reference to Babe Ruth, a professional baseball player. She never passed up a chance to play ball. One day, when she was a little girl, her mother sent her to the grocery store to buy some beef for dinner. On the way home, Babe spotted some boys playing baseball. She dropped her purchases and joined the game. An hour later, her angry mother showed up, looking for the groceries. Babe pointed to where she’d left it. A dog was happily enjoying the last piece.

Zaharias gained fame at the 1932 Olympic Games. She won gold medals in the javelin (标枪) throw and the 80-metre hurdles (跨栏), but she was deprived of a third gold medal in the high jump because she had used the unorthodox (不正规的) Western roll to achieve the highest jump. Her Olympic success brought her national attention.

In 1932, Zaharias began playing golf and was soon winning important championships in the sport. In 1950, Zaharias helped found the Ladies Professional Golf Association, and she became the LPGA’s star competitor. Not only did she attract interest in the women’s game, she revolutionized the sport and was known for her powerful drives.

Zaharias died of cancer in 1956, at the age of 45.

I was an average student in my early elementary years. I came home with a steady flow of B’s, C’s and the occasional F’s in second language subjects. I was told that I wasn’t applying myself and, as every report card I ever brought home clearly stated, I talked too much.

I didn’t write when I was supposed to write. I talked to others while the teacher was giving instructions. That I could recite what she had said to the class while I was talking was not helpful because I had a negative effect on my classmates’ learning. So I regularly brought home disappointing report cards.

My parents and my teachers didn’t know what to do with me. Punishments didn’t seem to work. Rewards didn’t seem to either. And, frankly, I don’t think I knew what I could do to “apply myself”. And I certainly didn’t know how to not enjoy talking with my classmates! What I knew was that I talked too much. Until grade 5.

That autumn, we had a sudden change in teachers as our elderly teacher took a medical leave. In his place, a young substitute (代课老师) arrived — Mrs Royal. She looked like she was freshly out of university and seemed too young to be cast in the role of being responsible for a class of tween, but there she was, charged with a lively group, and me.

I don’t remember many details of that year except the afternoon when I got my first report card from her. She handed out the report cards right after the afternoon break and invited us to look them over. Then she let us know that we could all talk quietly amongst ourselves while she called each student up one at a time, in alphabetical order (按字母顺序), to discuss our report cards with her.

I looked over my report card, expecting the usual result.

Then it was my turn to talk with her.