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Howard Gardner, a professor of education at Harvard University, reflects on a visit to China and gives his thoughts on different approaches to learning in China and the West.

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Learning, Chinese-Style

Howard Gardner

1 For a month in the spring of 1987, my wife Ellen and I lived in the bustling eastern Chinese city of Nanjing with our 18-month-old son Benjamin while studying arts education in Chinese kindergartens and elementary schools. But one of the most telling lessons Ellen and I got in the difference between Chinese and American ideas of education came not in the classroom but in the lobby of the Jinling Hotel where we stayed in Nanjing. ÖйúʽµÄѧϰ·ç¸ñ »ô»ªµÂ¡¤¼ÓµÂÄÉ

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2 The key to our room was attached to a large plastic block with the room number on it. When leaving the hotel, a guest was encouraged to turn in the key, either by handing it to an attendant or by dropping it through a slot into a box. Because the key slot was narrow, the key had to be positioned carefully to fit into it. ÎÒÃǵķ¿ÃÅÔ¿³×ϵÔÚÒ»¿é±êÓз¿¼äºÅµÄ´óËÜÁϰåÉÏ¡£¾Æµê¹ÄÀø¿ÍÈËÍâ³öʱÁôÏÂÔ¿³×£¬¿ÉÒÔ½»¸ø·þÎñÔ±£¬Ò²¿ÉÒÔ´ÓÒ»¸ö²Û¿ÚÈûÈëÔ¿³×Ïä¡£ÓÉÓÚ¿Ú×ÓÏÁС£¬ÄãµÃÁôÉñ½«Ô¿³×·Å׼λÖòÅÈûµÃ½øÈ¥¡£

3 Benjamin loved to carry the key around, shaking it vigorously. He also liked to try to place it into the slot. Because of his tender age and incomplete understanding of the need to position the key just so, he would usually fail. Benjamin was not bothered in the least. He probably got as much pleasure out of the sounds the key made as he did those few times when the key actually found its way into the slot.

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4 Now both Ellen and I were perfectly happy to allow Benjamin to bang the key near the key slot. His exploratory behavior seemed harmless enough. But I soon observed an interesting phenomenon. Any Chinese staff member nearby would come

over to watch Benjamin and, noting his lack of initial success, attempt to assist. He or she would hold onto Benjamin's hand and, gently but firmly, guide it directly toward the slot, reposition it as necessary, and help him to insert it. The \smile somewhat expectantly at Ellen or me, as if awaiting a thank you ©¤ and on occasion would frown slightly, as if considering us to be neglecting our parental duties.

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5 I soon realized that this incident was directly relevant to our assigned tasks in China: to investigate the ways of early childhood education (especially in the arts), and to throw light on Chinese attitudes toward creativity. And so before long I began

to introduce the key-slot anecdote into my discussions with Chinese educators. ÎҺܿìÒâʶµ½£¬Õâ¼þСÊÂÓëÎÒÃÇÔÚÖйúÒª×öµÄ¹¤×÷Ö±½ÓÏà¹Ø £º¿¼²ì¶ùͯÔçÆÚ½ÌÓý £¨ÓÈÆäÊÇÒÕÊõ½ÌÓý£©µÄ·½Ê½£¬½ÒʾÖйúÈ˶Դ´ÔìÐԻµÄ̬¶È¡£Òò´Ë£¬²»¾ÃÎÒ¾ÍÔÚÓëÖйú½ÌÓý¹¤×÷ÕßÌÖÂÛʱ̸ÆðÁËÔ¿³×²Û¿Úһʡ£

TWO DIFFERENT WAYS TO LEARN

6 With a few exceptions my Chinese colleagues displayed the same attitude as the staff at the Jinling Hotel. Since adults know how to place the key in the key slot, which is the ultimate purpose of approaching the slot, and since the child is neither old enough nor clever enough to realize the desired action on his own, what possible gain is achieved by having him struggle? He may well get frustrated and angry ©¤ certainly not a desirable outcome. Why not show him what to do? He will be happy, he will learn how to accomplish the task sooner, and then he can proceed to more complex activities, like opening the door or asking for the key ©¤ both of which accomplishments can (and should) in due course be modeled for him as well. Á½ÖÖ²»Í¬µÄѧϰ·½Ê½

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7 We listened to such explanations sympathetically and explained that, first of all, we did not much care whether Benjamin succeeded in inserting the key into the slot. He was having a good time and was exploring, two activities that did matter to us. But the critical point was that, in the process, we were trying to teach Benjamin that

one can solve a problem effectively by oneself. Such self-reliance is a principal value of child rearing in middle-class America. So long as the child is shown exactly how to do something ©¤ whether it be placing a key in a key slot, drawing a hen or making up for a misdeed ©¤ he is less likely to figure out himself how to accomplish such a task. And, more generally, he is less likely to view life ©¤ as Americans do ©¤ as a series of situations in which one has to learn to think for oneself, to solve problems on one's own and even to discover new problems for which creative solutions are wanted.

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TEACHING BY HOLDING HIS HAND

8 In retrospect, it became clear to me that this incident was indeed key ©¤ and key in more than one sense. It pointed to important differences in the educational and artistic practices in our two countries. °Ñ×ÅÊÖ½Ì

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9 When our well-intentioned Chinese observers came to Benjamin's rescue, they did not simply push his hand down clumsily or uncertainly, as I might have done. Instead, they guided him with extreme facility and gentleness in precisely the desired direction. I came to realize that these Chinese were not just molding and shaping Benjamin's performance in any old manner: In the best Chinese tradition, they were ba zhe shou jiao ©¤ \by holding his hand\©¤ so much so that he would happily come back for more.

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10 The idea that learning should take place by continual careful shaping and molding applies equally to the arts. Watching children at work in a classroom setting, we were astonished by their facility. Children as young as 5 or 6 were painting

flowers, fish and animals with the skill and confidence of an adult; calligraphers 9 and 10 years old were producing works that could have been displayed in a museum. In a visit to the homes of two of the young artists, we learned from their parents that they worked on perfecting their craft for several hours a day.

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CREATIVITY FIRST?

