2 . My name is Jimmy. One Thursday afternoon, when I was in senior one, a new boy came into my classroom. He was short and thin. He walked up to the teacher and told her, very seriously, that he was new. His name was Christian. He sat down, took a look at me, and then looked away. I didn’t think he was very nice and I was sure he wasn’t the type I would like to become friends with.

During that year, I didn’t talk to him much, but he smiled at me when our eyes met, always shyly. He never ate lunch with anybody, and he never talked to anybody but me.

But one day I joined those unkind kids who were making fun of him. We made fun of him though I thought it was wrong.

“Haven’t you got any friends?” a kid asked Christian, who had walked past us alone, head down.

“No, he hasn’t got any friends. He’s too stupid and shy,” I said. Then Christian looked up at me with the saddest dog eyes I had ever seen. I felt very sorry at that moment.

That night, I couldn’t sleep because I couldn’t get Christian’s face out of my mind. In the weeks that followed, he never met my eyes in class and never smiled at me. It was really hard for me to decide to write him a note asking him to forgive (原谅) me. But I thought I should.

The next day in class, I wrote him a note telling him how sorry I felt. About five minutes later, I turned and saw tears in his eyes. “You will never realize what your apology (道歉) has meant to me, Jimmy.” he said to me. “I hope we can become friends.”

We had lunch together that noon and we had the best talk I had ever had. Over the years at high school, we were close friends.

When I think back, I realize that, if I had not apologized, I would never have known what a lovely person Christian was.

Apologies can really change your life, so never miss the chance to tell somebody you are sorry.

3 . The sky began to show red in the early morning as we drove across the Minnesota state line to New York for my new PhD program. The move was good for me professionally, but I worried about my husband and daughters. I also feared that I wouldn’t be able to give my kids the childhood they deserved.

Anne, our first daughter, came into the world when I was a junior majoring in biology in college. It was challenging to balance classes, work schedules, and being a mom. But I got through it, finding moments of joy along the way. On the nights when I was home, I’d read my class notes out loud with my daughter. She’d respond by asking questions, such as “Mom, what are bacteria (细菌)?” It helped us both learn.

After I graduated, I knew that I would need a PhD to land the kind of job I wanted. I arrived in New York feeling more than the usual new-graduate-student anxiety. I also suffered from a more personal fear that I was being selfish—that my decision to invigorate my career was going to have long- term bad impacts on my kids. So, I made a rule to never be visibly upset about my work in front of my children.

Over the past year, though, I’ve started to let go of some of this worry. I’ve realized that we have not only adapted to our new situation, but things are getting better. My husband landed a job that he is happy with. Anne dreams of becoming a biologist. Recently, while driving past the cancer institute I work at, Anne said, “Thinking about people having cancer is so sad, but I feel better knowing that you are researching it to help.”

Pursuing academic career as a young mother is hard, but it’s also rewarding. My kids are learning to look at the world through science, and watching their mom succeed inspires them. I look forward to seeing them follow my footsteps, whatever path they choose.

5 . I still remember a lovely girl, though I don’t know her name.

We met in the Children’s Hospital.I was 11. I was born with a hole in my heart. So was the five­year­old girl in the bed beside me.We were both recovering from the same operation.Because I was older and wiser, I thought it was my job to look after her. “Do you want to hear a story?” I asked her one afternoon.“Great!” she said.

It was so easy to make her happy.She seemed always to be smiling or singing songs.

Life wasn’t fair. She passed away. My recovery went well. “You’re really lucky”，a nurse told me.“But how come my operation was so easy and hers wasn’t?” I asked.“Easy?” my dad said. “David, your operation wasn’t easy at all. We thought we were going to lose you. For two weeks after your operation, many things could go wrong. You’re really lucky. When you were in the coma (昏迷) , she used to come over to your bed and sing to you. She was watching over you.” my dad said.

My surgery scars (手术疤痕)are hidden under my shirt along with the memory of that kind little girl. She will be at my side like a small angel. I am old and wise enough now to know that I have an angel watching over me whenever life is fair or unfair.

6 . “You need to sign this,” my son Joe informed me. “What is it?” I asked. Rolling his eyes with a sense of impatience, Joe replied, “Your permission. And it’s due tomorrow!”

I learned that Joe’s sixth-grade class would be taking a field trip to the state capital. “That sounds like fun,” I said. “I’ve always wanted to go there.” “You can’t come!” Joe answered. Puzzled, I asked. “Why not?” “Because you always come on field trips!”

