I was eleven years old. This was my first soccer game. As the tall and skinny kid stuck in the middle of the muddy field, with little knowledge of the rules and regulations of the game, I was nervous, but still excited. With kids running at me from all directions, I observed the skills that many of my teammates possessed. Their motions appeared to be so smooth and effortless, while their faces revealed their attachment to the game. I, on the other hand, lacked the commitment that many of the other kids had.

Little to my knowledge, this game turned out to be an intense one. My team was trailing (落后) behind the entire game, but toward the end, we tied it up. Suddenly, it was my turn to kick the ball. This was my chance to reveal that I was as good as everyone else. I brought my leg back and was ready to kick with all my strength. I gave a good and hard kick, but unfortunately, I kicked the ball in the wrong direction. Seeing the disappointed faces of the members of my team, I felt my face went from pale white to bright red. I wanted to run home. faster than I ever ran in a soccer practice.

Over the next few years, I continued to participate in a variety of sports, trying to find the one where I would be the center of attention for the right reasons. That never happened. I began to feel like an outsider. Whenever I was introduced to a kid in school or a friend of my parents, I was always asked if I played soccer—a natural question to a teenager. When I responded “No”, everyone would tell me that I should. But I did not want to, and I was never able to figure out why it mattered so much. I longed to find something that really interested me.

At senior high, I gave up my attempt to try various sports.

I turned to the other aspects of my life, the ones I enjoyed.

My Best Teaching Experience

Tyler was only in my senior class for a semester. He had been suspended (使停学) many times in previous years because of his anger issues. When he entered my class, I thought the worst.

Tyler sat in the back row. Every time I talked to the class, I would ask students questions, calling them by name. Unfortunately, every time I called on Tyler, he would respond with a joke. If he got an answer wrong, he would become angry.

About a month into the year, I was still trying to connect with Tyler. I can usually get students involved in class discussions or at least have them sit quietly and attentively (专心地). By contrast, Tyler was often loud and sometimes rude.

He had been in so much trouble over the years. He expected his teachers to know about his past; about how many times he had been sent to the office or suspended from school. I had found that these sorts of referrals (移交) were not very effective and that students would return from the office behaving worse than before.

One day, Tyler was talking over me while I was teaching. I stopped my lesson and said, “Tyler, why don’t you join in our discussion instead of having one of your own?” With that, he got up from his chair, pushed it over and yelled something. I can’t remember what he said other than that he included some impolite words. I sent Tyler straight to the office, and he received a week’s suspension.

To this point, this was one of my worst teaching experiences. Tyler’s anger was almost too much for me. The week Tyler was suspended from school was a wonderful time, and we got a lot accomplished as a class. However, the suspension week would soon come to an end, and I was fearful of his return.

On the day of Tyler’s return, I stood at the door awaiting him.

A spark of surprise flashed across his face.

At first, Michael didn’t see the black smoke or flames shooting from the windows of his neighbors’ home. He and his wife had just parked around the corner from their own house when they got a call from one of his daughters: “The house next door is on fire!” He went to check. That’s when he saw two women and a girl helpless and heartbroken on their doorway.

“The baby’s in there!” one of the women cried. Though the fire department had been called, Michael, then 64, immediately ran inside. “The baby” was 8-year-old Tiara, the woman’s granddaughter and a playmate of Michael’s three youngest kids.

The thick smoke caused Michael to stumble blindly around, burned his eyes, and made it impossible to breathe.

After a few minutes in the smoke-filled house, he retreated outside to catch his breath. “Where is Tiara?” he asked desperately.

“The second floor,” her aunt shouted back.

Michael knew he couldn’t hold his breath for long. However, taking a deep breath, he went in a second time. The darkness was overwhelming. Yet because the house had a similar design to his, he made it to the second floor. He turned to the right and was met by intense heat. He was already out of breath.

“Baby girl, where are you?”

His throat and lungs burned as if he’d inhaled fire instead of the smoke in the air. Every blink stung his eyes. All he could hear was the crackling and popping of burning wood. Then a soft but distinct moan emerged. Still unable to see, Michael fell to his knees on the hot wood floor. He crawled toward the sound, feeling around for any sign of the girl. An unlucky thought crossed his mind: I’m probably gonna die up here.

Finally, Michael touched something.

Tiara was safe now; however, Michael fainted down to the ground, unconscious.

Peter woke up early in the morning. He went downstairs in a hurry and started to have his breakfast as quickly as possible.

“Why are you in such a hurry, early bird?” Mum asked him. “We will have an English spelling test today, Mum,” Peter said. “Mr. White promised prizes for those who get score 100. I’ve been studying the word list since last week. Although the words are difficult, I am well-prepared for the test.”

Peter carefully checked the spelling of each word when Dad drove him to school. At last, it was time for the test. “Responsibility,” Mr. White started. Peter wrote the word on his test paper quickly and confidently.

“The second word: contribution,” Mr. White said.

“So easy,” Peter thought. He quickly wrote the word down.

Thirty words later, the test papers were collected by Mr. White. “I am going to mark your papers now,” he told the class. After marking the test papers, Mr. White said, “Three of you won a prize today for excellent test scores. Peter, David and Mary got 100 percent in the spelling test,”

Mr. White praised them. He gave each of the three students a dictionary. Peter’s was an English-Chinese dictionary — the one he liked most. Peter was so excited that he held it high as his classmates cheered. “This is making me so happy,” Peter thought.

After Mr. White had given the test paper back, Peter had a look at the words, feeling proud of his spelling. All of a sudden, the word “contribution” confused him. It didn’t seem right. Peter compared it to the word list. “C-o-n-t-r-i-b-u-s-i-o-n,” he whispered. He had spelt it wrong.

“What should I do?” Peter said to himself. “I want my classmates to think I’m a master of spelling. If I tell Mr. White I got one wrong, I’ll have to give my prize back or I will tell a lie.”

Staring at the “100%” mark written on his test paper, Peter was lost in thought.

Slowly, Peter raised his hand.

At one table by the window, a lady just finished up her lunch. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a sandwich and some salad, with a cup of tea to wash them all down. She seemed to be in her own little world, staring out the window every now and then, like she was waiting for something. After a bit, she got up, paid for her meal at the counter, and left.

Her table was still a mess, with bits of her meal left behind. It wasn’t a big deal—this happens all the time. But today, something different was going to happen. A young boy, who looked like he’d had a pretty rough time, had been watching her and the table from around the corner.

This kid was in bad shape. His clothes were too big and looked like they’d seen better days. His hair was all over the place, and there was dirt on his face. He had that look of someone who hadn’t had a good meal for way too long. When the lady left, he saw his chance. He quickly sat down and started scarfing down (狼吞虎咽) the leftovers like they were the best meal he’d ever had.

But then, the waiter walked over. He was an older guy who’d probably seen everything. He didn’t say anything at first, just watching the kid for a second. The boy got scared and stopped eating, and tears started to well up in his eyes. He thought the waiter would kick him out for sure. Instead, the waiter took away the half-eaten plate, and the boy’s heart sank. The boy got up to leave.

But before he could get far, the waiter came back.

Then all people in the canteen started clapping.