11 In terms of attitudes to creativity there seems to be a reversal of priorities: young Westerners making their boldest departures first and then gradually mastering the tradition; and young Chinese being almost inseparable from the tradition, but, over time, possibly evolving to a point equally original. ´´ÔìÁ¦µÚÒ»£¿

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12 One way of summarizing the American position is to state that we value originality and independence more than the Chinese do. The contrast between our two cultures can also be seen in terms of the fears we both harbor. Chinese teachers are fearful that if skills are not acquired early, they may never be acquired; there is, on the other hand, no comparable hurry to promote creativity. American educators fear that unless creativity has been acquired early, it may never emerge; on the other hand, skills can be picked up later.

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13 However, I do not want to overstate my case. There is enormous creativity to be found in Chinese scientific, technological and artistic innovations past and present. And there is a danger of exaggerating creative breakthroughs in the West. When any innovation is examined closely, its reliance on previous achievements is all too apparent (the \

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14 But assuming that the contrast I have developed is valid, and that the fostering

of skills and creativity are both worthwhile goals, the important question becomes this: Can we gather, from the Chinese and American extremes, a superior way to approach education, perhaps striking a better balance between the poles of creativity and basic skills?

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Finding a way of teaching children to appreciate the value of money can be a problem. Yet the solution, David Owen suggests, is simple -- just open a bank. Easier said than done? Well, it turns out to be not quite so difficult as it sounds, as you'll discover in reading about the First National Bank of Dave.

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Children and Money David Owen

1 Parents who decide that the time has come to teach their children about money usually begin by opening savings accounts. The kids are attracted at first by the notion that a bank will pay them for doing nothing, but their enthusiasm disappears when they realize that the interest rate is tiny and, furthermore, their parents don't intend to give them access to their principal. To a kid, a savings account is just a black hole that swallows birthday checks. º¢ ×Ó Óë ½ð Ç® ´óÎÀ¡¤Å·ÎÄ

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2 Kid: \

Parent: \ Kid: \

Parent: \it will still be yours. You just have to keep it in the bank so that it can grow.\

Kid (suspicious) : \

Parent: \the bank will pay you seventy-five cents. And if you leave all of that in the bank for just one more year, the bank will give you another seventy-five cents plus two and a half more cents besides. That's called compound interest. It will help you go to college.\ º¢×Ó£º¡°ÄÌÄ̸øÁËÎÒ25ÃÀ½ð£¡¡±

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3 The main defect in such saving schemes is that there's nothing in them for the kids. College is a thousand years away, and they probably think they'd just as soon stay home anyway. Indeed, the true purpose of such plans is usually not to promote saving but to prevent consumption. (1) Appalled by what their children spend on candy and video games (or, rather, appalled by the degree to which their children's overspending seems to mimic their own), parents devise ways to lock up their children's resources. Not surprisingly, kids quickly decide that large sums aren't real money and that all cash should either be spent immediately or hidden in a drawer. ÕâÀà´¢Ðî¼Æ»®µÄÖ÷ҪȱÏÝÔÚÓÚ£¬º¢×Ó±¾ÈËÒ»ÎÞËù»ñ¡£ÉÏ´óѧ»¹²»ÖªÒª¹ý¶àÉÙÄ꣬ËûÃÇ»òÐí»áÏëËûÃÇÄþÔ¸´ôÔÚ¼ÒÀʵ¼ÊÉÏ£¬ÕâÀà¼Æ»®µÄÕæÕýÄ¿µÄͨ³£²»ÊÇ´Ù½ø´¢Ðî¶øÊÇÏÞÖÆÏû·Ñ¡£º¢×ÓÃÇÔÚÌǹû¡¢µç×ÓÓÎÏ·Éϵύ·ÑÖ®´óÁî¼Ò³¤ÃÇÊ®·ÖÕ𾪣¨»òÕ߸üÈ·ÇеØËµ£¬ÁîËûÃdzԾªµÄÆäʵÊǺ¢×ÓÃǵij¬Ö§ÐÐΪÓëËûÃÇ×Ô¼ºµÄÏàËÆ³Ì¶È£©£¬ÓÚÊÇËûÃDZãÉè·¨Èú¢×ÓÃǽ«Ç®´æÆðÀ´²»Óá£Îã¹Öºõº¢×ÓÃǺܿì¾ÍÈ϶¨£¬´ó¶îÇ®¿î²»ÊÇʵʵÔÚÔÚµÄÇ®£¬ÓÐÁËÏÖǮҪô¸Ï½ô»¨µô£¬ÒªÃ´²ØÔÚ³éÌëÀï¡£

4 To avoid this problem with my two children, I started my own bank. It's called the First National Bank of Dave. I set up an account for each child, using the same computer program I use to keep track of my checkbook. Because I wanted my kids' deposits to grow at a pace that would hold their attention, I offered an attractive interest rate-five per cent a month. (2) Compounded, that works out to an annual rate of more than 70 per cent. (No, I don't accept deposits from strangers.) Allowances are deposited automatically on the first day of each month. The kids can make other deposits, or withdrawals, whenever they like.

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5 The Bank of Dave, which has been in operation four years, instantly turned both my children into keen savers. My son still comes to me with change he has found on the floor of the car, saying, \credit this today.\Both kids' accounts grew so fast that after two years I had to roll back my monthly interest rate to three per cent. The kids protested when I announced the change, but they nodded solemnly when I explained that the law of supply and demand applies even to the supply of money. The

kids help me calculate their interest -- a useful lesson in averaging and percentages. (3) I give them unlimited access to their funds, no questions asked, and I provide printed statements on demand. ´÷·òÒøÐо­ÓªÁË4Ä꣬һÏÂ×ӾͰÑÎÒµÄÁ½¸öº¢×Ó±ä³ÉÁËÈÈÐĵĴ¢ÐîÕß¡£ÖÁ½ñÎÒ¶ù×ÓÔÚ³µÀïÕÒµ½ÁãÇ®ÈÔ»áÀ´ÕÒÎÒ˵£¬ ¡°½ñÌì¾Í°ÑÕâ¸öÉÏÕË¡£¡±Á½¸öº¢×ӵĴæ¿îÔö³¤ºÜ¿ì£¬Á½ÄêÖ®ºó£¬ÎÒ²»µÃ²»½«ÔÂÀûÂʽµÖÁ3Àå¡£ÎÒÐû²¼µ÷µÍÀûÂÊʱÁ½¸öº¢×Ó·´¶Ô£¬¿Éµ±ÎÒ½âÊÍ˵¹©Çó·¨ÔòͬÑùÊÊÓÃÓÚ»õ±Ò¹©Ó¦ºó£¬Á½ÈËÑÏËàµØµãÍ·ÔÞͬ¡£Á½¸öº¢×Ó°ïÎÒÒ»Æð¼ÆËãËûÃǵÄÀûÏ¢¡ª¡ªÕâ¿ÉÊÇѧϰ¼ÆËãÆ½¾ùÖµÓë°Ù·Ö±ÈµÄÆÄΪÓÐÓõÄÒ»¿Î¡£ËûÃÇʹÓÃ×Ô¼ºµÄ×ʽðÎÒ²»¼ÓÈκÎÏÞÖÆ£¬²»×÷ÈκÎѯÎÊ£¬ÎÒ»¹¸ù¾ÝÒªÇóËæÊ±Ìṩ´òÓ¡µÄÕ˵¥¡£

