One day, a woman gazed silently at a black and white photograph of a little girl kneeling in the snow.

“Her name is Tina,” said the man who had handed her the picture. “She’s seven years old.   I love my daughter more than anything, but I can’t keep her. My wife…she isn’t Tina’s mother,   you know? She hates having a reminder around of my other marriage. I had to send Tina back to my cx-wife. to keep her cafe”

“But Tina’s mother hasn’t had Tom with her for your; she’s married now with two kids and she... well. she’s mutationally manic in deal with another one. You see?” He swallowed hard before adding. “My daughter need a home.”

The woman handed the photograph to her husband, when look it and audited it for several minutes before giving it back with a small smile He said. “Well. honey, what do you think?”

The woman looked into the eyes of the little girl’s father “Yes,” she said “We’ll take her.”

The little girl in the photograph was me. And the common when degreed to open her heart and home to a child she’d never met was my new mother. My new father, of course, played an important, loving part in this decision. but it was my mother who was willing to take on the full-time, thankless, and often heartbreaking care of a previously abused child. Loving me would be a challenge for hot from the very beginning.

In the first place, I didn’t want to be there. I was heartbroken at being taken away from my father. Moreover, I had a natural distrust of women. The two in my life so far had either abandoned me or beaten me. In my mind, why should this new one be any different?

I bonded with my new father quickly. But my mother was the one to deal with a bitter.   confused little girl. I tested my new mother’s love from time to time.

One day, when we ate out, I made a noise on purpose.

However, my mother didn’t give up.

Everyone has a hero — someone he admires, who has had an impact on his life. My brother, John, is my hero. He is the most sympathetic, sweet and funny person I have ever met. John is also mentally handicapped (智障的) and has a developmental disability known as autism (自闭症).

I used to be ashamed of John when I was little. When he first started talking, he had a hard time with pronunciation and understanding the meaning of words. He called me May-Me for most of my childhood because he could not pronounce Amy. As John grew older, his language ability gradually increased. I went from May-Me to Amy, and hammer burgers became hamburgers.

When I was younger, I was embarrassed by John. He used to run around in stores talking to himself, flicking his ears and putting his hands in his mouth. He had a hard time swallowing and would have drool (流口水) running down his face. John was very loud, and it seemed to me that he would always find the quietest moments to talk.

All I ever wanted was a normal brother. I would look at other brothers and sisters, see their relationships and turn green with envy. Why did my brother have to be so different? I was very self-conscious of what people thought. I felt as if the entire world was laughing at me because of the way John was acting. I was utterly offended at times that I could not have a normal brother.

The siblings of an autistic child can have many reactions to the amount of attention the autistic child receives. Some feel as if they are not receiving enough attention and may become superachievers to get their share. I hate to admit it, but I definitely fall into this category. I feel the need to excel (突出) in everything I do. I cannot help but think that this comes from having a disabled brother.

John has changed significantly over the past eighteen years.

As I grow older, I’m no longer ashamed of my brother; instead, I am ashamed that I used to be.

The Cultural Symbol of China

There are lots of fantastic things representing (代表) our great culture and people.

A Chair for My Mother

My mother works as a waitress in the Blue Tile Diner. After school sometimes I go to meet her there. Then her boss Josephine gives me a job too. When I finish, Josephine says, “Good work, honey,” and pays me. And every time, I put half of my money into the jar (罐子).

It takes a long time to fill a jar this big. Every day when my mother comes home from work, I take down the jar. My mama empties all her change from tips for me to count. Then we push all of the coins into the jar.

Sometimes my mama is laughing when she comes home from work. Sometimes she’s so tired she falls asleep while I count the money. Some days she has lots of tips. Some days she has only a few. Then she looks worried. But each evening every single shiny coin goes into the jar.

We sit in the kitchen to count the tips. Usually Grandma sits with us too. Often she has money in her old wallet for us. Whenever she gets a good bargain (划算的交易) on tomatoes or bananas or something she buys, she puts by the savings and they go into the jar.

When we can’t get a single other coin into the jar, we are going to take out all the money and go and buy a chair. Yes, a chair. A wonderful, beautiful, fat, soft armchair for Mama and Grandma. When Mama comes home, her feet hurt. “There’s no good place for me to rest my feet,” she says. When Grandma wants to sit back and cut up potatoes, she has to get as comfortable as she can on a hard kitchen chair.

So that is how come Mama brought home the biggest jar she could find and all the coins started to go into the jar.

Now the jar is too heavy for me to lift down.

Finally we find the chair we are all dreaming of.

The excited sound of seventh-grade laughter and voices spilled down the hallway as the students filed into the gym. I weaved my way through the mass of people and sat down next to my best friend, Lauren.

“So, what exactly are we doing here?” she questioned.

“Well, according to Mrs. Marks, we’re supposed to be listening to a speech about bullying and peer pressure.”

