1 . The middle child, I think, is now an “endangered species”. According to a study, in 1976,65 percent of mothers between aged 40 and 44 had three or more children. Today, nearly two-thirds of women with children have only one or two. Middle children will soon be the tiniest.

As a middle child, I am disappointed at the potential disappearance of middle children. I’m the middle of three—two boys, one girl—so I’m what’s sometimes regarded as a “classic middle child”.

Being a middle child is not something you are eager for. As one middle child said to me, “There is a thing called middle-child syndrome (综合征). I certainly was always aware that the middle was not a position to be admired, even as I came to see typical middle-child features in myself. Middle children are natural mediators (和事佬); I avoid disagreements and habitually act as the family peace-maker. Middle children tend to be private but also long for love; I keep to myself but do not exactly hate attention.”

According to studies, middles traditionally receive less economic and emotional support from their parents. They also typically have less close relationships with their mothers and fathers compared with other brothers or sisters, so they tend to have more friends to fill the feeling gap.

In a study conducted by the City College of New York in which participants were asked to choose words they associate with the first, last, and middle kids, positive words such as caring and ambitious were cited concerning all three birth orders. Only middles, however, were described with such negative terms as overlooked and confused. More importantly, middles may be many things and they were the only birth order with which no one connected the term “overindulged”. It is true: their parents couldn’t allow them to do or have whatever they want, especially when they are enough old, and they don’t ask for everything either even if they are eager to own it occasionally.

Grandma tried to straighten out her fingers. “Jessica, I think I am done knitting (编织),” she said. “My fingers just won’t do what I tell them any more.” I looked at Grandma’s hands, remembering that she had taught me how to knit gloves for my dolls since I was little and that her hands had been sure and strong whatever she had knitted. Grandma had always said that I was very good with her knitting needles and balls of yarn (纱线).

But this winter she could hardly bend her fingers. The doctor said Grandma had arthritis (关节炎), suggesting she should keep her hands warm. I made her cups of tea to hold and moved her chair closer to the fire. However, her fingers were still difficult to move.

I wasn’t used to seeing Grandma’s hands so still. In the morning, her hands were still in her lap. In the evening, her quiet hands even made her voice stay still. I tried to help her find her voice. “Grandma, tell me about when you were a little girl like before,” I begged, knowing she loved to tell interesting stories of her nine brothers and sisters and herself during their childhood. “That was so long ago, Jessica,” whispered Grandma. “I can barely remember.”

This winter there were no hats with matching gloves or soft sweaters knitted by Grandma. But I missed her voice more than those. What about her sister Olga giving their snowman a bath in hot water? What about her brother Peti cutting off her doll’s beautiful hair and then hiding it? Were those words still moving silently in her head?

After dinner, Grandma fell asleep in her rocking chair. Mom sorted through our knitting items, among which an old pair of gloves caught my attention. The gloves were Grandma’s favorite ones with the names of Grandma and her nine brothers and sisters on the fingertips. Each time she wore them, all her happy childhood memories would become very interesting stories in her mouth.

The gloves gave me an idea.

“Grandma, shall we knit a new pair of gloves?” I asked hopefully.

Finding the Real Me

I had thought losing my job was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. But it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Losing my job was not the end of who I was but literally the beginning of discovering the real me.

It started out as one of the best days of my life, and certainly, of my career. My staff and I had been named the number one unit in our company, and I was taking them out for a celebratory lunch. Lunch was fun, the food was excellent, and the friendly atmosphere at the table made me smile. The weather was crisp, cool and sunny. I thought to myself “It just doesn’t get any better than this.” It was a perfect day!

Then came the teleconference at two o’clock as usual.

“Er, if you... if you are willing to move?” stuttered our associate director, voice trembling, “and if you cannot move, you will be given a severance package (遣散费), and ...”

How could this be happening? I felt numb, my world slowly coming to an end. My husband and family comforted me, but I was scared. Financially, I knew we would be okay. But I had worked full-time my whole life and it had become my identity — who I was and how I defined myself. I was a leader, and I felt, a good one. What would I be with that taken from me?

After sitting around feeling sorry for myself, I just casually turned on the television. A program caught my attention — a group of volunteers were helping children and hungry people all over the world. It struck me! I felt guilty knowing that even though I had lost my job, we had plenty of good, healthy food on the table every night. The words spoken by a volunteer seemed directed specifically at me — The best way to be blessed and to forget about your own problem is to help someone else. Ashamed, I realized that I had been abandoned to self-pity when I had so much to be thankful for and to do — a loving husband, beautiful children, and family and friends who needed me.

Paragraph 1: I decided to cook a great meal for my family that night.

Paragraph 2: The next morning, I announced to my family that I was going to start a cooking school for them.

