How to Get Along with Your Parents

My dad and I had been looking forward to the Stale cross-country race of my senior year of high school, which would be the climax (顶点) of my existence.

I was the fastest runner on my team, and I was supposed to make it into the top fifteen. We had been working towards this race for three years. It was everything to me, and it was everything to my dad. He was a runner and was wild with joy by my success in running. He made it to every race, even flying home early from business trips to see me run. I always listened for his voice, which rang above the crowd-telling me to relax my arms, calling out my time. He pushed me. He cheered for me. He believed in me. We spent countless hours on the sandy canals of Arizona. Breathing in the dust of the desert, the blossoms of the orange trees, and the terrible smell of the dairy farm, we made our way across the city. We pounded miles and miles into our running shoes, marking with every step the path to greatness. It was a journey that was just ours. A dream passed on from one generation to the next.

Then the big day came. It was hotter than normal - too hot. My throat felt like a field of cotton, cracked with the summer heat, as I waited for the gun to fire. I gazed out at the crowd; dozens of familiar faces from church and school flickered across my view. They had come for me. They were counting on me. I saw my dad set his watch, worry and excitement etched across his face. With the sound of a gunshot, the race began.

For the first two and half miles, I felt great. I had never before been so ready for something. The weeks leading up to the race were filled with hard practices and a strict diet. The scorching sun beat upon my back, blinding me with its brilliance. Nothing was going to stop me, though.

However, without warning, my strength was running out.

I whispered, “I’m so sorry I disappointed you, Dad.”

Alexis Langlois, who manages a large farm, heard her neighbor crazily knocking on her front door on a Monday afternoon.

“There’s an emergency”, Amber Countryman yelled. “The horses are stuck in the water.” Langlois was struck with “absolute panic”. She threw on her winter boots — without socks — and rushed toward the small pond on the 80-acre property. She was surprised by what she saw: four horses were in the water up to their necks in 10 feet of ice water.

She immediately called 911.While waiting for help to arrive, “people just started showing up,” she said. “Neighbors were pouring in. People came with ropes, chainsaws, shovels and pick axes.”

“I grabbed a bunch of supplies,” said Countryman, whose two teenagers and their friend also as sited with the effort.

“It was-8℃that day,” she said, adding that she brought out handwarmers and water for the helpers.

Everyone was determined to get the horses out of the pond — which is about 15feetwide.

Beneath a six-inch layer of ice, the water was “just barely above freezing”, said Chris Yerkes, the South Kalispell Fire Department chief who rushed to the pond with about a dozen volunteer personnel.

When the firefighters arrived, neighbors had already attempted to pave a path through the ice toward the edge of the pond using pick axes, sledgehammers and shovels, and “we continued with that effort.” Yerkes said. Unfortunately, “as we got closer to the edge, we realized there was about three to four inches of mud.”

The thick layer of mud — which the rescuers couldn’t cut through — blocked the horses from climbing out. Firefighters enlisted additional support from Flathead County Animal Control, as well as staff from local equestrian organization Rebecca Farm.

“There had to have been at least 60 people here,” Langlois said. “It was very swift action on everybody’s part.”

It took nearly two hours to find a workable solution that could bring all four horses to safety.

To get the horses out, they used a powerful tractor (拖拉机) to get the animals out of the mud and ropes to pull them over the edge.

When Gloria Estefan started primary school, she could not read, write nor speak English. She felt lost, unhappy and completely frightened. However, someone changed her life—her English teacher, Mrs Collins. Her family had left Cuba in 1959 when she was only a year old in the hope of finding a better life in America. Initially they moved to Miami where the family settled in a set of apartments with other Cuban women and children who had immigrated.

The women were close-knit and supportive. While she felt safe, she was also isolated. They all spoke Spanish, and she rarely heard English. On her very first day in school, which she was looking forward to, she was completely shocked. She came home and told her mother that she had learnt her first English word “stupid”. It was the nickname a boy had given her.

In every way possible, she was set apart from her classmates. She was the only panic and non-white student. She also found it difficult to grasp the English language as it was her second language. The culture, her school friends and the food they ate were different from hers. As such, she was set apart from her classmates.

One person made that year bearable for her, Mrs Collins. She was young and African American, so she understood how Gloria felt as she was the only non-white student in class. Mrs Collins never doubted that Gloria could catch up with the other students in time.

Still, the teasing continued. The boy who called her stupid would not stop laughing at her for her accent. He was a good student and the proud holder of the class’s reading award. It was an honour given periodically to a student, based on excellence in schoolwork, participation and homework. Gloria wanted that long-waited award.

Mrs Collins encouraged her to compete for the reading award.

The award ceremony was coming up.

When the last customer left KFC, it was already 10:30 pm. Adam, an 18-year-old college student, dragged himself home. He had been working at KFC for over a month that summer vacation.

Entering his room, Adam found his younger brother Bill sitting on the edge of his bed with an uneasy expression on his face.

“Sorry, Adam. I … I did something wrong,” Bill sprang up and said nervously.

“What is it?”

“This afternoon I sneaked (溜) out for a ride on your motorcycle and accidentally hit our neighbor Osman Brook’s car. I was so scared and I … I hurried home in panic.”

“Is the car seriously damaged?”

“The left headlight got broken.”

“It’s truly your fault and it’s really dangerous to ride a motorcycle at your age. Besides, it’s illegal,” Adam raised his voice, obviously annoyed. Hearing this, Bill lowered his head and bit his lips hard.

“Anyway, it’s no use crying over spilt milk. I will deal with it tomorrow. Now you go to bed and have a good sleep.”

The next morning when Adam got up, Bill was still sleeping soundly. Adam was more determined about what he ought to do as an elder brother.

After breakfast, Adam took out all the money he had earned and went out of the house with it. In the yard he saw his motorcycle, on whose side the scratches (划痕) were clearly visible. Adam shook his head and sighed slightly. Then he squared his shoulders and quickened his pace to Osman’s house.

When he arrived, he was welcomed by Osman’s wife Mary, who told him that Osman had gone to the garage to have his car repaired.

“I have something important to tell him. Can I wait until he comes back?” Adam requested eagerly.

“Of course. He should be home soon,” Mary invited Adam in, served him a cup of coffee and began chatting with him.

After half an hour, the door opened and in came Osman. Having said hello to each other, Osman and Adam both sat down on the sofa.

Adam cleared his throat and began to speak.

Just then, there came a knock at the door.