A Welcome Gift

Dario and his mother loved their new apartment. Compared with the previous one back in New York, the living room was large enough for their piano. That night, the two of them sat side by side at the piano. They played jazz music to celebrate their new home. The loud music filled the room and made them feel very happy. They were so absorbed in playing one piece after another that they totally forgot how late it was.

The next morning, however, their happiness disappeared. Someone had left a note under their door during the night. One of their neighbors had written to complain about the sound of the piano. The first person that came to their mind would be Mrs. Gilbert, who lived right next to them, but they were not sure. Then Dario’s mother asked the building superintendent (管理员) if he knew anything about it. But he said that they were all nice people and he couldn’t imagine any of them had done that. The note of complaint was like a big, black cloud hanging over their home. It was not the way they wanted to establish relationship with their new neighbors.

Later that morning, Dario suggested that they write a letter to their neighbors and apologize for their playing. “Maybe we could go and visit everyone in person.” his mother said. But the time-consuming and troublesome idea was quickly denied. Suddenly, a flash of inspiration went across Dario’s mind. Nothing could serve as a bridge to remove the distance between them and their new neighbors better than a party.

This idea swept the gloomy expression on his mother’s face. They both loved the fantastic idea. Over the next few days, they sent out invitations and prepared desserts for their guests. They decorated the apartment with streamers (彩带) and party lights to strengthen the party atmosphere. A smile of expectation could be seen on their faces as they held a strong belief that it would be a perfect beginning of their new life in the new neighborhood.

Finally, the day of the party arrived.

“You play, you play!” Mrs. Gilbert said. “I like what you play! Just not so loud at night.”

3 . That cold January night, I was growing sick of my life in San Francisco. There I was, walking home at one o’clock in the morning after a tiring practice at the _________. With opening night only a week away, I was still learning my _________. I was having trouble dealing with my part-time job at the bank and my acting at night at the same time. As I walked, I thought seriously about _________ both acting and San Francisco. City life had become too much for me.

As I walked down empty streets under tall buildings, I felt very small and cold. I began _________, both to keep warm and to keep away from any possible _________. Very few people were still out except a few sad-looking _________ people under blankets.

About a block from my apartment, I heard a sound behind me. I turned quickly, half _________ to see someone with a knife or a gun. The street was empty. All I saw was a shining streetlight. _________, the noise had made me nervous, so I started to run faster. Not until I reached my apartment building and unlocked the door did I realize what the noise had been. It had been my _________ falling to the sidewalk.

Suddenly I wasn’t cold or tired anymore. I ran out of the door and back to __________I’d heard the noise. Although I searched the sidewalk anxiously for fifteen minutes, my wallet was nowhere to be found.

Just as I was about to give up the search, I heard the garbage truck pull up to the sidewalk next to me. When a voice called from the inside, “Alisa Camacho?” I thought I was __________. How could this man know my name? The door opened, and out __________a small red-haired man with an amused look in his eyes. “Is this what you’re looking for?” he asked, __________ up a small square shape.

It was nearly 3 A.M. by the time I got into bed. I wouldn’t get much sleep that night, but I had gotten my wallet back. I also had gotten back some __________ of city life. I realized that the city couldn’t be a bad place as long as people were __________ to help each other.

It was the first week of Lily’s middle school. The bell’s ringing brought her out of her daydreaming. She nervously gathered her books, preparing to reach another classroom for the next new class.

Lily followed the other kids and rushed into the hallway. Others walked in groups, chatted, and laughed, using the break to socialize. Lily, instead, walked alone along the wall of the hallway, with her head down. She was a shy girl, afraid to speak in front of other kids, and didn’t think others would like her.

Lily finally sat in Mr. Johnson’s Language Arts class nervously. “Welcome to Language Arts,” said Mr. Johnson. He told jokes as he talked about English. Lily forgot to daydream and laughed along with the rest of the class. “We’ll have some fun with language,” he said. “Just wait and see.”

Fun was far beyond what Lily desired. She just wanted to be like other kids—running with friends in the hallway, laughing and joking between classes. Reminded of her pimply (长粉刺的) face, she felt hopeless and disappointed.

“Take out a piece of paper,” the teacher continued, when pointing at words on the blackboard. “Write for the next thirty minutes on this topic.” Lily began writing crazily as idea after idea fought for recognition in her head. The final result was a short story about a beautiful beach house. As she wrote, she could smell the salty air, hear the crashing waves and feel the pull of the sand beneath her feet. For just a moment, she forgot where she was. She was lost in the story.

“OK, pass your papers forward,” said the teacher. “Let’s see what we have.” For the rest of the class time, the teacher read each individual work aloud. Lily originally thought it would be awkward. However, she was gradually attracted by the excitement in the teacher’s voice. “He’s actually enjoying this,” she thought. When the class would be soon over, there were still fifteen students’ papers not read, including Lily’s paper. Then, Mr. Johnson announced his decision, asking these students to read their work themselves in front of the class next class.

