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.

Like many kids, last summer I learned to ride a bike. Only I am in my 30s. When I was a child, I had no one to teach me. My mum never learned. My parents divorced (离婚) when I was 4, and in an attempt to perform parental responsibility, my father bought a bicycle for my brother and me to share.

My mum later remarried. When my brother and I were laughed at because we were the only kids past 6 years old who still relied on training wheels, my stepdad removed them, but in doing that, I lost interest and trust in the activity. I was so scared—I was quite tall for my age at 7 and I was worried I’d fall off. I thought I was too old to learn too.

Not knowing how to ride didn’t bother me initially, until we moved to the suburbs, where bicycles were popular. On trips to the convenience store to buy candy with my friends, I was always the last to arrive, on foot. By then, I was 12 years old.

In my early 30s, I remember feeling envious as I watched children as young as 3 learn to balance on bikes. Among them were my neighbours, whom I would occasionally babysit. Then something changed. The fear within was still there, but something much stronger was taking over.

I decided to join a women’s bike-riding workshop. There, I stood in an urban park, determined to overcome my fear. Meeting women from diverse backgrounds, all seeking cycling skills for various reasons, strengthened my determination. The first thing I noticed was how different each person’s learning curve (曲线) was. Some were balancing in no time, while others, like me, needed a bit more time. The workshop was a safe space, full of encouragement and support. Each time I fell, there were hands to help me up, and every time I made progress, there were cheers to celebrate it. Several weeks later, I learned to ride.

To enjoy the joy of riding, I bought my own bike.

Learning to ride a bike in my 30s taught me that it’s never too late to learn something new. ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Losing a parent is one of the most painful parts of life. No matter how old we are when our parents leave us, it can be a heartbroken experience. Our memories are all that are left of them and happy reminders of their love turn into our most valuable treasures. That’s how Mara Soriano feels about the teddy bear that she tragically (不幸地) lost during her recent move to a new apartment.

Diagnosed (诊断) with cancer, Mara Soriano’s mother, Marilyn, gave her daughter the bear as a gift. After her mother’s death last June, the gift became even more special. “That bear was basically the last reminder of my mom. It was her voice that accompanied me,” she said in an interview.

The toy didn’t cost a lot, but it contained a recording of her mother’s voice telling her that she loved her so much and was proud of her. The bear, called Mama Bear, was in the backpack that contained electronics like an iPad. When the bag was lost last week during the move, the 28-year-old was heartbroken — not for the devices (设备), but for Mama Bear.

Mara posted a photo of her and her Mama Bear on the Internet, explaining the importance of the bear. Millions of netizens were touched by the story. More and more people were talking about the bear, but there was no good news for Mara. So again and again she posted online about the item and the story behind it, hoping it could catch more viewers’ attention in a big way.

Actor Ryan Reynolds was moved by Mara’s story and then posted an appeal for Mama Bear’s safe return. “I think we all need this bear to come home,” he wrote. Along with the message, he also offered a reward for the people who found the bear.

One day, here came a piece of good news from the Internet.

It was Christmas Eve morning, and I a woke with a mission: to find my lost cat, Baby-Girl. The icy rain was beating against the windows. I said a prayer for Baby-Girl. It had been six months since she’d gone missing, but I still had faith. It was the season for miracles, after all!

That summer, my sweet cat disappeared from my parents’ house. She had been staying with them while I was between apartments. I lived and worked in Washington DC then. Baby-Girl had got out of my parents’ house three days before I was flew back home to pick her up. Dad and I spent that entire visit searching for her. Dad was the family’s “realist”, meaning he was always trying to prepare me for the worst. “She’s either been hit by a car or been taken in by someone who found her,” he said. Dad always supported me, but he was so uncertain.

Baby-Girl had been a stray cat when I found her. Though I couldn’t explain it, I knew I’d see her again, even after I returned to Washington DC without her and the weeks stretched into months, deep down I had this feeling that we’d be reunited.

Now, home again for the holidays, I was determined to pick up my search. I grabbed Baby-Girl’s cat carrier and loaded it into the car, then asked my dad to drive me to the shelter, hoping I’d find her there. “Sharon, you have to be realistic,” Dad said as we headed to the garage. “She’s been gone too long. You’re not going to find her.” “Well, I just have a feeling,” I said. Dad raised an eyebrow as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “Don’t you believe in Christmas miracles?” I asked. “Bah humbug,” he said. It was his favorite Christmas saying and an inside joke in our family. He even had a shirt with decorations across the front, which he wore every Christmas morning.

At the shelter, the woman at the front desk greeted my dad warmly. “Hi, Mr. Dillon! Still looking for your cat?”

Back home, the rest of the family welcomed Baby-Girl. Dad remained stubbornly uncertain.

