One day my grandfather gave me a gift—a piggy bank. It had an opening through which one could put money in. But the opening was not big enough to reach in and get the money out.

"That's the whole idea," my grandfather explained. "The piggy bank will help you save your money so that, at the end of the year, you might have enough for that bike you dream about." He added, "Will you put some of the money given by me in the following days into the piggy bank?" I said “yes" and promised.

Whenever he gave me a little bit of money, he would say, "This is for spending. But you can save some and put it in the piggy bank if you want to save it up." When he gave me larger amounts, it was clearly for saving in the piggy bank. For some time, this worked fine. I loved shaking the piggy bank and hearing the sound of the coins. As it became heavier, I grew excited, dreaming about what I could do with my savings.

One day my friend and I visited the new ice-cream shop in town. but we didn't have enough money to buy just one ice cream. So my friend asked me to take some money out of my piggy bank. "No, I can't." I replied. "There is an opening for putting the money in, but no way for taking any out. Besides, my grandfather told me that I need to save money until the end of the year."

"Come on…" said my friend. Finally, I gave in. We took the piggy bank to the park and tried our best to shake out the money. We succeeded. From then on, I became good at taking money out of my piggy bank. Soon, it became a habit. And I started taking out money whenever I wanted it.

One day I was doing that again when my grandfather walked in. I was frightened.

The piggy bank fell out of my hands and broke.

The next day, Grandpa gave me another piggy bank.

Ali and his younger sister, Zahra, lived with their parents in a poor neighborhood. Their mother was very sick and their father was struggling to find a job, and they had only a little money with which to buy food. As they had not paid the rent for several months, the landlord was breathing down their necks.

One day, Ali took Zahra's shoes to a shoe repairman to be fixed, but he lost them on the way home. It wasn’t until he got home that he realized he had lost the shoes. He was afraid that his parents would be angry and disappointed, so he begged his sister to keep it a secret. Zahra agreed and the two decided to share Ali’s running shoes. Zahra's school hours were in the morning, so she would wear them first. After school, she would rush back and give them to Ali. He could then run to his school, which began in the afternoon. Although he ran as fast as he could, Ali often arrived late and was warned by the school.

Ali heard about a long distance race that was held for the boys in the city.When he learned that the third prize was a new pair of shoes, he decided to take part. He ran home excitedly and promised his sister that he would win her the new shoes.

The day of race arrived. Ali had a strong start, but halfway through the race he began to get tired and his legs began to ache. Getting more and more exhausted he thought only of Zahra and his promise to her. Dreaming of the new shoes he would win for his sister gave him strength, and he stayed right behind the two fastest runners, determined to finish third. Suddenly, as the finish line drew near, another runner collided(碰撞) with Ali from behind and he crashed to the ground.

Ali looked up and saw the other boys rushing ahead.

Filled with delight, Ali walked home quickly.

A merchant sent his son to learn the Secret of Happiness from the wisest of men. The young man wandered through the desert for forty days until he reached a beautiful castle at the top of a mountain. There lived the sage that the young man was looking for.

However, instead of finding a holy man, our hero entered a room and saw a great deal of activity; merchants coming and going, people chatting in the corners, a small orchestra playing sweet melodies, and there was a table laden with the most delectable dishes of that part of the world.

The wise man talked to everybody, and the young man had to wait for two hours until it was time for his audience.The Sage listened attentively to the reason for the boy’s visit, but told him that at that moment he did not have the time to explain to him the Secret of Happiness.He suggested that the young man take a stroll around his palace and come back in two hours’ time.

“However, I want to ask you a favor,” he added, handling the boy a teaspoon, in which he poured two drops of oil. “While you walk, carry this spoon and don’t let the oil spill.”

The young man began to climb up and down the palace staircases, always keeping his eyes fixed on the spoon. At the end of two hours he returned to the presence of the wise man.

“So,” asked the sage, “did you see the Persian tapestries hanging in my dining room? Did you see the garden that the Master of Gardeners took ten years to create? Did you notice the beautiful parchments in my library?”

Embarrassed, the young man confessed that he had seen nothing. His only concern was not to spill the drops of oil that the wise man had entrusted to him.

“So, go back and see the wonders of my world,” said the wise man. “You can’t trust a man if you don’t know his house.”

Now more at ease, the young man took the spoon and walked around the castle again.

“But where are the two drops of oil I gave you?” asked the wise man.

One day, I was taking a summer class in American literature on the campus of The State University of New York at Oneonta. Professor James walked into the classroom and announced that he had invited a special guest to class, but his guest had been delayed. The class stirred with curiosity and anticipation.

“Who is coming?” someone asked. “All I will tell you is that he is the author of one of the books you have read for this class,” he said. “I need a volunteer to meet him and guide him here.”

To my amazement, my right hand shot up. I never volunteer for anything. I’m introverted(内向的), shy, and uncomfortable meeting new people. In fact, I’m absolutely the wrong person for the job. Realizing my mistake, I put my hand down quickly, but it was too late.

“Thank you, David,” said Professor James. “You’d better leave now. He will be arriving any minute.” Seeing no way to back out, I reluctantly got out of my seat and headed for the classroom door. When I reached it, I stopped. “Umm,” I said. “If I don’t know who this person is, how will I recognize him? I would hate to bring back the wrong guy.” Professor James laughed. “Good point,” he said. He pulled me aside and whispered a name in my ear. “Alex Haley,” he said. “Really?” I said.

I regretted for volunteering. Why me? Alex Haley is one of the authors of The Autobiography of Malcolm X : As Told to Alex Haley. He is so famous. As I walked across the campus, my anxiety grew. I feared that I was about to embarrass myself in front of the famous gentleman by asking stupid questions, or worse, by guiding him in painful silence.

But at the moment I realized why I instinctively raised my hand to volunteer for this job. The man was what I wanted to be: a writer. I could learn from him.

I paced back and forth until a man with a briefcase(公文包) entered the building.

Encouraged by Mr Haley, I stopped worrying whether I had the talent for writing.