Kevin and I were friends in the elementary school. As honor students, both of us sat in the front of the class, but in opposite sides. He was the smartest boy I’d ever known, who almost always got straight A’s in study. Actually, I was second only to him. Part of me wanted to hate him, but I couldn’t. After all, we were close companions. Instead, I envied him and longed with all my heart to be just like him.

Mrs. Becker, our teacher, was a patient, kind old lady. She would flash a pleasant smile, when the class got into an argument, and patiently guide us toward the correct answer. Last week, Mrs. Becker, put a big circle on the blackboard and said it was a pizza pie. “David,” she said to me, “If I were to divide the pizza, would you like one-third or one-tenth?”. Ten is the bigger number, so that’s what I picked. At that moment, Kevin started waving his hand in the air, shouting that he chose one-third. Mrs. Becker drew lines on the circle, showing that Kevin’s piece of the pie was bigger than mine. “David’s gonna get hungry,” Kevin joked. Then the whole class was laughing. My expression changed from a half smile, to a half frown, to one hundred percent unhappy face.

With a mixture of bitterness and envy slipping into my heart, I began to argue with him on purpose during the rest of class. Thus, a heated argument unavoidably broke out when a controversial topic appeared. After hearing our separate statements patiently, Mrs. Becker brought us up to the front of the class and placed Kevin on one side of her desk and me on the other. In the middle of her desk was a large, round object. I could clearly see that it was black. She asked Kevin what color the object was. “White,” he answered. I couldn’t believe he said the object was white, when it was obviously black!

Another argument started between us, but this time about the color of the object.

Then, Mrs. Becker asked us what the color of the object was, after we changed places.

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.

In the spring sun, my aunt and I headed for her flower shop. Normally I would be delighted to help in her shop, but not recently because of Rosa. Rosa was my sister, just one month old, who was settled in my old bedroom. For ten years, the small room was full of my toys and books. But now it was transformed into her baby room, decorated like a garden with pinks and yellows. My space, my old life, was gone.

“Here we are!” We arrived at the shop, a wave of colour and sweet smell washing over me. My aunt said I could pick some flowers for Mum and Dad. I used to love this, but today I was so overcome with tiredness and envy. Why bother to bring them flowers when they were enjoying Rosa at home without me?

Silently I helped my aunt arrange flowers. “Your mum told me there hasn’t been much shut eye recently for any of you.” “Not much, since Rosa the alarm clock was installed (安装).” I complained with a huge yawn (哈欠).

“I remember having to creep (蹑手蹑脚地走) around like a worn-out mouse when your mum was a baby. I spent the first months hating her so much.” “But you and Mum seem so close,” I said, guiltily hiding away my envy of Rosa.

“Now we are. But it took me years to grow into the role of big sister. Few flowers blossom (绽放) overnight, you know.” She pulled me in for aside hug, glancing up at the clock, and suggested I take a walk outside.

Behind her shop was a field dotted with spring flowers. Stepping into the field, I began to pick little flowers. It was like gathering my childhood memories. I remembered how I’d sit with Dad, making flower chains, crowning (授予) each other with the silliest titles: Queen of Junk Food and King of Mess. My smile grew wider. The shining yellow flowers reminded me of the color in Rosa’s baby room. Was she awake? I wondered.

Suddenly I saw two familiar figures walking towards me.

Rosa was wide awake in her baby basket beside the picnic blanket.

It was a chilly Friday night, and I had just returned from climbing one of the red rocks of Sedona. My father telephoned me as I walked through the arches to my dorm room and told me that my mother had been in a terrible car crash and had been taken to the intensive care unit (重症监护病房) of a nearby hospital.

When I got to the hospital, my father led me down a wide hallway with machines all around. A strong smell of medicine brought a sick feeling to my already tuning stomach. As I turned into my mother’s ward, the cadaverous (形容枯槁的) condition of her body shocked me. Her face had swollen, her eyes had huge dark bruise, and she had tubes down her throat and in her arms. Gently holding her cold swollen hands, I said “hi” in a calm voice, controlling my urge to cry out.

