【推荐1】When my family moved to America in 2010 from a small village in Guangdong, China, we brought not only our luggage, but also our village rules, customs and culture. One of the rules is that young people should always respect elders. Unluckily, this rule led to my very first embarrassment in the United States.

I had a part-time job as a waiter in a Chinese restaurant. One time, when I was serving food to a middle-aged couple, the wife asked me how the food could be served so quickly. I told her that I had made sure they got their food quickly because I always respect the elderly. As soon as I said that, her face showed great displeasure. My manager, who happened to hear what I said, took me aside and gave me a long lecture about how sensitive Americans are and how they dislike the description “old”. I then walked back to the table and apologized to the wife. After the couple heard my reason, they understood that the problem was caused by cultural differences, so they laughed and were no longer angry.

In my village in China, people are proud of being old. Not so many people live to be seventy or eighty, and people who reach such an age have the most knowledge and experience. Young people always respect older people because they know they can learn from their rich experience.

However, in the United States, people think “growing old” is a problem since “old” shows that a person is going to retire or that the body is not working well. Here many people try to keep themselves away from growing old by doing exercises or jogging, and women put on makeup, hoping to look young. When I told the couple in the restaurant that I respect the elderly, they got angry because this caused them to feel they had failed to stay young. I had told them something they didn’t want to hear.

After that, I changed the way I had been with older people. It is not that I don’t respect them any more; I still respect them, but now I don’t show my feelings through words.

【推荐2】They asked Katherine Johnson for the moon, and she gave it to them. With little more than a pencil, a slide rule and one of the finest mathematical minds in the country, Mrs. Johnson, who died at 101 on Monday, calculated (计算) the precise track that would let Apollo 11 land on the moon in 1969 and, after Neil Armstrong’s history—making moonwalk, let it return to Earth.

Yet throughout Mrs. Johnson’s 33 years in NASA and for decades afterward, almost no one knew her name. Mrs. Johnson was one of several hundred educated, capable but largely unrecognized women who well before the modern feminist (女权) movement, worked as NASA mathematicians. But it was not only her sex that kept her long unsung. For some years at mid-century, the black women were forced to a double segregation (隔离):They were kept separate from the much large group of white women who in turn were segregated from the agency’s male mathematicians and engineers.

Mrs. Johnson broke barriers at NASA. In old age, Mrs. Johnson became the most celebrated of black women who served as mathematicians for the space agency. Their story was told in the 2016 Hollywood film “Hidden Figures,” which was nominated for three Oscars, including best picture.

In 2017, NASA dedicated a building in her honor. That year, The Washington Post described her as “the most high - profile of the computers” — “computers ” being the term originally used to describe Mrs. Johnson and her colleagues, much as “typewriters” were used in the 19th century to represent professional typists.

“She helped our nation enlarge the frontiers of space,” NASA’s administrator, Jim Bridenstine, said in a statement on Monday, “even as she made huge steps that also opened doors for women and people of color in the universal human quest to explore space.”

As Mrs. Johnson herself was fond of saying, her tenure (任期) at Langley — from 1953 until her retirement in 1986 — was “a time when computers wore skirts.”

【推荐3】When I was little, my dad would let me sit beside him o the porch while he painted. He would tell me how the cow by itself is just a cow, and the meadow by itself is just grass and flowers, and the sun peeking through the trees is just a beam of light, but put them all together and you’ve got magic.

I understood what he was saying, but I never felt what he was saying until one day when I was up in the sycamore tree to rescue a kite stuck in the branches. It was a long way up, but I thought I’d give it a shot. I started climbing. Then I looked down. And suddenly I got dizzy and weak. I was miles off the ground! But the kite was still beyond my reach. I caught my breath and forced myself to concentrate on the kite as I climbed up.

When I had the kite free, I needed a minute to rest. That’s when the fear of being up so high began to lift, and in its place came the most amazing feeling that I was flying. Just soaring above the earth, sailing among the clouds.

Then I got to notice how wonderful the breeze smelled. It seemed like sunshine and wild grass and rain! I couldn’t stop breathing it in, filling my lungs again and again with the sweetest smell I’d ever known.

I never got over the view. I kept thinking of what it felt like to be up so high in that tree. I wanted to see it, to feel it, again. And again.

It wasn’t long before I wasn’t afraid of being up so high and found the spot that became my spot. I could sit there for hours, just looking out at the world. Sunsets were amazing. Some days they’d be purple and pink, some days they’d be a blazing orange, setting fire to clouds across the horizon.

It was on a day like that when my father’s notion (观念) moved from my head to my heart. The view from my sycamore was more than rooftops and clouds and wind and colors combined.

【推荐1】In October, I told the eight-year-olds in the class I teach in Pompton Lakes, New Jersey, about my plan. “Since all of you have done 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 watched them while they walked up and down the supermarket. “Flowers!”   Kristine cried. The group rushed towards the holiday plants.

“You can’t eat flowers.”— It was wiser to use any extra money to buy something that could be turned into meals.

“But Mrs Sherlock,” came the begging voice, “we want flowers.”

Defeated finally, I put a pot of “funny” purple mums in the cart full of foods. “She’ll like this one,” the children agreed.

An organisation had given us the name and address of a needy grandmother who had lived alone for many years. We finally pulled up in front of a small house. A slightly-built woman with a weary face came to the door to welcome us.

My little group ran to get the foods. As each box was carried in, the old woman kept on saying “Thanks.”— much to her visitors’ pleasure. When Amy put the mums on the counter, the woman seemed surprised. She was wishing it was a bag of rice, I thought.

We returned to the car. As we fastened our seat belts, we could see the kitchen window. The woman inside waved goodbye, then turned and walked across the room, past the turkey, past the goods, straight to the mums. She put her face in them. When she raised her head, there was a smile on her face. She was transformed (转变) before our eyes.

The children were quiet. At that moment, they had seen for themselves the power they have to make another person’s life better. The children had sensed that sometimes a person needs a pot of funny purple flowers on a dark November day.

【推荐3】Twenty years ago I drove a taxi for a living. One night I went to pick up a passenger at 2:30 AM. When I arrived to collect, I found the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window.

I walked to the door and knocked, “Just a minute,” answered a weak, elderly voice.

When we got into the taxi, she gave me an address, and then asked, “Could you drive through downtown?”

“It’s not the shortest way,” I answered quickly.

“Oh, I’m in no hurry,” she said. “I’m on my way to a hospice (临终医院). I don’t have any family left. The doctor says I don’t have very long.”

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter (计价器).

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked, the neighborhood where she had lived, and the furniture shop that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she’d ask me to slow down in front of a particular building and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

At dawn, she suddenly said, “I’m tired. Let’s go now.”

We drove in silence to the address she had given me.

“How much do I owe you?” she asked.

“Nothing.” I said.

“You have to make a living,” she answered. “Oh, there are other passengers,” I answered.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held on to me tightly. Our hug ended with her remark, “You gave an old woman a little moment of joy.”