6 The high rate of interest is not the only attractive feature of the Bank of Dave. Equally important from the kids' point of view is that their accounts belong to them. When they save, they harvest the benefit; when they want to spend, they don't need permission. Children who have no control over their own funds have no incentive not to beg for money and then spend every dollar that comes into their hands.

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7 The way to help children become rational consumers is to give them more control, not less. Before we go on vacation, I'll usually give my kids an extra twenty bucks or so, which I deposit in their accounts. I tell them that they can spend the extra money on a T-shirt, save it, spend it before we leave, or do anything else they want with it -- but that while we are on vacation, they won't receive any additional pocket money from me (except in the form of communal purchases considered by custom to be vacation entitlements, such as candy, ice cream, movie tickets, and so on). Because any money they spend starts out as theirs, not mine, they think twice before throwing it away. In a souvenir store on Martha's Vineyard a couple of summers ago my son quietly studied the unpromising merchandise while a friend of his loudly cajoled his parents into paying five dollars for a toy gun, which fell apart almost before we got back to the car. My son ended up spending thirty-three cents for an unopened geode, which he later cracked open by hitting it with a hammer -- a good value, it seemed to me. If he had been spending my money instead of his, he undoubtedly would have wanted a toy gun instead.

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8 \are instinctive capitalists. If given enough leeway, they quickly become shrewd managers of their own finances. When parents fail in their efforts at financial education, it's usually because for reasons of their own they have managed to make saving seem painful and dull. Money is fun, and it's almost entirely self-explanatory. (4) The only way to teach kids to adopt a long-term perspective is to give them a short-term incentive for doing so.

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Unit2

Does being rich mean you live a completely different life from ordinary people? Not, it seems, if your name is Sam Walton.

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THE RICHEST MAN IN AMERICA, DOWN HOME

Art Harris

1 He put on a dinner jacket to serve as a waiter at the birthday party of The Richest Man in America. He imagined what surely awaited: a mansion, a \for every day of the week,\dogs with diamond collars, servants everywhere. ÃÀ¹úÏç°ÍÀÐÊ׸» °¢ÌØ¡¤¹þÀï˹

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2 Then he was off to the house, wheeling past the sleepy town square in Bentonville, a remote Arkansas town of 9,920, where Sam Walton started with a little dime store that grew into a $6 billion discount chain called Wal-Mart. He drove down a country road, turned at a mailbox marked \at a house in the woods.

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3 It was nice, but no palace. The furniture appeared a little worn. An old pickup truck sat in the garage and a muddy bird dog ran about the yard. He never spotted any servants.

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4 \ ¡°Ì«ÁîÈËʧÍûÁË£¬¡±ÊÌÕß½ÜÃס¤±«ÓÈ̾µÀ¡£

5 Only in America can a billionaire carry on like plain folks and get away with it. And the 67-year-old discount king Sam Moore Walton still travels these windy back roads in his 1979 Ford pickup, red and white, bird dogs by his side, and, come

shooting season, waits in line like everyone else to buy shells at the local Wal-Mart. Ö»ÓÐÔÚÃÀ¹ú£¬Ò»¸öÒÚÍò¸»Î̲ÅÄÜÏñÆÕͨ°ÙÐÕÒ»Ñù£¬°²Îȵعý×ÅÆÕÆÕͨͨµÄÈÕ×Ó¡£67ËêµÄÁ®¼Ûµê´óÍõÈøÄ·¡¤Ä¶û¡¤ÎÖ¶û¶ÙÈÔÈ»¿ª×ÅËûÄÇÁ¾ºì°×Á½É«µÄ1979Äê³ö³§µÄ¸£ÌØÅÆÇáÐÍ»õ³µ´©ÐÐÔÚÍäÍäÇúÇúµÄÏç¼äСµÀÉÏ£¬Éí±ß×ø×ÅËûµÄ²¶ÇÝÁÔÈ®¡£µ±á÷ÁÔ¼¾½ÚÀ´ÁÙʱ£¬Ëû¸ú±ðÈËÒ»ÑùÔÚµ±µØµÄÎÖ¶ûÂêÉ̵êÅŶӹºÂòÁÔǹ×Óµ¯¡£

6 \doesn't want any special treatment,\says night manager Johnny Baker, who struggles to call the boss by his first name as a recent corporate memo commands. Few here think of his billions; they call him \and accept his folksy ways. \the same man who opened his dime store on the square and worked 18 hours a day for his dream,\ ¡°Ëû²»ÒªÈκÎÌØÊâ´ýÓö£¬¡± Ò¹°à¾­ÀíÇÇÄᡤ±´¿Ë˵£¬Ëû·ÑÁ˺ôóµÄ¾¢²ÅÈ繫˾×î½üÒ»·Ý±¸Íü¼Ëù¹æ¶¨µÄÄÇÑù¶Ô×Ô¼ºµÄÀϰåÒÔÃûÏà³Æ¡£ÕâÀXºõûÈËÈ¥ÏëËûµÄÒÚÍòÉí¼Û£¬ËûÃdzÆËûÎªÈøÄ·ÏÈÉú£¬Ë¿ºÁ²»ÒÔËûµÄƽÃñ×÷·çΪ¹Ö¡£¡°Ëû»¹ÊÇÄǸöÔÚÊÐÕþ¹ã³¡¿ªÁ®¼Ûµê£¬ÎªÁË×Ô¼ºµÄÃÎÏëÿÌ칤×÷18¸öСʱµÄÈË£¬Ò»µãû±ä£¬¡±Êг¤Àí²éµÂ¡¤»ô°Í¿Ë˵¡£

7 By all accounts, he's friendly, cheerful, a fine neighbor who does his best to blend in, never flashy, never throwing his weight around.