When my sister, Dona, and I were little kids, my parents both joined the army. They stayed far away from our town and hardly returned home. My grandpa took on the big responsibility of taking care of us. Still, without our parents by our side, Dona and I sometimes felt lonely and sad, especially one winter.

One morning in that winter when Dona and I were sitting in our bedroom, dull and quiet, Grandpa said, “My dear, how about trying skating for fun?” Our faces immediately lit up and we answered together, “Great, we surely like it, Grandpa!”

He smiled and quickly set about building us a skating rink (溜冰场) in our yard. The process of building a skating rink was not easy. First, Grandpa laid out long wooden boards around the yard. Next, he made the base of the rink flat. Grandpa then began spraying the water, lightly at first, until the first layer of ice was established. He would then put some water onto the ice each night. And thus, the ice became thicker and thicker.

In the darkness of the night, from the kitchen window Dona and I watched Grandpa with great expectations. His back and shoulders rounded to protect him from the freezing wind. He stood alone, busying himself creating a perfect skating rink for us. The only light was from the moon and stars.

One night, Grandpa suddenly pressed his waist and the look on his face showed he was painful. Quite concerned, Dona and I rushed out and asked, “Grandpa! What’s wrong?” “My waist is painful. Don’t worry! I’ll be fine just after a little rest,” he smiled. Dona and I offered to help create the rink. But he said it was too cold outside at night and that building the rink needs much experience and lots of skills. Then, we gave up the idea of offering him a hand, but demanded he build the rink a few days later. Seeing we were determined, he walked into the room with us and had warm tea. Before long, Dona and I were tired and went to bed.

When we fell asleep, Grandpa quietly walked out into the yard.

Amazed, we hurriedly put on the skating equipment and rushed out._

“I look like a clown (小丑)!” Winston thought sadly. He pulled his cap down, thankful for the cover it provided. He wanted to escape the attention of the people outside the barbershop (理发店). He looked around before hurrying away into the darkness to put some distance between himself and the curious eyes of others.

As he moved quickly down the street,Winston wondered why he hadn’t spoken up to prevent the terrible haircut. He felt sad and questioned why this had happened to him. Did the barber give him this messed-up haircut on purpose? Winston didn’t believe it because the barber looked very friendly. But it seemed so crazy! Could he have unknowingly offended the barber,and this disastrous hairstyle was the barber’s way of getting back at him?

Winston was also worried that Jack would laugh at him. Jack was his cousin and liked playing jokes. But maybe he wouldn’t; he was understanding too. Winston kept thinking about it.Upon entering his new home, ,Winston’s mom greeted him from the kitchen. She called out to him,asking to see his new hairstyle. Winston walked into the kitchen, his cap still on, and slowly took it off.

His mother looked very surprised. She couldn’t help but burst into laughter. “Oh déar,” she shouted. “What happened?” Winston stood silently for a moment before letting out his anger. He blamed his mom for bringing him to this place, torcing him to attend a new school where he believed everyone would make fun of him. He also said he hated this terrible hairstyle, and his hair was beyond fixing.

Just as his anger was about to grow, the doorbell-rang. Winston’s mom calmly told him to answer it. As he opened the door, he forgot to cover his terrible haircut, and there stood his cousin Jack. Since it was Saturday today, they had planned to go skating together. Winston felt extremely embarrassed.

Jack looked at Winston in disbelief.

That afternoon, Winston returned to the barbershop, hoping to find out the truth.

George was a driver and he spent so much time at his work that he could hardly have a meal together with his wife and three children. In the evenings he attended classes, seeking to get knowledge that one day would help him to find a better paying job.

George’s family often complained that he was not spending enough time with them, but his only answer was, “I am doing all this for you and I work hard to provide my family with the best that I can.”

Soon after George had passed his exams, he received a good job offer with a salary, which was significantly higher than he had before. So now George could provide his family with more expensive clothes, some luxury items or vacations in foreign countries. It was like a dream come true, but family still did not get enough attention from George, as he continued to work very hard and often, he did not get to see his family for most of the week.

Time passed and George’s hard work paid off-he was promoted. He decided to relieve his wife from domestic works, so he hired a maid. He also decided that their flat was not big enough for their family and they needed a more spacious one. Thus he needed to work even harder and, moreover, he continued his studies, so that he would be promoted again. George worked so hard that sometimes he even had to spend his Sundays with his clients instead of his wife and children. And again, whenever family asked for his time and complained that they did not spend enough time together, he answered he was doing all this only for them.

A bit later George was promoted, and he could buy a spacious house with a beautiful view. On the first Sunday evening at their new home, George told his wife and kids now he decided not to take any studies or work not so hard so that he could spend more time with his beloved family.

The next morning, George suddenly felt a sharp pain in his stomach.

The day finally came when George recovered from his illness.