Lena could clearly remember the night she had to flee her home in Hungary. It was the beginning of the Second World War and her family needed to escape fast. She quickly packed a suitcase with a few pieces of clothing, her diary, and-her most prized possession - a beautiful silk scarf. Lena and her best friend, Monika, had persuaded their parents to buy them matching scarves, which they each wore tied around their neck as a symbol of their friendship. Lena had no idea that when she left for America that night, she would never return. Her family settled on the sunny west coast in California.

Lena kept that special silk scarf for many years. One day she decided to give it to her granddaughter, Eliza, to wear to her first job interview for good luck. Lena was afraid that Eliza would lose the scarf, but her granddaughter reassured her, “Don’t worry, Grandma nothing’s going to happen to your scarf. You’ll see, It is going to bring both of us luck today.” With that, Eliza kissed her grandmother on the cheek and left.

That afternoon, Eliza left the interview feeling confident that she had got the job-She decided to celebrate by going to a restaurant. As she sat at her table, she felt someone staring at her.

Sitting next to her was an elderly woman who could not take her eyes off her. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” Eliza asked.

“I’m sorry, dear, but you remind me of someone I once knew,” the old woman replied in an accented voice. “My best friend looked like you and used to wear a scarf just like the one you’re wearing around your neck.” Eliza felt goose bumps go up her arms. She had heard stories of her grandmother’s best friend and knew the significance of the scarf. Could this be Monika, her grandmother’s childhood friend?

Eliza introduced herself and waited to hear the name of the other woman.

They walked the short distance to Lena’s home and rang the doorbell.

Last Sunday morning, my parents and I were going on a vacation in Sydney, where my grandparents lived, to celebrate my birthday. Actually, celebrating my birthday in my grandparents’ home had been a family tradition. As a result, their neighbors, warm-hearted and friendly, were familiar with me. Sometimes, they even came to the house and brought me birthday gifts in person.

We took the subway there as usual. When we got off the subway, I found I had lost my bag. The bag was memorable to me because it was given by my parents when I became a senior high school student. It also had some valuable items inside, including an expensive watch a birthday gift from my grandparents.

I couldn’t help but cry because the bag meant so much to me.“What’s the matter. Lily?” my mom asked. I told her that I might leave the bag on the subway. Hearing that, she comforted me and said. “We have plenty of time. Let’s talk to the staff (工作人员).”

Instantly, my parents reported the situation to the staff at the subway station. A kind worker smiled to me and said. “If someone found it, they would hand it in.” He asked us to wait patiently for a while, and then he called for help．After half an hour, the worker didn’t give us any information. I started to become anxious and lose hope. My father said. “No news is good news.”However, the worker finally apologized to us and let us wait for the information on the recovery of the missing bag at home. We had to go to my grandparents’ house first.

In the afternoon, while I, together with my grandparents and my father, was preparing for a birthday party, I heard my mother talking to someone on the phone about my lost bag. My heart was beating violently, and I was expecting something extraordinary to happen. Sure enough, my mother got me to answer the phone, “Good news, Lily. The call is just for you, from the kind worker. He said a girl called Beatrice had sent the bag back.” I felt amazed that the girl’s name is the same as my friend’s in Sydney.

I took the phone, and then the voice of the worker who had helped us at the subwaystation came from it.

My family and I were dancing happily when someone knocked at the door.

In 1989, just out of high school, I was faced with the tough job of deciding my own course of study, which was only three months away from university. In those days in Pakistan, there were limited choices: becoming a doctor or an engineer or entering the financial world after obtaining a business degree. I didn’t have any interest in engineering, so all I had to do was either medical or commercial work. I couldn’t decide.

My uncle, an influential member of the family, recommended that I spend a month in an international company and then a month at a hospital. Then I could make a decision. I thought it was a great idea.

I was accepted for a month’s placement (实习工作) at a foreign bank in Karachi. I had some insight into how the financial world worked, met new acquaintances, and enjoyed the general relaxed atmosphere of the office.

The month passed quickly, and I was soon employed at one of Karachi’s premier hospitals. The experience could not have been more different. There was a tense atmosphere at the hospital. Days began sooner(at seven as opposed to nine in the morning at the bank), and they were full of interminable (无止境的) chores and late-night visits! It was insane (疯狂的), working all day, all night, and then another.

I was starting to think about both of my experiences. The bank had offered a more relaxing environment, better working hours and less pressure. It was exciting and unpredictable in the hospital, but it was hard to learn and practice. It looked like the business choice would win.

Near the end of my month in the hospital, I was on my way back from a particularly hectic (紧张忙碌的) evening call, and there was a public bus in front of me, and there were some kids in it. While the driver threaded his way through the cars, I saw that the boys were swaying left and right.

All of a sudden, a boy fell from the back of the bus.

When I visited him at the hospital the following morning, all his family members stood up with grateful smiles on their faces.