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8 No matter how big a time he had on Saturday night, you can find him in church on Sunday. Surely in a reserved seat, right? \don't have reserved seats,\says Gordon Garlington III, pastor of the local church.

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9 So where does The Richest Man in America sit? Wherever he finds a seat. \. He doesn't have a set place. At a church supper the other night, he and his wife were in back washing dishes.\

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10 For 19 years, he's used the same barber. John Mayhall finds him waiting when he opens up at 7 a.m. He chats about the national news, or reads in his chair, perhaps the Benton County Daily Democrat, another Walton property that keeps him off the front page. It buried the Forbes list at the bottom of page 2.

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11 \ ¡°Ëûѹ¸ù¶ù²»ÊÇÄÇÖÖ°®ÉÏÍ·°æÐÂÎŵÄÈË£¬¡±Ò»Î»±¨Éç¹ÍÔ±½âÊÍ˵¡£

12 But one recent morning, The Richest Man in America did something that would have made headlines anywhere in the world: He forgot his money. \said, 'Forget it, take care of it next time, '\and he went home for his wallet.\

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13 Wasn't that, well, a little strange? \sir,\says Mayhall, \only thing strange about Sam Walton is that he isn't strange.\

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14 But just how long Walton can hold firm to his folksy habits with celebrity hunters keeping following him wherever he goes is anyone's guess. Ever since Forbes magazine pronounced him America's richest man, with $2.8 billion in Wal-Mart stock, he's been a rich man on the run, steering clear of reporters, dreamers, and schemers. È»¶ø£¬ÎÖ¶û¶ÙËùµ½Ö®´¦ÃûÈË×·ÐÇ×å½ô¸ú²»ÉᣬËûµÄƽÃñϰ¹ßÄܱ£³Ö¶à¾Ã£¬¾ÍºÜÄÑ˵ÁË¡£×Ô´Ó¡¶¸£²¼Ë¹¡·ÔÓÖ¾Ðû²¼ËûÓµÓмÛÖµ28ÒÚµÄÎÖ¶ûÂê¹ÉƱ³ÉΪÃÀ¹úÊ׸»ÒÔºó£¬Ëû¾Í³ÉÁËÒ»¸ö¶«¶ãÎ÷²ØµÄ¸»ÈË£¬ËûµÃ˦¿ª¼ÇÕß¡¢Ñ°ÃÎÕߣ¬»¹ÓÐͼı²»¹ìÕß¡£

15 \Von Gremp, \he doesn't know whether he is or not -- and he doesn't care. He doesn't spend much. He owns stock, but he's always left it in the company so it could

grow. But the real story in his mind is the success achieved by the 100,000 people who make up the Wal-Mart team.\

¡°Ëû»òÐíÊÇ¡¶¸£²¼Ë¹¡·ÅÅÐаñµÄÊ׸»£¬¡±¹«Ë¾ÊÂÎñÖ÷¹Ü¼ªÄ·¡¤·ë¡¤¸ñÀ×Ä·ÆÕ˵£¬¡°µ«Ëû²¢²»ÖªµÀ×Ô¼ºÊDz»ÊÇÊ׸»¡ª¡ª¶øÇÒËûÒ²²»ÔÚºõ¡£Ëû²»Ôõô»¨Ç®¡£ËûÊÇÓµÓÐ¹ÉÆ±£¬µ«ËûÒ»Ö±°Ñ¹ÉƱÁôÔÚ¹«Ë¾ÀïºÃÈù«Ë¾·¢Õ¹¡£¶øËûÄÔ×ÓÀïÕæÕýÏë×ŵÄÊÇÎÖ¶ûÂêÊ®ÍòÔ±¹¤¹²Í¬È¡µÃµÄ³É¹¦¡£¡±

16 He's usually back home for Friday sales meetings, or the executive pep rally Saturday morning at 7 a.m., when Walton, as he does at new store openings, is liable to jump up on a chair and lead everyone in the Wal-Mart cheer: \me a W! Give me an A! Give me an L! Louder!\

Ëûͨ³£»ØÀ´²Î¼ÓÐÇÆÚÎåµÄÏúÊÛ»áÒ飬»òÊÇÐÇÆÚÁùÔ糿7µãµÄÐÐÕþÈËÔ±¹Ä¾¢»á£¬½ìʱÎÖ¶û¶Ù»áÏñ·ÖµêпªÕÅʱÄÇÑù£¬ÌøÉÏÒÎ×Ó£¬´øÁì´ó¼Òºôº°ÎÖ¶ûÂ깫˾¿ÚºÅ£º¡°¸øÎÒÒ»¸öW£¡¸øÎÒÒ»¸öA£¡¸øÎÒÒ»¸öL£¡´óÉùµã£¡¡±

17 And louder they yell. No one admits to feeling the least bit silly. It's all part of the Wal-Mart way of life as laid down by Sam: loyalty, hard work, long hours; get ideas into the system from the bottom up, Japanese-style; treat your people right; cut prices and margins to the bone and sleep well at night. Employees with one year on board qualify for stock options, and are urged to buy all they can.

ÓÚÊÇ´ó¼ÒÔ½º°Ô½Ï졣ûÓÐ˭˵ÕâÑù×öÓеãɵ¡£Õâ¶¼ÊÇÈøÄ·¶¨ÏÂÀ´µÄÎÖ¶ûÂêÉú»î·½Ê½µÄÒ»²¿·Ö£ºÖҳϣ¬ÇÚÃ㣬¼Ó°à¼Óµã£»´Ó¹«Ë¾×îµ×²ãÆð´ó¼Ò¼¯Ë¼¹ãÒæ£¬ÈÕ±¾¹ÜÀí·½Ê½£»ÉÆ´ýÔ±¹¤£»¾¡¿ÉÄܽµµÍ¼Û¸ñ¡¢¼õÉÙÀûÈó£¬Ò»Ò¹°²Ë¯µ½ÌìÁÁ¡£Ô±¹¤½ø¹«Ë¾Ò»Äê¾ÍÓÐ×ʸñ»ñµÃÓÅÏÈÈϹÉȨ£¬²¢Ò»ÔÙ¹ÄÀøËûÃǾ¡ÄÜÁ¦¹ºÂò¡£

18 After the pep rally, there's bird hunting, or tennis on his backyard court. But his stores are always on his mind. One tennis guest managed to put him off his game by asking why a can of balls cost more in one Wal-Mart than another. It turned out to be untrue, but the move worked. Walton lost four straight games.