Of course, I always joined his class on field trips. Being a chaperone (监护人) on a field trip is one of the advantages that comes with being a mom, a vacation day in a career that offers few opportunities for a change of scenery. “You don’t want me to be a chaperone?” “Give someone else’s mom a chance,” he suggested. What was surprising was how much I minded being so impolitely removed from the short list of willing chaperones by my own son.

When Joe was in kindergarten, his class planned a pretend trip to Norway. The day before the trip, Joe woke up not feeling well.

After learning that he didn’t have a fever, I asked, “You don’t want to miss getting ready for the trip to Norway, do you?” “I guess not,” he said.

But when I picked him up at the end of the day, the teacher whispered, “Joe got a little upset today.” “What happened?” “He doesn’t want to go to Norway without you.” So that was what had been bothering my 5-year-old. He thought his class was really flying to Norway on their wooden chairs in their paper airplane. He believed those passports and tickets he and his classmates had been making were the real deal.

Preadolescence fell upon my family as my husband and I found ourselves preparing for our son’s upcoming teen years with the same trepidation as someone about to climb an ice-covered mountain wearing high heels.

Joe needed to take a field trip without me accompanying him. And I needed to let him. I’m glad he doesn’t need me all the time.

8 . I feel it important for families to have regular meals together. One of my best childhood memories was dinner with my parents and two sisters. As a result, last year I decided that the entire family would have dinner together three days a week. Because my husband and I both work and our three kids are busy with school activities, we could hardly have a chance to get together as a family. But we thought it possible for everyone to set aside three evenings a week for a sit-down dinner.

First we tried setting three fixed days for our experiment Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. After trying the plan some weeks, almost everyone was unhappy. Then my son had the idea of having everyone post his or her schedule for the week on the fridge every Sunday. I would choose the three best days.

For a while, the kids continued to resist (抵触) the idea, saying they would rather spend the time with their friends or joining in sports or other activities, But with time going on, they began to see these evenings together positively. We discussed each other’s, problems. We made vacation plans. We laughed a lot. Months later, anyone who had to miss a family meal felt regretful.

We all now feel that we’ve been able to build stronger relationships within the family and communicate better. The idea of having regular family meals together, which seemed difficult at first, has brought about many positive changes in our lives.

9 . When I was in junior high school, I was a really bad boy. My history teacher — Mr Oven criticized me a lot because I was naughty in his class. By the end of the first semester, I’d had enough of his words and had decided that I would get my revenge on him.

The opportunity arose one morning when Mr. Oven was called to the office for a certain reason. While Mr. Oven left, my company Billy and I grabbed Mr. Oven’s lunch bag from under his desk. I opened his sandwich and placed a bug in between the two slices of bread. We put it back and closed it. To keep it in memory, Billy took photos of the whole process. We laughed for weeks over this.

Well, it all went south during Thanksgiving break. Billy’s Mother found the pictures in his room, and demanded that he should tell her where these pictures were from. Billy told his mother the whole story, and Mr. Oven was informed. Not only was I punished from school for two weeks, but also I was kicked off the football and basketball team. Before I could return to school, I had to turn in a 1000-word essay on what I did and why I did that. I really felt embarrassing every time I saw Mr. Oven in the hallway for the rest of the school year. I felt a little regret that Mr. Oven left our school the next year.

10 . In my early teens, I was once given a film camera as a gift. On receiving it, I jumped on my bike, headed to Wimbledon Common and took photos, just for me: photos of trees and wildlife. I was out all day. On my way home I spotted a tree lit up by street lighting and tried to capture its splendour. Rushing home, I popped the spent film in a special little envelope and sent it off to a photography store, desperate to see how it came out. I took many photos then and loved the fact that when you processed your film you got back colour photos which froze the precious moments, gently encouraging the hobby and the payments for processing.

As I grew into adulthood, that simple, deep happiness gradually faded away. One weekend when I was busy answering the work calls, my eyes caught a box in the corner of the room. I suddenly felt a sense of sadness. The stress growing over these years had pushed the camera from beside my pillow to the box in the corner. I thought I needed a change.

I took out the camera and dusted it down. It was a great joy that it still worked. I bought new film and took the camera everywhere I went. Now it is always on hand to accompany me on journeys, to allow me time to myself. Even if the day is full and busy, I can seize some moments for myself to take photos, to observe the world around me.

The wall of my room now holds all my camera equipment along with photos I’ve taken. To me, the room represents how I’ve found happiness: by reconnecting to the younger part of myself I laid aside, by allowing room in my life for pleasure to exist, and by creating an environment that allows opportunities for delight.