1 . Pat Patterson, a pilot for 25 years, had never met anyone like the handsome young man in the wheelchair who faced him at the Medford, Oregon, airport on July 28, 1976. Mike Henderson, a quadriplegic (四肢瘫痪者), wanted flying lessons.

As a 22­-year-­old Coast Guardsman eight years before, Henderson had fallen off a dock and landed on a floating log, breaking two of his bones. Doctors said that he would probably never walk again, let alone fly. “Here was this doctor telling me how it was going to be,” he says, “but no one was going to limit my freedom to try.”

Henderson parked his wheelchair next to the airplane and began to climb up onto the wing. He injured his elbow on the way, and after a great struggle, finally managed to pull himself into the airplane’s pilot’s seat. In the flight office, Pat Patterson watched in disbelief. “He crawled his way up that wing!” he says. “It took him 45 minutes. When I went out, he was sitting in the pilot’s seat, bleeding from his injured elbow all over the place. When I saw him go through that much pain, I knew nothing could stop him.”

Now everything was up to the instructor and the student, and together they set about solving each problem as it arose. A small piece of carpet gave Henderson traction (摩擦力) to climb the slippery wing. A headset freed his hands from the radio microphone, and the two men developed a moving bar that enabled Henderson to operate the airplane more easily.

Three weeks and eight flying hours after the first lesson, Henderson and Patterson happily phoned Dr. Stoddard — Henderson’s physician. At the airport, as the physician looked on, Henderson quickly wheeled himself around the airplane, doing a thorough, professional ground check. With Patterson and Dr. Stoddard on board, he went through his preflight instrument check. Minutes later, engine starting, the plane rolled down the runway and took off into the gray sky.

3 . Mary Dickins had been a member of the audience at poetry nights before and knew “the poetry clap”. She made a polite tapping of fingers. But when she made her debut (首次演出) as a performer at the age of 62 at the legendary Bang Said the Gun night in south London, she said, “It was so wild — like nothing I had ever seen before.” The audience stamped their feet and shook shakers. “It felt transformative. I thought, ‘I’ve got to have more of this,’ ” Dickins said. Becoming a performance poet has given her a place on a stage of her own making.

All her life she has written, mostly without being seen or heard. Her mother died when she was nine, and, after she went into a care home at 13, Dickins’ writing stayed in notebooks. Really, she says, a lot of her adult life has been about getting over childhood shyness. At university — she studied education — she met her husband of 40 years, but in three years of seminars she did not say a word. Some of this results from her years at the children’s home. She says, “It gave me a sense of what it’s like to be excluded. I never fitted in anywhere.”

After she graduated, she discovered that she loved working with people with learning disabilities. She became an expert in inclusive education. “That was my niche (称心的职业),” she says. She published books and returned to the University of North London as a senior lecturer in early childhood studies.

Dickins now sees that in adulthood she has been giving herself permission to be silly. “The sillier I allow myself to be, the better the writing is,” she says. Her observations are humorous.

“Putting things into words and giving shape to your emotions is an important part of coming to terms with the things that happen in life,” she says.

Does she still feel like an outsider?

“I think I’ve made it into a virtue. I celebrate the fact that I don’t fit into a box. Finally! You have to wait till you’re 62 to feel confident!” she says. “But I have a sense of who I am and I'm proud of it. I wouldn’t be anyone else now — and it took me a long time to say that.”

4 . 75-year-old hip-hop (街舞) grandma Stephanie Walsh has gained worldwide attention with her intense dance moves and incredible energy. Better known as “Ms. Stephanie” online, Walsh has been featured on social media accounts with some videos drawing more than 11 million people to watch.

Walsh believes the videos gained popularity because she is 75. “It’s because I’m a senior,” said Walsh. “You don’t usually see someone my age doing hip-hop and moving like that. ”But actually, it’s more than that. Just as her profile claims, Walsh’s videos are “inspiring the world to dance like no one is watching. ”

“Dance isn’t just your body, it’s what you’re feeling inside about the dance and it’s what comes out here in your face,” Walsh said. “What I want to put through my movement is how much fun it is and how much joy it gives you.”

From a young age, Walsh loved to dance but her family didn’t have the money for classes. When she was nearly 30, she got her daughter ballet lessons, which her daughter hated. So, she took her daughter out and started classes herself right away.

Walsh believes her lifelong passion for dance is what motivates her today. “Everybody has to have a passion in their life,” she said. “It’s like that saying, ‘A life without passion is a life half lived.’ I believe that.”

Walsh dances for fun and fitness, but also for therapy (心理治疗). She struggled through countless hardships, and she has more than enough reasons to keep her down. But they don’t. She turns to her faith, her friends and of course, dance, to shine as an inspiration to those around her.

Gilbert, one of Walsh’s followers, says she inspires him every day. “She’s a beautiful soul who teaches me that it doesn’t matter about your age or your size. As long as you feel good, that’s all that matters,” says Gilbert. “I am truly thankful that Walsh is teaching me at the age of 32 to live my life full and stop being so scared.”

