On a flight, an eight-year-old boy named Louis was excitedly reading his favorite storybook loudly, much to the annoyance of a fellow passenger named Tyler sitting next to him. Edward, the boy’s father, had brought the book, hoping to read it to his son himself, but Louis insisted on reading it aloud on his own.
Tyler, who was trying to have a rest, became a little bit angry at the noise. “Hey, sir. Could you please tell your son to keep his voice down? I’m trying to sleep for a moment,” he complained to Edward. Although the father politely asked Louis to read in a low voice, the young boy was too excitedly absorbed in the storybook to notice his disturbance to others. His noisy reading disturbed not only Tyler but also a few other passengers nearby.
Tyler`s anger increased as he loudly admonished (责备) Louis` lack of manners and consideration. To deal with the matter, he called the flight attendant. When she arrived, Tyler completely lost his cool, admonishing both Louis and Edward. “Have you heard this boy? He’s been yelling out the whole time! And you’re still trying to defend his rude behavior! A child of his age should understand that he is causing serious disturbance and needs to show some respect for others!”
In the heated scene, the flight attendant tried to calm Tyler down. However, Tyler was a bit too disturbed to calm himself down. Edward continuously apologized while attempting to explain the situation. “Excuse me, sir. I admit what Louis did was wrong, but he meant no harm. He’s simply overjoyed at being able to read again after years of difficulties…” Edward’s eyes welled up and he was in tears before he realized it. He explained to the people around them that it was the first time in three years that Louis was able to see the world around him and could read his favorite book, one his mother who died three years ago used to read to him as a baby.
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Then he revealed the heartbreaking story.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________At this point, Tyler and everyone else on the flight fell silent.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________I still remember what I felt on a bright Saturday morning in late September, at a five-kilometer race in Clarkston, Georgia.
It was an unusual morning. About an hour earlier, when we drove into town to participate in the race, my 11-year-old son noticed a green tree cricket（蟋蟀） on my car. It was friendly, no longer than a fingernail. It jumped onto my son’s finger, and walked across my shirt, and then went back to my son’s hand, where it stayed so long that we eventually gave it a name: Little Friend.
The walk from the car to the registration table was perhaps a quarter of a mile. Little Friend stayed with my son. Then, we walked back across the railroad tracks and waited for the race to start. A few minutes before the race, Little Friend either fell or jumped off my son’s hand and landed on the sidewalk. Maybe it wanted to go free. But this was not a good place for that. Pedestrian（行人） traffic was heavy, so Little Friend was in danger. My son knelt and reached out his hand. It came back.
The race was about to start, and the tiny green insect was in for a wild ride. My son would run fast, and the race would be long. The race began. I ran well enough, and felt excited at the finish line. But that thrill gave way to anxiety when my son didn’t show up.
I knew he could run 5 kilometers in about 30 minutes. When I didn’t see him at the 35-minute mark, I began to wonder what had gone wrong. And as the 40-minute mark approached and he still didn’t appear, I went out looking for him. Had he got lost? I crossed the railroad tracks and looked down a long straightaway, hoping to see his face. Finally, there he was, just ahead of the 45-minute mark.
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Little Friend was riding proudly on one finger of my son’s right hand.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Smiling, we walked back to the car with Little Friend.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________My husband Kenny and I grew up playing sports. We both worked in the field of physical education and coach youth high school track and field. So, Kenny and I weren’t surprised when our daughter, Becky, showed early athletic promise.
Watching her outrun other kids on the playground, I knew she was destined for winning medals on the track. Slowly but surely, track took over our lives. Weekends were devoted to training. We stopped taking vacations so the girl wouldn’t miss any practices. We missed her birthdays and family outings. I even restricted the time she could spend hanging out with her friends, which would consume the energy she needed for competition:
We didn’t really ask Becky if that was what she wanted. Of course she did! Who wouldn’t want to use a God-given talent to the fullest? Occasionally, Becky would open up after a loss, “I wish you were the same even if I have a bad day on the track. I feel like you don’t accept me just for who I am.”
Honestly, that hurt. In my heart, I knew what she said was true. I could behave more like a coach than a Mom on the sideline. But I didn’t mind. Ensuring her on the track of winning was my only goal. I probably cared more about the medals than she did. By the time Becky started middle school, our family life had revolved around (以……为中心) practices and competitions. I had visions of college scholarships, maybe even the Olympics.
One day, at a regional Junior Olympics qualifying event, she twisted her leg and ended up in a heavy fall, screaming in pain. This was not supposed to happen. Kenny and I pushed her too hard the day before and she attempted to break the record which was clearly beyond her reach.
We rushed her to the hospital right away. Never did I imagine sitting in a doctor’s office, staring at the X-ray result as the doctor calmly explained that Becky’s posterior cruciate ligament (后十字韧带) — the thick tissue stabilizing the back of her knee—was torn.
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2. 请按如下格式在答题卡的相应位置作答。
“Her professional career as an athlete was over,” the doctor broke the news to me.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Following the hard-fought recovery, I watched her running with a new attitude.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________I sat in the breakfast corner with my four-year-old son, Matthew, trying to ignore the ache in my stomach. I was still recovering from a surgery. I hoped for strength and happiness. But the future seemed so hopeless.
