2 . The life of a journalist can be exciting. To be in constant pursuit of the latest news demands a curiosity that can only be rewarded by getting to “where it is happening” as soon as possible. The goal, of course, is to relate what is happening to the public as clearly as possible.

However, every journalist must be careful to report not only a vivid picture of what is happening, but a true picture. Each journalist reports his or her own version of what has taken place. Still, this version must be an actual account if the reporter is to maintain a reliable reputation.

In order to get to the truth in some new stories, a reporter must rely on the statements of someone who is on the inside of the situation. Often this insider will only talk to a reporter if the reporter promises never to reveal the insider’s name. The insider usually threatens never to admit meeting with the reporter if his or her name is revealed.

Because stories of this nature often involve criminal activity, reporting them becomes a dangerous job. This kind of work involved in obtaining news in this summer serves as an inviting situation for the underworld as well as the legal world. Members of the underworld want to find out who the insider is so that they can keep him or her quiet. Members of the legal world claim that the reporter will disturb justice if he or she fails to disclose the insider’s name.

Rather than be unaccountable to a trusted informant, most reporters will go to jail if need be. Freedom of the press is provided by the First Amendment of the Constitution of the United States. Impure interpretations of this portion of the constitution cause a small number of reporters to be jailed every year. However, as yet, no amount of legal maneuvering (操纵) has been able to put out this light of freedom set up by our forefathers. All of the reporters refusing to reveal the names of their informants have eventually been released.

Devotion of this kind has given journalism its reputation for reliability — a reliability that each journalist is expected to uphold in his or her search for truth. Supplying a truthful account of each day’s occurrence is the serious contract made between reporter and the public.

I was a single parent of four small children, working at a low-paid job. Money was always tight, but we had a roof overheads, food on the table, clothes on our backs, and if not a lot, always enough. Not knowing we were poor, my kids just thought was serious. I have always been glad about it.

It was Christmastime, and although there wasn’t money for a lot of gifts, we planned to celebrate with a family party. But the big excitement for the kids was the fun of Christmas shopping.

They planned weeks ahead of time, asking each other what they wanted for Christmas. Fortunately. I had saved $120 for presents to share by all five of us.

The big day arrived. I gave each kid a twenty dollar bill and reminded them to look for gifts of about four dollars each. Then everyone scattered (散开). We had two hours to shop; then we would meet back at the gate,

On the way home, everyone was in high Christmas spirits, except my younger daughter Ginger who was unusually quiet. She had only one small, flat bag with a few candies—fifty-cent candies. I was so angry, but I controlled myself and didn’t say anything until we got home. I called her into my bedroom and closed the door, ready to be angry again. This was what she told me:

“I was looking around thinking of what to buy, and l stopped to read the little cards on the ‘Giving Trees’. One was for a little girl, four years old, and all she wanted for Christmas was a doll. So I took the card off the tree and bought the doll for her. We have so much but she doesn’t have anything.” I felt so proud of my younger daughter.

I gathered the other kids and shared with them what Ginger had done.

We walked excitedly to the nearby children’s hospital.

For the first two years in primary school, I was an extremely shy girl. I had a few friends, but it wasn’t easy for me to be very outgoing, even if I knew them well. If I was with strangers, I was even quieter. So I was not good at meeting new people, I was in constant fear that I would do or say something wrong. As a result, on our school’s annual play day, I usually sat in a remote corner to watch the performance alone, although I hoped to sit in the front rows to see the actors more clearly.

One day in the third grade, my teacher Mrs. Sally called me into her office and said, “Oh, Mary, you’re great at memorizing things, and you have such a sweet voice. You are perfect for Jenny!”

But I bowed my head and dared not speak. The teacher saw this and then said, “Of course, plenty of girls would love the role, and I could find somebody else. But I hope you could try it for me. I had you in mind for Jenny while writing the play! If you really don’t want to, you can turn down the offer.”

My mind was running wild when Mrs. Sally, whom I loved and admired, asked me to play the role.

“She believes in me!” I thought.

Just then I looked up and happened to see on the wall a poster I had never noticed before. It showed a shooting star and read, “If you reach for the stars, you might at least grab a piece of the moon.”

Realizing it was time to throw off my shy mask and show the world who I really was, I said firmly, “Okay, I’ll try my best, Mrs. Sally!”

In the following five months, Mrs. Sally taught me how to put on makeup, memorize lines, create costumes and so on.

The big day arrived at last.

At the moment, Mrs. Sally noticed my nervousness and approached me.

An announcement

The City Cultural Center

Two things changed my life: my mother and a white plastic bike basket. I have thought long and hard about it and it’s true. I would have been a different person if my mom hadn’t turned a silly bicycle accessory (配饰) into a life lesson I carry with me today.

My mother and father were united in their way of raising children, but it mostly fell to my mother to actually carry it out. Managing the family budget must have been a very hard task, but she made it look effortless. If we complained about not having what another kid did, we’d hear something like, “I don’t care what so-and-so got for his birthday, you are not getting a TV in your room, a car for your birthday, a lavish sweet 16 party.” We had to earn our allowance by doing chores around the house. I can still remember how long it took to polish the legs of our coffee table. My brothers can no doubt remember hours spent cleaning the house. Like the two little girls growing up at the White House, we made our own beds. We had to keep track of our belongings, and if something was lost, it was not replaced.

It was summer and, one day, my mother drove me to the bike shop to get a tire fixed — and there it was in the window. White, shiny, plastic and decorated with flowers, the basket winked at me and I knew — I knew — I had to have it.

“It’s beautiful,” my mother said when I pointed it out to her, “What a neat basket.”

I tried to hold off at first, and I played it cool for a short while. But then I guess I couldn’t pretend to ignore it any longer: “Mom, please can I please, please get it? I’ll do extra chores for as long as you say. I’ll do anything, but I need that basket. I love that basket.”

I was desperate.

“You know,” she said, gently rubbing my back while we both stared at what I believed was the coolest thing ever. “If you save up you could buy this yourself.”

“By the time I make enough it’ll be gone!”

“Maybe Roger here could hold it for you,” she smiled at Roger, the bike guy.

“Mom. Someone else will buy it.”

“There might be another way,” she said.

My mother bought the beautiful basket but hid it, and I was determined to make enough money.                      

However, the unthinkable happened — a neighborhood girl appeared with the exact same basket.