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19 Walton set up a college scholarship fund for employees' children, a disaster relief fund to rebuild employee homes damaged by fires, floods, tornadoes, and the like. He believed in cultivating ideas and rewarding success.

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20 \say, 'That fellow worked hard, let's give him a little extra,'\recalls retired president Ferold F. Arend, who was stunned at such generosity after the stingy employer he left to join Wal-Mart. \my way of thinking when I came

aboard.\

¡°Ëû»á˵£¬¡®ÄÇÈ˹¤×÷ŬÁ¦£¬½±ÀøÒ»Ï°ɣ¬¡¯¡±ÍËÐݵÄǰÈÎ×ܲ÷ÑÂÞ¶ûµÂ¡¤F¡¤°¢Â׵»ØÒäµÀ¡£ËûÔ­Ïȹ©Ö°µÄ¹ÍÖ÷·Ç³£Áߨģ¬ËùÒÔÀ뿪ÄÇÀï¼ÓÈëÎÖ¶ûÂ깫˾֮ºó£¬Ëû¶ÔÕâÖÖ¿¶¿®ÐÐΪÉî¸ÐÕ𾪡£¡°ÎÒ¼ÓÃËÎÖ¶ûÂêºó£¬²»µÃ²»¸Ä±ä×Ô¼ºµÄ˼ά·½Ê½¡£¡±

21 \reason for our success,\says Walton, in a company handout, \our people and the way they're treated and the way they feel about their company. They believe things are different here, but they deserve the credit.\ ¡°ÎÒÃÇÖ®ËùÒԳɹ¦£¬¡±ÎÖ¶û¶ÙÔÚ¹«Ë¾Ðû´«²áÉÏдµÀ£¬¡°ÊÇÓÉÓÚÎÒÃǵÄÔ±¹¤£¬ÊÇÓÉÓÚËûÃÇËùÊܵ½µÄ´ýÓöÒÔ¼°ËûÃǶԹ«Ë¾µÄ¸ÐÇé¡£ËûÃÇÈÏΪÕâÀïÓëÖÚ²»Í¬£¬µ«ÊÇÕâÖÖÈÙÓþËûÃÇÊÜÖ®ÎÞÀ¢¡£¡±

22 Adds company lawyer Jim Hendren: \never seen anyone yet who worked for him or was around him for any length of time who wasn't better off. And I don't mean just financially, although a lot of people are. It's just something about him -- coming into contact with Sam Walton just makes you a better person.\ ¹«Ë¾ÂÉʦ¼ªÄ·¡¤ ºàµÂÂײ¹³ä˵£¬¡°ÎÒ´Óû¼û¹ýÓÐ˭ΪËû¹¤×÷»òºÍËû½Ó´¥Ò»¶Îʱ¼äºó¶ø²»ÊÜÒæµÄ¡£ÎÒ²»½ö½öÊÇָǮ²Æ·½Ã棬µ±È»Ðí¶àÈËÊǸü¸»ÓÐÁË¡£ÎÒÊÇ˵ËûµÄijÖÖÄÚÔڵĶ«Î÷¡ª¡ªÓëÈøÄ·¡¤ÎÖ¶û¶Ù½»Íù»áʹÄã³ÉΪһ¸ö¸ü½¡È«µÄÈË¡£¡±

Making the journey from log cabin to White House is part of the American Dream. But when Jimmy Carter was defeated in his attempt to gain a second term as President of the United States he found himself suddenly thrown out of the White House and back in his log cabin. This is how he coped.

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The Restoration of Jimmy Carter

Sara Pacher

1 Maybe it's because I, too, was born and raised in a small south Georgia town, but I found sitting down to talk to Rosalynn and Jimmy Carter as comfortable as lazing in a porch swing on a summer afternoon, sipping iced tea. Just such a swing overlooks a roaring mountain stream at the Carters' log cabin retreat in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Along with the cabin's other furniture, the swing was designed and built by the former president, a master woodworker who selects and cuts the trees for such projects from his 160-acre farm. He then strips off the bark and shapes the wood into furniture and other items. ¼ªÃס¤¿¨Ìصĸ´Ôª

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2 \daddy was a good man with tools,\he recalls, \learning how to use them was as natural as breathing for us. If something broke, we had to fix it ourselves. You didn't call somebody in to repair something or replace it with something new. We had these skills -- all farmers did during the Depression years.\ ¡°ÎÒ¸¸Ç×Éó¤Ê¹Óù¤¾ß£¬¡±Ëû»ØÒäµÀ£¬¡°Òò´ËѧϰʹÓù¤¾ß¶ÔÎÒÃÇÀ´Ëµ¾ÍÏñºôÎüÒ»Ñù×ÔÈ»¡£ÒªÊÇÓÐʲô¶«Î÷»µÁË£¬ÎÒÃǾ͵Ã×Ô¼ºÐÞ¡£ÎÒÃDz»»áÇëÈËÀ´ÐÞÀí»ò»»Ðµġ£ÎÒÃÇÓÐÕâÖÖÊÖÒÕ ¡ª¡ª ´óÏôÌõʱÆÚ£¬Å©Ãñ¶¼ÓÐÕâÒ»ÊÖ¡£¡±

3 Over the years, Carter has made some 50 household items, about half of which he has given away as gifts. But some pieces still sit around the family's Plains house and have been in use for over 30 years. His wife is quick to point out, however, that his skills improved as time went on. \built a sofa for the back porch. He used nails then. Now he builds everything without nails. He's studied woodworking and worked at it, and he's made really beautiful furniture for our home -- including a pencil-post bed and tables by the side.\