She kept looking at me as she pounded her hand against the bed, looking painful. I turned my face away from her, trying to hide the tears that were rolling down my face. That was when it struck me that I really might lose my mother.

From that night on, my life completely changed. Up to that point, I’d had the luxury of just being a kid, having to deal with only the exaggerated melodramas of teenage life. As my mother struggled first to stay alive and then to relearn to walk, my sense of priorities changed sharply. My mother needed me. The trials and trouble of my daily life at school, which had seemed so important before, now appeared insignificant. My mother and I had faced death together, and life took on a new meaning for both of us.

After a week of treatment in intensive care, my mother’s condition improved enough to be moved to a regular hospital ward. She was finally out of danger but, because her legs had been crushed, there was doubt whether she would be able to walk again. I was just grateful that she was alive. Two months later, a sort of hospital suite was set up in our family room, and she was allowed to come home.

The two kids were whispering. Their dad, Jason, could hear them, but they didn’t know that. Jason listened intently.

”…and now I can’t sleep,” he heard his daughter say. “It’s okay, Ashley. Mom and Dad are sleeping. I’ll help you,” Todd said. “Thanks,” said Ashley.

Jason silently opened his bedroom door. His wife was asleep, and he decided not to wake her up. He watched as the two slinked (溜) down the stairs. He followed, unseen, unheard. The kids went to the living room. He watched as his son, Todd, put a blanket on the floor. He watched as Todd arranged the couch pillows on the blanket, against the couch. Ashley sat on the blanket and held her favorite teddy bear.

“I’ll be right back,” whispered Todd. Jason held still as Todd went to the kitchen. He quietly watched as Todd carefully made two peanut butter and jelly-sandwiches. And he watched as Todd went back to the living room and sweetly handed his sister a sandwich. Ashley gave Todd a smile. Jason wondered what show the kids would watch on television so late at night. He decided to find out before making his presence known. He did not expect to see what he saw next.

Ashley turned on a small flashlight. Todd picked up a book that Jason hadn’t noticed before. One of the two had carried it downstairs. “Okay Ashley, this was one of my favorites when I was little,” said Todd. Jason smiled in his hiding place in the dark. Todd was only nine. He watched, unable and not wanting to look away, Todd read in a voice just above a whisper while Ashley sat and listened and very quietly chewed. Her head rested on her brother’s shoulder, and she looked so peaceful. Could these really be the same children who had been fighting only a few hours earlier?

Todd read another book, which Jason had also not seen earlier. Then Todd said, “That’s all we can do, Ashley. My teacher said we have to get at least eight hours of sleep. Give me a second to eat my sandwich, okay?”

Jason saw the brother was making sure that he did what his teacher said.

Jason went quietly into his room and opened his journal.

Missy was absolutely my best friend in the whole world. We had known each other since first grade, and we literally did everything together. We frequently visited each other’s homes, we knew each other’s families like they were our own. The interesting thing about our relationship, however the fact was that the older we got, the more our values seemed to differ. We still enjoyed a lot of the same things, but I was a bit more settled while she loved being associated with popular people and things. Although she was basically a good person, she had no problem with forcing things to go her way.

Perhaps this is why it seemed that her family actually trusted me more than they trusted her. So, on the day when Missy showed up at my house with a huge dent (凹痕) in her father’s car, I knew that we were in for a troublesome time.

She had banged the car into a tree while out that day, and she knew her father was going to have an explanation. So she stopped by my house in order to make up a story that would lessen her father’s rage. Missy decided to tell him that while in a parking lot, someone must have backed into the car and dented it. Looking at the dent with some crashed leaves and bark still sticking there, I attempted to perish (打消) her thought. “I don’t think your father will buy it.” “ Don’t worry,” she insisted,“even if my dad doesn’t trust me, he’ll trust you.” My role was to confirm for her. Now keep in mind that I had strong objections to lying and I wanted absolutely nothing to do with the situation. I loved her parents just like my own, and I did not want to be a party to this lie that Missy was creating. Nevertheless, after much request and a general questioning of my loyalty to our friendship, I decided that the least I could do was to act as a silent witness. That way, I wasn’t actually lying; I just wasn’t telling the full truth.