Matthew jumped up from his spot on the kitchen floor. “Bird!” he shouted, rushing to the sliding door. Sure enough, there was a white dove seated on a rubber tree. It sat there a few moments, and then flew away. I’d never seen one in our neighborhood before.
When I dragged myself to the kitchen the next morning, the dove was back. This time it was with a mate carrying twigs (嫩枝), “Look, Matthew,” I said, pointing to the tree. “They’re going to make a nest.” The doves flew in and out of the courtyard all week, building on the top of the rubber tree. Matthew could hardly contain his excitement. Every morning, he’d run into the kitchen and take his spot by the sliding glass door, talking to the birds while they worked. As much as I was grieving (感到悲伤), I couldn’t help but look forward to the doves’ visits too. We watched their progress as if it were a real-life soap opera unfolding before us. Gradually, my pain disappeared, replaced by joy.
Then it all went wrong. The courtyard was a safe enough spot for a nest, but the rubber tree’s broad, thin leaves were far from stable. One night, a strong wind blew through, throwing the doves’ nest to the ground. I heard the twigs break apart. Nothing good ever lasts. I wouldn’t blame the doves if they never came back. But they returned. And they paid no attention to the pi le of sticks that had once been their nest. They started again from scratch, though the wind destroyed all their hard work. The next day, and the next, they renewed their efforts, as if nothing had happened.
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Paragraph 1: I knew I had to do something for the poor creatures.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Paragraph 2:“The birds were back!” Matthew announced.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________There are too many treasures in life we take for granted, the worth of which we don’t fully realize until they’re pointed out to us in some unexpected way. So it was with Mama’s minestrone soup (意大利浓菜汤).
There was no recipe for her minestrone soup. For our large immigrant family, Mama’s soup guaranteed we would never go hungry. It was a symbol of security. Its recipe was created spontaneously (非计划安排地) from what was in the kitchen. And we could judge the state of our family economy by its contents. A hearty soup with tomatoes, pasta, beans, carrots, celery, onion, corn and meat indicated things were going well. A water y soup suggested hard times.
At one time, however, Mama’s soup pot became a source of embarrassment to me, for I feared it would cost me a new friend I had made at school. Sol was a thin, dark-haired boy, and an unusual pal for me because his father was a doctor and they lived in the best part of town. Often Sol invited me to his home for dinner. The family had a cook in a white uniform who worked in a kitchen with shining utensils (厨房用具). The food was good, but I found it bland (清淡的), lacking the heartiness of my home food served from flame-blackened pots. Moreover, the atmosphere matched the food. Everything was so formal. Sol’s mother and father were polite, but conversation around the table was subdued (克制的). And no one hugged! In our family, warm hugs were a constant and if you didn’t kiss your mother, she demanded: “What’s the matter, you sick?” But at that time in my life, all this was an embarrassment.
I had known Sol would like to eat dinner at our house, but that was the last thing I wanted. My family was so different.
注意：1.续写词数应为150左右；
2.请按如下格式在答题卡的相应位置作答。
Finally when Sol asked again if he could come to our house, I had to say yes.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________But to my amazement, I noticed Sol took a spoonful of Mama’s minestrone soup.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Ninny grew up with her grandparents. Her grandmother worked as a housekeeper, and her grandfather was too weak to move. In his wheelchair, Grandfather told her stories about flowers, princesses and sunrises. Those stories always ended with the same message: A simple act of kindness creates an endless ripple (涟漪) that comes back to you.
One day, Ninny was at the supermarket with her grandmother. They only bought the bare minimum. “Oh!” Ninny jumped when she spotted a chocolate cake. She pulled her grandmother’s sleeve. “Grandfather’s birthday is around the corner! Can we please, please, please have it?” The old lady eyed the chocolate cake. There were beautiful decorations on the top with fancy designs on the side. Picking up the cake, Grandmother took a close look at the price and sighed, “Ninny, we can’t afford it. It’s $40!”
Ninny pouted (噘嘴), trying to convince her grandmother. Yet she knew that her grandmother would not bend, even if she begged with her puppy eyes. No matter what, money did not grow on trees. Ninny sighed and turned around. Grandmother gave her a sad smile and turned towards the cashier.
Almost out of nowhere, a man with a 50 dollar bill and the chocolate cake approached her and handed these things to Ninny. “Have them, dear.”
Ninny took a closer look at the man. He was average. Average face, average clothes, and average everything. He was just a random man.
The man bent down and maintained eye contact with Ninny. “Do you know why I’m giving you these?” Ninny shook her head. “When I was a little boy, a man bought me a chocolate cake. He just overheard a conversation I had with my mother. Nothing else. He gave me some money and a small slip of paper. Then he left.” The man reached into his pocket and took out a dog-eared piece of paper. Looking at the words written, Ninny wore a smile on her face, for she was so familiar with the message.
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Ninny hugged the dollar bill, cake and the piece of paper to her chest.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Grandfather’s eyes widened, “You won’t believe it!”