¶àÄêÀ´£¬¿¨ÌØÖÆ×÷ÁËÔ¼50¼þ¾Ó¼ÒÓÃÆ·£¬²î²»¶àÓÐÒ»°ëÒÑ×÷ΪÀñÎïÀ¡ÔùËûÈË¡£µ«ÓÐÐ©ÖÆÆ·ÈÔÁôÔÚÆÕÀ¼Ë¹µÄ¼ÒÀ¶¼ÓÃÁË30¶àÄêÁË¡£²»¹ý£¬ËûÆÞ×ӸϽôÖ¸³ö£¬ËûµÄÊÖÒÕÔÚ²»¶ÏÌá¸ß¡£¡°1953ÄêÎÒÃǸմӺ£¾üÍËÒۻؼÒʱ£¬Ëû×öÁËÖ»·ÅÔÚºóÃÅÀÈÓõÄɳ·¢¡£ÄÇʱËû»¹Óö¤×Ó¡£ÏÖÔÚËû×öʲô¶¼²»Óö¤×ÓÁË¡£ËûÑо¿Ä¾¹¤¹¤ÒÕ£¬Ï¹¦·òÖÆ×÷£¬Ëû¸ø¼ÒÀï×öµÄ¼Ò¾ßÕæµÄ·Ç³£Æ¯ÁÁ£¬°üÀ¨Ò»ÕÅϸÖù´²ºÍÅäÌ׵Ĵ²Í·¹ñ¡£¡±

4 His woodworking talent served Carter well during his political campaigns, particularly when meeting factory workers. \people who work in a factory before they realize that you, yourself, have been a laborer. It may be a different kind of skill from theirs, but there's a bond, sort of like a brotherhood, among people who work with their hands.\ ¿¨ÌصÄľ¹¤²Å¸ÉÔÚÕþÖξºÑ¡ÖУ¬ÓÈÆäÊÇÔÚÓ빤³§¹¤È˼ûÃæÊ±·¢»ÓÁ˺ܺõÄ×÷Óᣡ°Äã²»ÓøúÔÚ¹¤³§¸É»îµÄÈ˶à˵£¬ËûÃǾͻáÃ÷°×£¬Ô­À´Äã±¾ÈËÒ²ÊǸöÀͶ¯Õß¡£ÄãµÄÊÖÒÕ»òÐí¸úËûÃDz»Ò»Ñù£¬µ«ÔÚ¸ÉÌåÁ¦»îµÄÈËÖ®¼äÓÐÖÖÌìÈ»µÄŦ´ø£¬ºÃËÆÊÖ×ãÖ®Çé¡£¡±

5 Once he campaigned his way to the presidency, Carter occasionally managed to slip in a few hours at the carpenter's shed at Camp David, because, in his opinion, \

with one's own hands -- whether it's tilling the soil, building a house, making a piece of furniture, playing a violin or painting a painting -- is something that doesn't change with the ups and downs of life. And for me, going back to the earth or going back to the woodshop have always been opportunities to reinforce my basic skills. (2)No matter if I was involved in writing a book, conducting a political campaign, teaching at Emory University or dealing with international affairs, I could always go back -- at least for a few hours at a time -- to the woodshop. That's meant an awful lot to me. It's

a kind of therapy, but it's also a steadying force in my life -- a total rest for my mind. ¿¨ÌØÒ»Â·¾ºÑ¡µ±ÉÏ×Üͳ֮ºó£¬Å¼¶ûÒ²Éè·¨ÇÄÇÄÁïµ½´÷άӪµÄľ¹¤³¡¸ÉÉϼ¸¸öСʱ£¬ÒòΪÔÚËû¿´À´£¬¡°ÎÒÃÇÔÚÉú»îÖÐÐèҪһЩÓÀÔ¶²»±äµÄÒªËØ¡£ÎÒÈÏΪÊÖÒÕ ¡ª¡ª ²»¹ÜÊǸûµØ£¬Ôì·¿×Ó£¬×ö¼Ò¾ß£¬À­Ð¡ÌáÇÙ£¬»¹ÊÇ»­Í¼ ¡ª¡ª ÕâЩ¶«Î÷²»»áÒòÉú»îµÄÆðÆðÂäÂä¶ø¸Ä±ä¡£ÖÁÓÚÎÒ£¬»Øµ½Å©³¡ÖֵػòÖØ·µÄ¾¹¤³¡Ò»Ö±ÊÇÎÒÔö½ø»ù±¾¼¼ÄܵĻú»á¡£ÎÞÂÛÎÒÔÚдÊ飬´ÓÊÂÕþÖλ£¬ÔÚ°®ÄªÈð´óѧ½ÌÊ飬»¹ÊÇ´¦Àí¹ú¼ÊÊÂÎñ£¬ÎÒ×Ü»áÉè·¨³é¿Õ»Øµ½Ä¾¹¤³¡£¬Ã¿´ÎÖÁÉÙ´ôÉϼ¸¸öСʱ¡£Õâ¶ÔÎÒÊ®·ÖÖØÒª¡£ÕâÊÇÒ»ÖÖÀíÁÆ£¬Í¬Ê±Ò²ÊÇÎÒÉú»îÖеÄÒ»ÖÖÎȶ¨Á¦Á¿ ¡ª¡ª ÊÇÉíÐĵÄÍêÈ«ÐÝÏ¢¡£¡±

6 \I'm writing or the paragraph I can't complete or the ideas that don't come. I'm thinking about the design of a piece of furniture, how the wood's going to fit together, what joint I'm going to use and whether or not my hand tools are sharp.\ ¡°ÔÚľ¹¤³¡µÄʱºò£¬¡±Ëû½Ó×Å˵£¬¡°ÎÒ²»»áÈ¥ÏëÕýÔÚдµÄÕ½ڣ¬²»»áÈ¥Ïëд²»ÏÂÈ¥µÄ¶ÎÂä»ò¸édzµÄ˼·¡£ÎÒ¿¼ÂǵÄÊÇÒ»¼þ¼Ò¾ßµÄÉè¼Æ£¬Ä¾ÁϸÃÈçºÎǶºÏ£¬ÓÃʲôÑùµÄé¾Í·£¬»¹Óй¤¾ßÊÇ·ñ·æÀû¡£¡±

7 (3)In Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter's recently published book, Everything to Gain, they explain frankly how they used back-to-basics skills to confront and resolve their painful political defeat, a sudden departure from Washington and their fears of an empty future.

