A friend of mine whose name was John Smith had a bad memory, which made him famous. He was so forgetful that he sometimes forgot what he was talking about in the middle of a sentence. His wife had to constantly remind him about his meetings, his classes — even his meals! Once he forgot he had eaten breakfast twice, at home and at school. His wife liked to remind her neighbours, “If John didn’t have his head tied on, he would forget that too!” Since Smith was a professor at a well-known university, his forgetfulness was often an embarrassment to him. It wasn’t that he was not clever, as some critical people tended to say, but just very absent-minded.
One hot summer day, Professor Smith decided to take his children to a seaside town about a three-hour train ride away. To make the trip more interesting for his young children, he kept the name of the town a secret. However, by the time they arrived at the station, Smith forgot the name of the town he was planning to visit. Luckily, a friend of his happened to be in the station. He offered to take care of the children while Smith hurried back home to find out where he was going.
The professor’s wife was surprised to see him again so soon.
“Oh, my dear, I forget the name of the town.”
“What? You forget the name? Maybe one day you will forget my name! Now I’ll write the name of that town on a piece of paper, and you put it in your pocket and please, please don’t forget where you put it.”
Satisfied that she had solved the problem, she sent her husband off again. Ten minutes later she was astonished to see him outside the house for the third time.
注意:续写词数应为150左右。
“What is the matter now?” asked his wife.
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Hearing the cry, out rushed their neighbours, trying to find out what had happened.
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One day when I was 12, my mother gave me an order: I was to walk to the public library, and borrow at least one book for the summer. This was one more weapon for her to defeat my strange problem, my inability to read.
In the library, I found my way into the “Children’s Room”. I sat down on the floor and pulled a few books off the shelf at random. The cover of a book caught my eye. It presented a picture of a beagle. I had recently had a beagle, the first and only animal companion I ever had as a child. He was my secret sharer, but one morning, he was gone, given away to someone who had the space and the money to care for him. I never forgot my beagle.
There on the book’s cover was a beagle which looked identical to my dog. I ran my fingers over the picture of the dog on the cover. My eyes ran across the title, Amos, the Beagle with a Plan. Unknowingly, I had read the title. Without opening the book, I borrowed it from the library for the summer.
Under the shade of a bush, I started to read about Amos. I read very, very slowly with difficulty. Though pages were turned slowly, I got the main idea of the story about a dog who, like mine, had been separated from his family and who finally found his way back home. That dog was my dog, and I was the little boy in the book. At the end of the story, my mind continued to the final scene of reunion, on and on, until my own lost dog and I were, in my mind, running together.
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My mother's call returned, me to the real world. I suddenly realized something.
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And years later, she was proud that her son had read thousands of books, and was awarded a PhD in literature.
