I grew up in a small town where the primary school was a ten-minute walk from my house. When the noon bell rang, I would race breathlessly home. My mother would be standing at the top of the stairs, smiling down at me.

One lunchtime when I was in the third grade will stay with me always. I had been picked to be the princess in the school play, and for weeks my mother had rehearsed (排练) my lines so hard with me. But no matter how easily I acted at home, as soon as I stepped onstage, every word disappeared from my head. Finally, my teacher took me aside. She explained that she had written a narrator’s (旁白的) part to the play, and asked me to change roles. Her words, kindly expressed, still hurt, especially when I saw my part go to another girl.

I didn’t tell my mother what had happened when I went home for lunch that day. But she sensed my pain. Instead of suggesting we practice my lines, she asked if I wanted to walk in the yard.

It was a lovely spring day and the rose vine (藤蔓) was turning green. Under the huge trees, we could see yellow dandelions (蒲公英) in the grass in bunch, as if a painter had touched our landscape with gold. I watched my mother casually bend down by one dandelion. “I think I’m going to dig up all these weeds,” she said, pulling it up by its roots. “From now on, we’ll have only roses in this garden.”

“But I like dandelions,” I protested. “All flowers are beautiful-even dandelions.”

My mother looked at me seriously. “Yes, every flower gives pleasure in its own way, doesn’t it?” She asked thoughtfully. I nodded, pleased that I had won her over. “And that is true of people too,” she added. “Not everyone can be a princess, but there is no shame in that.” Relieved that she had guessed my pain, I started to cry as I told her what had happened. She listened and smiled.

“But you will be a beautiful narrator,” she said, encouraging and comforting me as usual.       

After the play, I took home the flower.

As any younger brother will tell you, having a big brother involves a lot of walking in someone else’s shadow, especially when you have a brother who is a typical example of “cool”. For years I wanted to do everything my elder brother Tyson did, but no matter how hard I tried, I was always the neglected one. My legs just weren’t made to run like his. I could never play football or basketball well.

Paragraph 1: I probably would have continued trying to keep up with him for the rest of my high school career, but when my family moved, everything changed. Tyson left for college,

I don’t know what made me decide to try some new activities at the new school, but one day I chanced to show up for an after-school meeting of the Science Olympiad team.I had always been fascinated with chemistry, biology, and math, but since those interests hadn’t fit Tyson’s definition of “cool”, I had never pursued them.On this day, for some reason, I did.

Paragraph 2: As we organized teams, prepared resources and practiced answering questions, I felt more connected than I ever had to any sports team.

Thomas watched the irrigation canal (灌溉渠) for a sign of water. It looked as dry as he felt inside. Thomas's thoughts were interrupted as his younger sister, Maggie, came skipping across the field.

"What are you giving Mama for her birthday?" she asked.

Thomas felt his stomach turn. He had forgotten that Mama's birthday, the first since they left their hometown, was tomorrow. "It's a surprise, Maggie," he answered. It was the truth.

Even he would be surprised.

Thomas would wish to be back in the mountains of their hometown. Surely Mama would want the same. At least it rained there. Each time it did, Mama, Thomas, and Maggie would sit on the front porch and watch for a rainbow. Then each of them picked out a favorite color in the rainbow. Mama always gave the same answer. "Turquoise (蓝绿色，绿松石)," she would finally say with a dreamy smile, pointing at the sky. "Squeezed in tight, between the blue and green. Close your eyes and you can see it. If you could touch it, it would feel cool, like a breeze blowing across the stream."

Thomas was discouraged. The sun would be setting soon, and he still had nothing to give his mother. What he saw around were rocks and sand. He picked up a large, flat rock, scooped up the dirt and watched it fall to the ground. Suddenly, something caught his eye. A speck of color peeked through the dirt.

"Hey, what's this?" he asked.

"Let's find out," Maggie yelled. Thomas and Maggie dug with their fingers and uncovered a small, round stone. In the center, there was a tiny hole.

"That's just a turquoise bead (珠子)," Thomas exclaimed. "My friend Jack's sister has a jar full of them."

"Let's see if there are more," Maggie got excited.

My Dad’s Best Flower

I remember my first home was a small apartment on the second floor with a lovely and spacious balcony. When my mom was busy in the kitchen, she let me stay on the balcony watching the kids playing in the street. On that balcony I played sometimes with my elder sister, Maria. She was seven years old and when my mom was absent, she was like a mother to me. The balcony was a great hobby place for my father. After his work he used to grow carnations (康乃馨) in flower boxes. His carnations were red, pink and white, and everyone appreciated them for their beauty.

He took care of them with so much love and devotion. He dealt carefully with his flowers like a mother taking care of her baby. Many times I sat on the floor of the balcony for hours observing him and his lovely flowers with patience. He was always doing something on that balcony. He was watering them every day, cleaning the balcony floor, changing the potting soil and when the stems were thick, strong and high enough, he started his improvement operation attentively like a doctor.

My dad took a tiny knife and with his left hand he held the stem of the carnation and measured the height. Then he made a small mark on the stem with his finger. Afterwards he made a sharp cut with the knife, just enough to fit in again of barley (插穗的芽). Then he bandaged the stem with a small bandage. His job was then to water the plants and to take care of them. “No one should touch them,” he said to Mom. Every day, when he came home from work he went straight to the balcony.

Mom used to tell us, “Do not touch Daddy’s flowers.” For us it was a fascinating experience to watch how the small stems were growing and making flowers. When the carnations had grown big enough, my dad enjoyed watching them every day. We the kids did too.

One day, my elder sister, who loved Dad very much, had a great idea.

When my dad arrived, he went as usual, straight to the balcony and saw his flowers lying on the floor like dead animals.