A third-grade class knows exactly what will brighten an older neighbor's holiday meal — and it isn't a roast turkey. In October, I told the eight-year-olds I taught in Pompton Lakes, New Jersey, about my Thanksgiving plan. "I'd like all of you to do extra jobs around the house to earn some money," I said. "Then we'll buy food for a Thanksgiving dinner for someone who might not have a nice dinner otherwise."

I wanted the children to experience that it's more blessed to give than to receive. I wanted them to understand that love of society and love of life is not just lip service; that people somehow have to make it come alive.

Early in Thanksgiving week, the boys and the girls arrived in class with their hard-earned pocket money and couldn't wait to go shopping. After pacing up and down in the supermarket, we put a turkey and decorations in the shopping cart (购物车). At last we headed toward the checkout, and then someone found a "necessity" — flowers. It was more reasonable to use any extra money to buy food. I pronounced, "You can't eat flowers." "But Mrs. Sherlock," the group replied, "we want flowers." I was defeated, and the children put a bunch of pink roses into the cart.

An organization had given us the name and address of Maria, a needy grandmother who had lived alone for many years. Soon we were driving along a rough road to her house. We finally pulled up in front of a small house in the woods. A thin woman with a tired face came to the door to welcome us.

My little group hurried to get the food. As each box was carried in, the old woman kept saying "Thanks" — much to the visitors' pleasure. When kids put the pink roses on the table, the woman seemed surprised. "She was wishing it was a bag of flour (面粉)", I thought. Having talked for a while, we returned to the car.

As we fastened (系上) our seat belts, we could see the kitchen window.

Upon seeing the moving scene, the children became quiet.

It was a bright spring afternoon along the Maryland coast, and Jonathan Bauer, 51, and his 13-year-old daughter, Ava, were enjoying it. They were driving with the windows down as they headed home on the Route 90 Bridge, which goes across the shallow waters of Assawoman Bay. Suddenly, the calm was disturbed by a loud sound.

Not far ahead of them, a black car was rushing from one side of the road to the other. To the Bauer’s horror, it knocked into a concrete barrier(水泥路障), and then came to rest over the edge (边沿) of the bridge. Bauer hit the brakes in time to avoid the vehicles in his path, but a white car struck his car.

Bauer stopped the car. “Ava, are you OK?” he asked. She was shaken, but unhurt. He ran to the white car. “Are you OK?” he asked the driver. She nodded, too shocked to speak.

And then an extremely loud sound came from the black car, whose back part hung out, 30 or more feet above the waters of the bay (海湾). The driver’s door opened and a man climbed out. He dropped to the ground, and then ran to the edge of the bridge. Bauer ran up beside him. The man pointed down, saying something in Spanish. In the water was a car seat. Next to it, a girl, about two years old, floated on her back, kicking and screaming.

Matters quickly went from bad to frightening when the little girl rolled over onto her stomach. Bauer waited for the driver to do something, but he didn’t move. Maybe he was in shock.

“Ava!” Bauer shouted, and removed his shoes. “Stay by the car and call 911!”

He held no idea about his chances jumping from this height into such shallow waters. Four feet of depth was the most he could hope for — he’d gotten his boat stuck here a time or two. And were there rocks in the shallow waters?

Russ Fee was asleep inside his tent last summer when a series of screams jolted him awake. Throwing on his shoes, he ran out to investigate. Fee and his wife were traveling through Canada’s Banff National Park to enjoy its stunning beauty and awesome wildlife. It was the latter he now encountered. Although it was dark, Fee could detect a neighboring tent in a mess. Backing out was a wolf, dragging something in his teeth. That thing was a man.

Moments earlier, Elisa and Matt Rispoli, from New Jersey, were asleep with their two young children when the wolf tore into their tent. It was like something out of a horror movie. For three minutes Matt threw his body in front of Elisa and the boys who would stand little chance of running faster than a wolf and fought the wolf with bare hands. Atone point, Matt got the upper hand, pinning the wolf to the ground. But the wolf clamped its jaw onto Matt’s arm, set its powerful legs, and began tugging Matt outside while Elisa was pulling on his legs trying to get him back.

It was then that Russ Fee entered the picture. He ran at the beast, kicking it like he was kicking in a door. The wolf dropped Matt and merged from the tent. Wolves are large, Fee felt like he had punched someone that was way out of his weight class. He could feel its heavy breath facing and he could smell the terrible pungent (刺激性) ordor it emitted fishy, oily and bloody.

The wolf turned its anger on Fee, exposing his sharp teeth and snarling at him. Terrified, Fee withdrew a bit. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw his minivan was not far away. Meanwhile, panicked as they were, the two boys concealed themselves at a safe distance from the battle. The elder boy used the satellite phone to call for help.

Matt, his arms bloodied, flew out of the tent to resume the battle.

Just at that moment, a police car came, along with an ambulance.

The Quarrel

Coretti got a prize and I did not. However, it wasn’t out of envy that I quarreled with him this morning.

When I was writing in my copy-book for calligraphy this morning, Coretti jogged (轻碰) my arm and spoiled (破坏) my paper. I said a rude word to him angrily. He smiled, “I did not do it intentionally.” I should have believed him, because I know him; but it displeased me that he should smile, and I thought: “Now that he has had a prize, he has grown rude!”

After a while, to revenge (为……报仇) myself, I jogged him to spoil his paper. “Enrico, you did that on purpose!” he said to me. He raised his hand but drew it back when the teacher saw it. Then he added, “I shall wait for you outside!” Now my anger died down and I felt sorry. No, Coretti could not have done it intentionally. He is good, I thought. I recalled how he had worked and helped his sick mother in his own home; and then how heartily he had been welcomed in my house; and how he had pleased my father. And I thought of the advice given by my father—“If you do something wrong, do apologize!” But I did not dare to.

I was ashamed to say “sorry”. Looking at Coretti out of the corner of my eye, I felt I loved him. I said to myself, “Courage!” But the words “excuse me” stuck in my throat. He glanced at me from time to time, and he seemed to be more sorrowful than angry. But at such times I looked directly into him to show that I was not afraid. He repeated, “We shall meet outside!” And I said, “We shall meet outside!”

At last school was over.

My lucky bamboo

I don’t usually keep houseplants. Anything in pots gets either overwatered or underwatered. But after my diagnosis(诊断) with Covid-19, I was forced to stay at home. Feeling lonely, I loved the idea of having something new and green around.

My friend Mitch, a gardener, gave me what he said was a lucky bamboo plant in a tiny green pot with three pencil-size stalks(茎) tied together. I placed the plant in the living room where I spent much of the day. I smiled when I looked at it over the cup of coffee.

I was used to being the one who provided care, not the one who received it. Covid-19 left me weak, making it hard for me to do everyday tasks. Tending to the plant gave me a sense of achievement at a time when I sometimes felt useless.

Since my diagnosis in March 2020, far too often, it seemed, I had to rely on help from other people. The enormous change left me feeling unsettled. Watering the plant, as small an act as it was, connected me to my old identity and taught me I could still be a caregiver. Plants and people could still depend on me.

Over time, I continued to care for the plant. Soon, it had nearly doubled in height. Both the plant and I were thriving(茂盛). However, mysteriously, it began to show signs of stress. I increased my watering, then decreased it. I nestled coffee grounds(渣) into the soil to enrich it. I fed it commercial plant food. No matter what I did, the leaves kept browning and dropping to the floor. I grew more and more hopeless and uneasy.

I thought harder on how to save my plant.

As Mitch’s instructions worked, my anxiety lessened.