A week later, the bell rang and the Language Arts class began again.

After Lily finished her reading, the clapping from her classmates continued for a long time.

5 . Mark asked, “Do you think they’ll let me play?” Mark’s father knew that few boys would want someone like Mark, mentally and physically disabled, on their team, but the father still approached to ask the boys if Mark could play. They exchanged glances with each other and said, “We’ll try to put him in to bat.”

Mark struggled over to the team’s bench and his father had a small tear in his eye and warmth in heart. The boys saw the father’s joy at his son being accepted.

In the bottom of the final inning, Mark was scheduled to be at bat. Everyone knew that a hit was almost impossible. The first pitch (投) came and Mark missed. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to throw the ball softly towards Mark. As the pitch came in, Mark swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher.

The pitcher could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman, but he just threw the ball right over the head of the first baseman, beyond the reach of all teammates. The audience and the players from both teams started screaming, “Mark, run to first!” Never in his life had Mark ever run that far but made it to first base, wide-eyed and shocked.

By the time Mark rounded towards second base, the smallest guy on their team, who had a chance to be the hero for his team for the first time, understood the pitcher’s intentions and he too intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third baseman’s head.

All were screaming. “Mark, run to third.” As Mark rounded third, all were on their feet, crying, “Mark, run home!” Mark ran to home, stepped on the home base and was cheered as the hero who won the game for his team. Tears rolled down the father’s cheeks.

That day, the boys from both teams helped bring true love and humanity into this world.

The icy wind howled across the empty street and it was an unusually quiet day in the emergency room on December 25th. Quiet, that is, except for the nurses who were standing around the nurses’ station complaining about having to work on Christmas Day.

I was a guiding nurse that day and had just done the cleanup in the waiting room. Since there were no patients waiting to be seen at the time, I returned to the nurses’ station for a cup of hot coffee that someone had brought in for Christmas. Just then, a colleague came in and told me I had five patients waiting to be evaluated.

I was surprised, “Five? How did I get five? I was just out there and no one was in the waiting room.”

“Well, there are five signed in. ”

So I went straight out and called the first name. Five bodies showed up at my guiding desk, a pale short woman and four small children in untidy clothing.

“Are you all sick?” I asked. “Yes, " she said weakly and lowered her head.

“Okay, ” I replied. “Who’s first?” One by one they sat down, and I asked the usual beginning questions. When it came to the description of their symptoms, things got a little vague(含糊的). Two of the children had headaches, but the headaches weren’t accompanied by the normal body language of holding the head or trying to keep it still. Two children had earaches, but only one could tell me which ear was affected. The mother complained of a cough, but seemed to work to produce it.

Something was wrong with the picture. Suddenly I knew something. So I explained to the mother that it might be a little while before a doctor saw her because there were several more critical patients. she responded, “Take your time. It’s warm here and there is a Christmas tree.”

Then the mother turned and, with a smile, settled her kids in the waiting room.

The nurses, complaining about working Christmas, turned to sympathy for the homeless family.

7 . Convincing someone to change their mind is really the process of convincing them to change their tribe (部落). If they abandon their beliefs, they run the risk of losing social ties. You can’t expect someone to change their mind if you take away their community too.

The way to change people’s minds is to become friends with them, to combine them into your tribe, to bring them into your circle. Now, they can change their beliefs without the risk of being abandoned socially.

The British philosopher Alain de Botton suggests that we simply share meals with those who disagree with us: “Sitting down at a table with a group of strangers has the incomparable and odd benefit of making it a little more difficult to hate them without punishment. Prejudice and conflict between groups of people from different nations or races feed off abstraction. However, during a meal, something about handing dishes around, unfolding napkins (餐巾纸) at the same moment, even asking a stranger to pass the salt makes us less likely to hold the belief that the outsiders who wear unusual clothes and speak in distinctive accents deserve to be sent home or attacked. For all the large-scale political solutions which have been proposed to ease racial or cultural conflict, there are few more effective ways to promote tolerance between suspicious neighbours than to force them to eat supper together.”

Perhaps it is not difference, but distance that produces tribalism and unfriendliness. As proximity increases, so does understanding. I am reminded of Abraham Lincoln’s quote, “I don’t like that man. I must get to know him better.” Facts don’t change our minds. Friendship does.

The Japanese writer Haruki Murakami once wrote, “Always remember that to argue, and win, is to break down the reality of the person you are arguing against. It is painful to lose your reality, so be kind, even if you are right.”

When we are in the moment, we can easily forget that the goal is to connect with the other side, cooperate with them, befriend them, and integrate them into our tribe. We are so caught up in winning that we forget about connecting. It’s easy to spend your energy labeling people rather than working with them.

The word “kind (family and relatives)” originated from the word “kin (old fashion of family and relatives).” When you are kind to someone, it means you are treating them like family. This, I think, is a good method for actually changing someone’s mind. Develop a friendship. Share a meal. Gift a book. Be kind first, be right later.