I’ve had a hobby of growing big fruit and vegetables, and my tomatoes, peppers, carrots and many other vegetables always grow well.

Watching the product in my garden, I was proud, yet over time, the smooth planting life felt too ordinary and lacked something. Then one morning I read the news that a woman went on a long river journey by pumpkin (南瓜) boat. I’d never heard of anyone floating by in a pumpkin before, but once the idea was in my head, I had to try it. If there’s one thing I’ve never lacked, it’s optimism, and I decided that with the right pumpkin, I could do better.

I put a lot of effort into pumpkin seeds. Eventually, I noticed one particular sample of the Atlantic Giant variety was overtaking the others. My wife called her Berta, and we watched with excitement over the next few weeks as Berta put on weight. I finally cut her off when she was big enough for me to fit inside. First, I had to test Berta on the water. Using a vehicle, I lowered her into a pond to see how she was going to float, marked the water level and then cut her open.

On 27 August this year, we set out early for the Missouri River with Berta in the back of a truck. I had a paddle (船桨) and was wearing a life jacket. Berta was eased into the river and I carefully climbed in, setting out toward the 6-mile point — the goal I set myself. My main task was to keep the pumpkin upright, away from obstacles. There were markers every mile along the river, so it was easy for the crew of the rescue boat following me — my wife, my sister and my son — to keep track of how far I’d gone and help me when necessary.

The trip passed uneventfully until an unexpected rock appeared.

The experience inspired me to make more fun attempts with my vegetables.

The Loser

When Jae came home from school, he couldn’t find his keys. What now? he thought. His parents wouldn’t be home for an hour. Just then, Ron, the man who lived next door, walked past.

Jae had never really talked to Ron, but he knew Ron was a friend of his father. They had played cards together many times. I can’t just sit out here, Jae mumbled to himself. Jae marched to Ron’s door and knocked. When it opened, Jae said, “Hi, Ron, I’ve lost my keys, and my parents aren’t home, could I wait here with you?” “Sure,” Ron said. Inside, Jae saw a baseball on a shelf.

Ron smiled when he saw Jae looking at it. “That one was signed by the ‘87 Minnesota Twins, right after the World Series,” he said. “Dad takes me to their games sometimes,” Jae said, “Where did you get this?” “I was a professional referee for thirty years,” Ron answered. Jae’s eyes widened as he asked, “A referee? Did you meet....” He began to shoot questions. Grinning(咧嘴笑), Ron told Jae about past players, the things they said and their charms.

When it was time for Jae to leave, he requested, “Can I come again sometime?” “Sure,” Ron smiled.

Wow, losing my keys turned out okay, Jae thought as he walked home. The next day at school, Jae searched his desk, “Oh, no. Not again!” he complained.“ Need help?” asked his classmate Martina. She was new in school. “Yes, my dinosaur book is missing,” Jae replied.

“Do you want to borrow mine?” asked Martina, she showed him a dinosaur encyclopedia(百科全书). “That’s the same book as I use!” Jae exclaimed. “Are you into dinosaur, too?” “Yeah,” said Martina. “What’s your favorite?” “Have you heard of ...?” They kept talking.

After school, Jae and Martina went to the park to play catch with Jae’s favorite baseball. Martina’s a good playmate and pretty cool, Jae thought as he went home.

The next Saturday morning, Jae wanted to do some throwing drills, but he couldn’t find his baseball.

Walking home with the stray puppy (流浪狗), Jae was lost in thought, reflecting on the past week.

9 . When the semester ended, I returned home. In a few weeks BYU would post grades; then I’d know if I could return in the fall.

I filled my journals with promises that I would stay out of the junkyard. I needed money so I went to get my old job back, at Stokes. I turned up at the busiest hour in the afternoon when I knew they’d be understaffed, and sure enough, the manager was bagging groceries when I found him. I asked if he’d like me to do that, and he looked at me for all of three seconds, and then lifted his apron over his head and handed it to me.

Dad was waiting for me when I came through the back door. He saw the apron and said, “You’re working for me this summer.”

“I’m working at Stokes,” I said.

His voice was raised. “This is your family. You belong here.”

There was no one on his crew since my brothers had gone. He had to do everything all by himself. Dad’s face was haggard, his eyes bloodshot. But that determination was etched (流露出) into his face. It was in his voice, in the harshness of it. He had to win this standoff (对峙).

But I couldn’t do the job, because to do it would be to slide backward. I had moved home, to my old room, to my old life. If I went back to working for Dad, to waking up every morning and pulling on steel toed boots and trudging (跋涉) out to the junkyard, it would be as if the last four months had never happened, as if I had never left.

When I’d told Dad that I planned to go back to college, he’d said a woman’s place was in the home that I should be learning about herbs — “God’s pharmacy (药房)” he’d call it — so I could take over for Mother.

My memories of the university faded quickly. The scratch of pencils on paper, the clack of a projector moving to the next slide, the peal of the bells signaling the end of the class — all were drowned out by the clatter of iron and the role of diesel engines after a month in the junkyard. BYU seemed like a dream, something I had created by magic. Now I was awake.