I was an average student in my early elementary years. I came home with a steady flow of B’s, C’s and the occasional F’s in second language subjects. I was told that I wasn’t applying myself and, as every report card I ever brought home clearly stated, I talked too much.

I didn’t write when I was supposed to write. I talked to others while the teacher was giving instructions. That I could recite what she had said to the class while I was talking was not helpful because I had a negative effect on my classmates’ learning. So I regularly brought home disappointing report cards.

My parents and my teachers didn’t know what to do with me. Punishments didn’t seem to work. Rewards didn’t seem to either. And, frankly, I don’t think I knew what I could do to “apply myself”. And I certainly didn’t know how to not enjoy talking with my classmates! What I knew was that I talked too much. Until grade 5.

That autumn, we had a sudden change in teachers as our elderly teacher took a medical leave. In his place, a young substitute (代课老师) arrived — Mrs Royal. She looked like she was freshly out of university and seemed too young to be cast in the role of being responsible for a class of tween, but there she was, charged with a lively group, and me.

I don’t remember many details of that year except the afternoon when I got my first report card from her. She handed out the report cards right after the afternoon break and invited us to look them over. Then she let us know that we could all talk quietly amongst ourselves while she called each student up one at a time, in alphabetical order (按字母顺序), to discuss our report cards with her.

I looked over my report card, expecting the usual result.

Then it was my turn to talk with her.

The instant my family boarded the plane, I felt like every head turned to us, looking at us with a fake politeness. I knew what they were thinking: “Oh! No. Please, don’t sit in the aisle next to me.” In my head I could even hear the flight attendant saying, “You can feel free to store your... child in the overhead compartment (隔层).”

We found our seats. My son sat by the window, my wife in the center, and I took the seat on the aisle. I saw a “cool guy” get onto the plane, a man about my age. He was wearing a concert T-shirt, ripped jeans, and I could hear that he’s listening to rock music on his iPhone. This guy represented who I was as a traveler before I had a child. He took the aisle seat directly across from me. We took off.

Planes are not designed with children in mind. There is no ball hole, no playground. To keep my child occupied, my wife and I took turns walking him from the pilot’s cabin to the tail. Suddenly, we hit turbulence (强气流) and needed to take our seats. The plane was shaking. My son’s ears began hurting from the drop in cabin pressure, and he had a meltdown. This is a child who has difficulty with crowded social situations and excessive stimulation. My wife and I could do nothing but held him to live through this moment.

I looked over at Cool Guy, and he was staring at me, trying to pour Coke. I wanted to say, “Look, Cool Guy, I am sorry if we are ruining your time on United Airlines, but we have a crisis here, and if anyone on this plane needs to drink, it’s me!”

Finally, my son fell asleep from exhaustion. And that wave of exhaustion flowed over my family. I just sat there, listening to the slight sound of the engine and hoping we would start our landing in Chicago soon.

Then, I felt that somebody patted my shoulder.

My son’s eyes lit up, and he eagerly grabbed the toy, delighted.

Recently, I volunteered with Interact, my school's service group at Read 2 Me, an activity that gives volunteers the opportunity to read to little kids and interact with them.

I walked with other volunteers into a large room in which there was a large variety of books. Some were picture books, such as Cifford or The Very Hungry Caterpillar. Others were chapter books with pictures in them, such as the Berenstain Bears and The Wimpy Kid series. For the extremely talented kids who like to be challenged, we provided chapter books that required imagination to understand. Just after I had gathered some books together, someone announced that it was almost time for the activity to start. All at once, a burst of voices was heard. The doors opened, and the children rushed in, beginning to look for a reading buddy（伙伴）. They all looked so eager to read, just like mice eager to taste a piece of cheese. I was sitting there waiting and glancing at the books that I had picked out for the lucky kid I would read them to.

Just then, a boy about six years old began to come my way, and I knew that I had found my reading buddy. "Hi, I'm Max. Would you like to be my reading buddy?" "Sure," I responded. And then, I let him search for a book of his choice.

"I like this one," shouted Max. I looked at the book that he had chosen. It told an adventure story of a little girl with her dog, and it seemed that it would be a good one to read to him.

Paragraph 1: "Can you tell me why you want this book?” I asked.

Paragraph 2: Then came the after-reading activities in which we interacted with each other.

One click of my wooden stick, and the buffaloes (水牛) moved forward. I guided them along the road’s edge, through the heart of the village. We walked past mud homes and villagers bent over tending to their crops. We eyed the green fields, where the buffaloes could eat growing grass. This was my life in a small village in Sindh, Pakistan. We had little, but I had a big dream.

Up ahead laughter attracted my attention. A group of students came into view, their uniforms a contrast to my faded trousers and worn-out shoes. Fingers wrapped tight around my stick, I stepped forward and said sincerely, “Dear students, could you please show me your books?” The students looked from my face to my stick, to their books. They quickly opened their bags and showed me their books. Illustrations of people and places caught my imagination.

“Someday, I’ll go to school too,” I declared, returning their books. Actually, I was desperate to go to school so that I could broaden my horizons.

Months passed. Every day I rose to my chores and buffaloes. Until, one day I got my chance. My uncle came to visit. He and Father sat, drinking tea outside. “Brother, you must send Rasool Bux to school. Herding the buffaloes is not in his future,” Uncle convinced my father. that all children should go to school. The following week, I was studying in primary school. Now, armed with my own books, I set out to learn everything. I read textbooks, asked questions, and even read newspapers for my father and his companions.

By the end of the year, I proved to be one of the best students in the school. I resolved to study at college or university in Karachi, a big city over 150 kilometers away. Unfortunately, I suffered from a skin condition that left white spots on my skin. The constant loss of skin color was stressful, making me feel bad about myself and even drawing attention away from my studies.

The thought of not being able to finish school made me feel extremely depressed.

I visited my uncle after I did make it to university in Karachi.

Rikki’s mom was preparing baked beans and mixing up potato salad to go with Saturday night barbecue when Rikki stormed in the front door and marched to her room. She glanced out the window and saw their neighbor Lexi walking back to her house across the road. Mother’s intuition told herself this situation might need some direction.

“Rikki, come in here. I need some help with dinner.” Rikki came out with an obstinate look on her face — the kind that kids have when they know they are wrong but have convinced themselves they are right.

“I noticed that Lexi came over but didn’t stay long. She is your age and in your class at school. Why doesn’t she stay longer?” Mom watched Rikki out of the corner of her eye as she continued to prepare food. “I don’t like her,” Rikki whined. “I wish she would stop coming over here all the time. She dresses terrible, and sometimes she doesn’t smell good. Her nose is always runny, and her hair is tangled. None of us like her.” Mom knew that “none of us” meant the popular crowd Rikki ran with.

“That’s not her fault, Rikki. I don’t know what her family is like, but maybe she doesn’t have anyone to help her. Some kids don’t have the extra things that you and your friends have. That doesn’t make them any less worthy than you.” Rikki replied that she knew that, and those things were not the real issue. “I just don’t like to play with her, Momma. She doesn’t like to do the same things that I do.”

Mom told Rikki to go on outside and play. What she didn’t know, however, was that Rikki’s dad had been watching while he was grilling. He didn’t like the fact that Rikki had ignored Lexi, so he decided to intervene. He wanted to know why Lexi was leaving with her head down and looking so sad.