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8 \\lives, not to the White House, but to Plains -- for a couple of reasons. One, to show the attraction of a small town, and, second, to make it clear that the book is not just about a couple who happened to have been the First Family of the nation; it's also written for the average person who loses a job, has an unexpected career change, has to move to a place not of his or her choice, has a last child leave home. Or for a married couple who suddenly find themselves at retirement age and living together for the first time all day long -- not just at night.\ ¡°ÔÚÊéÀ¡±¼ªÃ×˵£¬¡°³öÓÚ¼¸ÖÖÔ­Òò£¬ÎÒÃÇÊÔͼ½«ÎÒÃǵÄÉú»îÓëÆÕÀ¼Ë¹¶ø²»ÊǸú°×¹¬ÁªÏµÔÚÒ»Æð¡£ÆäÒ»£¬ÊÇΪÁËչʾСÕòµÄ÷ÈÁ¦£»Æä¶þÊÇÒªÇå³þµØ±íÃ÷£¬Õâ±¾ÊéдµÄ²¢²»½ö½öÊÇÒ»¶ÔÓÐÐÒ³ÉΪÃÀ¹úµÚÒ»¼ÒÍ¥µÄ·ò¸¾µÄÉú»î£¬ËüÒ²ÊÇд¸øÆÕͨÈË¿´µÄ£¬ÀýÈçÒ»¸öʧȥ¹¤×÷µÄÈË£¬Í»È»Óöµ½Ö°Òµ±äǨµÄÈË£¬²¢·Ç³öÓÚ×Ô¼ºµÄÑ¡

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9 The Carters plunged with enthusiasm into such projects as laying a sidewalk and putting a hardwood floor in their unfinished loft. Rosalynn has picked up additional carpentry skills in working with one of their favorite organizations, Habitat for Humanity. This is a housing program for the homeless, helping them to build their own houses together with the help of volunteers. ¿¨ÌØ·ò¸¾ÈÈÇéͶÈëÁËÖîÈçÆÌÉèÈËÐеÀ¡¢ÔÚÉÐδÍ깤µÄ¸óÂ¥ÀïÆÌӲľµØ°åÕâÀ๤³Ì¡£ÔÚÓëÁ½ÈË×îϲ»¶µÄÒ»¸ö»ú¹¹¡°²©°®¾Ó¼Ò¡±µÄ¹²Ê¹ý³ÌÖУ¬ÂÞɯÁÕѧµ½Á˲»ÉÙľ¹¤ÊÖÒÕ¡£¡°²©°®¾Ó¼Ò¡±ÊÇÒ»ÏîΪÎ޼ҿɹéµÄÈË´´°ìµÄס·¿¹¤³Ì£¬°ïÖúËûÃÇÔÚÖ¾Ô¸ÕßµÄЭÖúϽ¨Ôì×Ô¼ºµÄ¼ÒÔ°¡£

10 \we both spend a good bit of time on our farm,\adds Carter. \take care of the timberlands. Sometimes we go for long walks in the woods. I may see a particular tree that I think would be suitable for four or five -- perhaps, seven or eight -- chairs or for some other piece of furniture. I usually select a tree close to home, though, since I have to carry the pieces back to the woodshop area. ¡°ÎÒÁ©¶¼ÔÚÅ©³¡ÉÏ»¨Á˲»ÉÙʱ¼ä£¬¡±¿¨ÌØËµ£¬¡°ÎÒÃÇ»¤ÀíÁֵء£ÓÐʱÎÒÃÇÔÚÁÖ×ÓÀﳤʱ¼äÉ¢²½¡£ÎÒ»òÐí»á¿´µ½Ä³¿ÃÎÒ¾õµÃÊʺÏÖÆ×÷ËÄÎå°Ñ¡ª¡ªÒ²ÐíÆß°Ñ¡¢°Ë°Ñ¡ª¡ªÒÎ×Ó»ò±ðµÄʲô¼Ò¾ßµÄÊ÷¡£²»¹ý£¬ÎÒͨ³£ÌôÑ¡Àë¼Ò½üµÄÊ÷£¬ÒòΪÎÒµÃ×Ô¼º°ÑľÁ졇ȯµ½Ä¾¹¤³¡µØ¡£

11 \my favorite kinds of woodworking involves green wood, but there's a tremendous amount of hard labor involved in that. You have to try to handle the different rates at which the wood dries, so the joints get tight and durable. It's the kind of technical problem that appeals to me,\

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12 Obviously, most of today's young people don't grow up routinely learning to use their hands \naturally as breathing,\he thinks they still have an advantage his parents' generation lacked.

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13 \or were physically incapable of working anymore. You began work at sunrise and worked until dark. But, nowadays, you work 40 hours a week, get a couple of weeks off for vacation and then retire at 55, 60 or 65. You have so much spare time to take on additional exciting things. Sometimes they can be quite useful things; sometimes

just enjoyable; sometimes devoted to serving others. In Everything to Gain we try to present a broad range of activities an average person can undertake. We try to point out that no matter what stage of life you may be in -- young, middle-aged or retired -- there's the possibility of a constantly expanding field of interest, excitement, challenge, fulfillment and adventure. (4)In this book we encourage people to take on new things that might look very difficult, but that become very rewarding once the person is involved.\do is to learn something new.\

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Unit3

This comedy centers around a proud father's attempts to help his children, attempts which somehow or other always end up embarrassing them. For the sake of fun it carries things to extremes, but nearly everyone can recognize something of themselves and their parents in it.

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Father Knows Better

Marsh Cassady

1

CHARACTERS: FATHER; MOTHER; HEIDI, 14; DIANE, 17; SEAN, 16; RESTAURANT MANAGER, 20s; MRS. HIGGINS.

SETTING: Various locations including a fast-food restaurant, the Thompson family dining room, and an office at a high school.

AT RISE: As the lights come up, HEIDI enters and crosses Down Right to the edge of the stage. SEAN and DIANE enter and cross Down Left to the edge of the stage. They listen as HEIDI addresses the audience. ÀϰÖÓ¢Ã÷

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HEIDI: My dad's a nice man. Nobody could possibly believe that he isn't. Yet he's...well, he's always doing these stupid things that end up really embarrassing one or more of us kids. One time, see, my brother wanted to buy this guitar. Been saving money for it for a long time. Then he got a job at this fast-food place, OK? Waiting tables. It was Sean's first actual job, and he was real happy about it. He figured in two or three months he'd have enough money to buy exactly the kind of guitar he wanted. Mom and Dad were proud of him, and well, OK, he's my big brother, and he's always pulling these dumb things on me. But, well, I was proud of him too. You know what happened? I hate to tell you because:

SEAN, DIANE and HEIDI: (In unison) Father knows better!

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(The lights come Up Left on the fast-food restaurant where SEAN works. It consists of a counter and couple of small tables. The MANAGER stands behind the counter. SEAN is busily cleaning the tables when FATHER walks in. ) MANAGER: Good evening, sir. May I help you? FATHER: Good evening.