As soon as the speaker started talking, I snapped to attention. She had this way about her, as if she knew how to reach into our minds and souls and make us think. I though about the kids who came to school every day, despite knowing that they would have to face cruel comment all day long.

One boy, in particular, came to mind. Every day, this boy came to school late, and I suspected it was because he needed to get medicine from the nurse. But this didn’t stop kids in the class from making fun of him. The boy would put his head down on his desk in shame. The worst, though, was when he tried to fight back. His attackers only laughed and continued the cruelty until the entire room was laughing at his expense.

As I sat in the auditorium, absorbing everything the speaker had to say, thoughts of this poor boy crept into my head.

“Now, before I leave today, I would like to give everyone here an opportunity to say anything he or she wants to on the subject of bullying or peer pressure. You may apologize to a friend, thank someone for his or her kindness, anything, And this is the one time I can promise that no one, will laugh at you.”

The stillness in the room made me believe her. Slowly, I saw a few hands raise tentatively (犹豫地) in the air behind me, One girl wanted to apologize to a friend she had been ignoring recently. Another thanked a boy for his kindness when she slipped on the steps the other day.

It was then that my moment of courage arrived, inspiring me to act.

Later that day, the boy I had been talking about came up to me privately.

“Will you do me a favor, Achenyo?” Mama called as she looked up from her weaving. Beside her was a pile of wild-grass stalks (秆). Mama took a stalk, laid it along the length of the half-finished bag, and began to weave (编织). In the corner were pots of dyes (染料) she’d use to paint the finished bags. “Will you get me some water for the dyes?” “Of course, Mama!” Achenyo picked up a pot as she ran outside. She didn’t like weaving, although it was a tradition for a mother to pass on the trade to her daughter. Outside, Achenyo called to her neighbor Ajuma. Both girls, with pots balanced on their heads, made their way to the river.

Achenyo and Ajuma soon arrived at the water’s edge, and they found a huge surprise. The river was gone! In its place was a blanket of dark green leaves and lavender-colored (淡紫色的) flowers. “Oh no!” Achenyo cried. “Mama won’t have water to mix the dyes for her bags.” When the adults arrived at the riverbank, they shook their heads, saying “They’ve struck again!”

Last year, the rainy season had brought an invasion (入侵) of water hyacinths. The plants had covered the river and left no room to dip a pot to get water. And now they were back. The adults walked into the water. They began pulling up water hyacinths and throwing them onto the riverbank. When they’d cleared enough plants, the girls filled their pots with water. A pile of water hyacinths lay on the riverbank. What a shame to waste such pretty flowers, Achenyo thought. She picked some for Mama, and then the girls headed home. Each day, they found the river covered by water hyacinths as if no one had cleared the waterfront (水边地) the day before. To fill their pots, they again had to pull up and throw water hyacinths onto the riverbank. The pile on the sand grew taller.

One day, as Achenyo moved an armful of dried water hyacinths out of her way, she had an idea. Carrying the plants under her arm, she ran home.

“Mama, will you teach me to weave?” asked Achenyo eagerly.

One afternoon, Achenyo held up her finished work made from water hyacinths.

We had just relocated to Germany and moved into a big and old country house with a mysterious abandoned wine cellars (地窖), which my husband warned me many times not to explore without him. After settling down, we began slowly releasing our large family of rescue cats and dogs into the woods behind our house so that they could get used to the area and venture out on their own. So, it wasn’t long before we gained a reputation for having lots of rescue animals with us in the neighborhood.

One day, the doorbell rang and I was sure some of my Christmas packages had arrived. I ran to the door and swung it open, but no one was there. I sensed something and looked down, only to find a beautiful calico (有斑点的) kitten sitting there, looking up at me with big, intelligent eyes. There was no way that she could have rung the doorbell by herself, was there? Were my new neighbors playing tricks on me? Perhaps, someone had found the kitten somewhere and left her there, and then rang the doorbell and ran away. They accurately guessed we would welcome an additional family member and take care of her.

My husband called her our little angel, so we named her Angelica accordingly. It seemed as if she was always meant to be in this big family and she turned out to be a perfect companion. Always by my side, she was more like a puppy than a kitten. Wise beyond her years, she enjoyed exploring through the mysterious house as much as I did, but with much less fear. Angelica was courageous.

So, I decided to be brave, too. I had promised my husband that I wouldn’t explore dangerous areas unless he or someone else was around, but he was away on a business trip for a week and I figured that Angelica would count as my companion. I was ready to explore the cellar, and so was she.

The only way in was through a hatch (盖子) that was partially hidden by the grass that covered it, then down a shaky ladder to its dark depths, probably twelve feet deep. I equipped myself with a good flashlight and warm clothes. Angelica sat on the edge and watched me carefully start down the ladder. Suddenly, there was a crash at the foot.