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________In the thriving city of Chengdu, a group of high school seniors were preparing for the biggest milestone of their academic journey: the college entrance examination. Among them was a young student named Liang Mei. Liang Mei was known for her exceptional academic performance, but as the exam drew near, she found herself overcome with anxiety.
Liang Mei’s worries weren’t just about the exam itself; she was also struggling with the fear of losing touch with her closest friends and the uncertainty of what the future would hold. The once carefree and joyful atmosphere among her classmates had been replaced by stress and tension. Liang Mei felt isolated in her concerns, as everyone seemed consumed by their own worries and study schedules.
One day, after a particularly difficult practice exam, Liang Mei trusted in her favorite teacher, Mr. Zhang. Mr. Zhang was not only a knowledgeable instructor but also a compassionate mentor who had always been there for his students. He listened attentively as Liang Mei shared her fears and concerns about the upcoming exam and the future.
Understanding the importance of addressing the emotional well-being of his students, Mr. Zhang decided to take action. He organized a group discussion session during one of the study breaks, inviting all the senior students to participate. The session provided a safe space for the students to express their anxieties, share their feelings, and offer support to one another.
During the session, Liang Mei found relief in hearing her classmates voice similar concerns. They realized that they were not alone in their fears and that their shared experiences could be a source of strength. They discussed strategies for managing stress and ways to maintain their friendships even after graduation.
Mr. Zhang also encouraged the students to focus on their personal growth and the valuable lessons they had been learning during their time in high school, rather than solely fixating (专注) on the exam results. He reminded them that their worth was not defined by their test scores but by their character, perseverance, and the relationships they had cultivated.
注意：1. 续写词数应为150左右；
2.请按如下格式在答题卡的相应位置作答。
As the college entrance examination approached, the atmosphere among the senior students began to shift.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________The day of the exam finally arrived.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Mrs. Green in Room 301
The notice was posted next to the mailboxes in the apartment building I’d just moved into in Brooklyn, New York. “A Mitzvah for Mrs. Green,” it read. “Sign up to drive Mrs. Green in Room 301 from her chemotherapy(化疗) treatments twice a month.”
Since I wasn’t a driver, I couldn’t add my name, but the word “mitzvah” lingered in my thoughts. It means “to do a good deed”. According to my grandmother, it also had another meaning. This was the one she was always pointing out to me because she noticed how shy I was about letting people do things for me. “Linda, it’s a blessing to do a mitzvah for someone else, but sometimes it’s a blessing to let another person do something for you.”
Three weeks later, on the night of taking my final exam, the snow was falling steadily for hours. Pride would not let me knock on a door and say, “It’s a 10-minute ride by car but a long wait for the bus, and it’s a 30-minute bus ride, so could you possibly give me a lift to school?” So I trudged (艰难地走) to the bus stop. For an hour, I prayed desperately that a bus would come. Then I gave up. The wind at my back pushed me toward home and I seemed to hear Grandma’s whisper: Ask someone for a lift! It could be a mitzvah. That idea had never really made sense to me. And even if I wanted to ask someone for a good deed, there wasn’t a soul on the street.
But as I pushed the door of my apartment building open, I found myself face to face with a woman at the mailbox. In that split second, desperation overcame pride, “Could you possibly give me a lift?” I hurriedly said, feeling quite awkward and uncomfortable, “I never ask anybody for a lift, but...” An odd look crossed the woman’s face, and I added, “Oh! I live in Room 401. I moved in recently!”
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Then, without hesitation, she said, “Of course.”
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Back home, I happened to know Grandma Alice was Mrs. Green!
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________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.
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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.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________My four-year-old son Jack had a vast collection of toy cars, his prized possessions. One day, I jokingly suggested, “Jack, how about giving away some of your toy cars to the children who don’t have any?” “No, these are mine,” he said angrily, holding on to his toy cars tightly. At that moment, I knew he didn’t grasp the importance of sharing. Therefore, I decided it was time for me to teach him a valuable lesson.
The next day, I planned a special day out with him with the aim of gently getting him to open his heart. Our special day began with a visit to the local park, a place where Jack always feels pleased. We found a tree coming into flower, bathed in the warm sunlight. Nearby, a group of children were playing together. “Look, Jack,” I pointed out. “See how they’re sharing their toys? Notice the smiles on their faces?” Those children attracted Jack’s attention. He watched carefully as one child passed a bright red toy truck to another, and he noticed how their faces lit up in a shared moment of happiness. It made him feel curious. I continued, “Sharing doesn’t just make others happy, it can make you feel good too.” Jack kept silent with his expression becoming thoughtful and a bit doubtful.
On the way home, we stopped by a small community center which was hosting a charity event. Volunteers, cheerful and warm, were collecting toys for the poor children. Tables in front of them were decorated with various kinds of toys. Jack observed some children of his age eagerly contributing toys, their faces shining with pride and happiness. “See, Jack,” I whispered. “A small act of kindness can bring great joy to you and others.” Jack made no reply but from his hesitant look I could see he was struggling with an internal conflict.
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Paragraph 1: As we were about to leave, a little girl arrived.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Paragraph 2: Moved by the little girl, Jack urged me to take him home.
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