My mother believed in using things up. Last year, our cornfield had a bad harvest because birds feasted on the crops. It was probably then that Mom’s frugality(节俭)became even more extraordinary. She began keeping everything that seemed useless in the attic(阁楼)—worn-out clothes, old sheets, broken umbrellas, and some other old items. Mom’s favorite saying was “waste not, want not”(俭以防匮). My brother Josh and I weren’t sure what that meant until the “Affair of the Scarecrow(稻草人)”, which, as it later became known, left a lasting impression on us.

The story began with a pretty hat that Mom received as a gift to protect her from the sun. However, Josh and I could see that Mom’s frugal nature and fashion sense were in battle. Mom really didn’t want to get rid of the hat—it was new and had a lot of use left in it—but neither could she stand wearing it. She tried to take off the fancy decorations, but they were stuck on tight. She’d have to find some other solution.

Josh and I watched as Mom headed upstairs to the attic with the hat. “Waste not, want not,” she called back down. We heard boxes being moved around. Moments later, Mom leaned out, holding a flour bag full of straw, and with a mysterious smile, she placed the hat on it.

“What is that for?” I asked, confused. “A scarecrow! ” Mom exclaimed. “But not a good one yet.It needs a strong body to stand firm in the field,” she said with a frown. “And it doesn’t look scary enough,” Josh remarked. I had to admit that Josh, though younger than I was, could sometimes be more imaginative. Josh and I turned to each other, searching for a good idea. Soon enough, Josh’s eyes lit up with inspiration.

Paragraph 1: “Come with me!” Josh called out.

Paragraph 2: In the following days, the scarecrow stood proudly.

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.                         

“Who did this?” asked my teacher. Thirty children tried to think about not only what they had done, but also what our teacher may have found out. “Who did this?” asked my teacher once more. She wasn't really asking, she was demanding an answer. She seldom became angry, but she was this time. She held up a piece of broken glass and asked, “Who broke this window?”

“Oh, oh,” I thought. I was the one who broke the window. But I had not done it on purpose. It was caused by an errant (失手的) throw of a baseball. I was working on my baseball. It needed more work. Why did it have to be me? It wasn't really my fault. To be honest, I was the poor guy with the bad luck. Hundreds of terrible results came across my mind. If I admitted the guilt (罪过), I would be in lots of huge trouble. How would I be able to pay for a big window like that? I didn't even get enough pocket money. “My father is going to get angry with me,” I thought, “even he will give me a lesson.” I was not willing to raise my hand at all, but there seemed something mysterious to force me to put it up. I told the truth. “I did it.” I said no more. It was hard enough saying what I had done.

My teacher went to one of our library shelves and took down a brand-new book about sports. She then began walking straight towards my desk. I had never known my teacher to strike a student, but I feared she was going to start with me and she was going to use that book to do that.

“I know how you like baseball, so this book is for you.” she said as she stood looking down at my guilty face.

What she did was really beyond my expectation!

Amy is good at making pies, which got her a job at the Good Times restaurant months ago. And she was often regarded as the best worker there. Recently, she became the supervisor (主管) of the restaurant. She was kind and friendly to all the workers and the customers.

One morning, Amy was taking orders when she heard a conversation. “What you did there was great, Mason! It was hard to carry the old lady safely out of the fire. For a moment, I thought you couldn’t make it, my friend,” one man said. Then the other man replied, “Yeah, it was difficult, but that’s our job. And you were the hero today, Gordon. You carried that girl on your shoulder and her dog in your hand. It’s going to be on the newspapers tomorrow, I’m telling you.”

From their clothing and conversation, Amy knew they were firefighters. And she quickly realized that they were talking about the previous night’s fire at the old hotel on the other end of the road. Then the man named Gordon continued, “I don’t care about being in the papers. The little girl and her dog reminded me of my own daughter. She’s constantly asking for a dog, too.”

Amy was moved by the courage and sincerity of the two men. She wanted to show her appreciation for their selfless service. “How about helping pay for their meal?” she thought.

However, she wasn’t a rich girl at all. Weeks ago, her father had an accident and broke his legs. The operation cost a lot of money. And now he needed a wheelchair (轮椅) to move around so that he could live an easier life. But her family was poor and a good wheelchair wasn’t cheap. Amy was trying hard to save money for a wheelchair for her father. And she still needed a lot of money. “Well, the firefighters’ meal won’t cost too much,” Amy finally thought.

Then she went to the cashier (收银员) and secretly paid for their meal.

The next day, the firefighters began raising (募捐) money for a wheelchair for Amy’s father.

Our friendship can be traced back to our college days when I first met Rishi. We had our own share of first impression about each other. Mine was—she’s a lovely and charming personality. Hers was—I look like an arrogant (傲慢的) personality. I don’t blame her for this. Many of my close friends had the same view when they first met me. Blame it on me being a shy person to some extent.

We became really close within a short period of time. Ours was a group of four people divided into 2 each during our final year when we both chose advertising as our specialisation and the other two journalism. Back then, I was a regular user of BBM Messenger and hardly used WhatsApp.

On one specific occasion, we had really bad argument about a failed project. The usual blame game was on. We decided to put it past us and focus on our studies. During this time, she once handed me her phone to show me a picture. While I was going through that, I came across a message from a particular WhatsApp group that comprises of her and my other two friends. I asked her permission to view the group. She had a blank expression on her face. But she allowed me to go ahead.

I was in shock while going through their messages. Not really positive things were said about me in particular. It shook me. Because these were the people I considered my friends. I broke down in front of her. She apologised. But I felt cheated on. I told her about my decision of not wanting to continue this friendship further. We both missed each other. But neither of us wanted to give the last try.

Then came our official last trip.

It’s been almost 7 years after graduation since we picked up our friendship.