SEAN: (To himself) Oh, no! (He squats behind one of the tables trying to hide from FATHER. )

FATHER: I'm looking for the manager. MANAGER: That would be me, sir.

FATHER: I'm Sam Thompson. My son works here. MANAGER: Oh, you're Sean's father.

FATHER: Yes. It's his first job, you know. I just wanted to check that he's doing OK. MANAGER: Oh, fine. No problem.

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SEAN: (Spreading his hands, palms up, speaking to himself) What did I do to deserve this? Tell me what?

FATHER: Hiring him was a good thing then? MANAGER: Well, yeah, I suppose so.

SEAN: (Still to himself) Go home, Dad. Go home. Go home.

FATHER: I'm sure he's a good worker but a typical teenager, if you know what I mean.

MANAGER: (Losing interest) I wouldn't know.

FATHER: He's a good boy. And I assure you that if there are any subjects that need to be addressed, Sean and I will have a man-to-man talk. MANAGER: I don't think that will be necessary...

FATHER: Oh, no problem. I'm proud of my son. Very, very proud. And I just wanted you to know that I'll do anything I can to help him through life's dangerous sea.

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SEAN: (Standing up and screaming) Aaaargh! Aaaargh! Aaaaaaargh! FATHER: Son, I didn't know you were here. SEAN: It's where I work, Dad.

FATHER: Of course. I mean, I didn't see you. SEAN: I can't imagine why.

FATHER: Your manager and I were just having a nice chat.

(DIANE enters Down Left just as HEIDI enters Down Right. They look at SEAN and FATHER. )

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(The lights quickly fade to black and then come up a second or two later. SEAN stands alone at the Down Right edge of the stage. HEIDI and DIANE cross to Down Left edge of the stage. )

SEAN: If that sort of thing happened only once in a while, it wouldn't be so bad. Overall, I wouldn't want to trade my dad for anyone else's. He loves us kids and Mom too. But I think that's sometimes the problem. He wants to do things for us, things he thinks are good. But he needs to give them more thought because: SEAN, HEIDI and DIANE: (In unison) Father knows better!

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(The lights fade to black and come up on the Center Stage area where FATHER and the three children are seated around the dining room table. MOTHER enters carrying a dish, which she sets on the table. FATHER quickly rises and pulls out her chair. She sits. The family starts eating dinner. )

FATHER: I have a surprise for you, Diane.

DIANE: (Knows it can't be good. ) You have... a surprise?

MOTHER: Well, whatever it is, dear, don't keep us in suspense. FATHER: Well, you know, Dan Lucas and I work together? DIANE: Kyle's father?

MOTHER: Don't interrupt, dear, your father is trying to tell you something. HEIDI: (Stage whisper to SEAN) Something Diane won't want to know, I'll bet. SEAN: (Whispering to HEIDI) Whatever would make you think that? MOTHER: Sean, dear. Heidi, sweetheart, don't distract your father. SEAN and HEIDI: (Simultaneously) Sorry, Mom.

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FATHER: Now then. As I was saying, I know how much you like young Kyle. DIANE: Father!

FATHER: It's true, isn't it? Didn't I hear you tell your mother that you wish Kyle would ask you to the senior prom? SEAN: Uh-oh! HEIDI: Oops!

MOTHER: Please, children, please. Your father is trying to speak.

DIANE: (Through clenched teeth, the words are in a monotone and evenly spaced. ) Yes-I-said-that-why-are-you-asking? FATHER: Well then.

DIANE: (Becoming hysterical)\ FATHER: What did I say? Did I say something wrong? HEIDI: (To SEAN) Not yet, he didn't.

SEAN: (To HEIDI) But you know it's coming.

MOTHER: Children, please. Do give your father the respect he deserves. HEIDI and SEAN: (Rolling their eyes) Yes, Mother.

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FATHER: Well, today I saw Dan and asked if he'd like to go to lunch at that French restaurant on Third Street. You know the one, Mother. MOTHER: Well, yes, I believe I do.

FATHER: My treat, I told him. And, of course, he was glad to accept. MOTHER: Why wouldn't he be?

FATHER: (Somewhat surprised) Well, yes. DIANE: What-has-this-to-do-with me?!

MOTHER: Diane, sometimes I just don't understand your behavior. I try my best. DIANE: (Very short with her) I'm sorry.

MOTHER: Thank you, Diane. (To FATHER) Please do go on, dear. FATHER: As I said --

HEIDI: We know what you said, Daddy. FATHER: Er...uh, what's that?

SEAN: She said,\.\ FATHER: Yes, yes, of course.

MOTHER: Do get on with it, dear. I've made the most glorious dessert. An old recipe handed down to me by my great Aunt Hilda -- DIANE: Mother, please! MOTHER: Yes, dear?

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10

(DIANE shakes her head and lets her body fall against the back of the chair. )

FATHER: At any rate, Dan's a nice guy. Never knew him well. Found we have a lot of the same interests. Our families, our community, global peace, human welfare. HEIDI: (Mumbling to herself) That narrows it down, all right. SEAN: Father? FATHER: Yes, son?

SEAN: I do believe Diane would like to know the surprise.

DIANE: (Breathing hard as if exhausted, she turns to SEAN, nodding her head up and down repeatedly.) Thank you, Sean. I owe you one. £¨÷ì°²Ò¡×ÅÍ·£¬ÉíÌåÑö¿¿ÔÚÒα³ÉÏ¡££©

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FATHER: Well, yes. Here it is then. I told Dan of your interest in his son. DIANE: You what?

MOTHER: Diane, what has come over you? I just don't understand the younger generation. Why back in my day -- DIANE: Mother, please!

MOTHER: What, what? What?

HEIDI: Mother, I believe she wants Father to continue. SEAN: (To himself) Get this over with, more likely.

DIANE: Daddy, please, tell me. Now. Right away. What did you say, Daddy? Please. Tell me, what did you tell Mr. Lucas? Tell me, please. Please tell me.

FATHER: Well, now, isn't this nice. It looks like my little scheme is a success. You're so eager to find out... makes a man feel as if it's all worthwhile.

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12

HEIDI: (To SEAN) Can you believe this? SEAN: (To HEIDI) Oh, sure. Can't you?

FATHER: Yes, well, I told him how much you liked young Kyle, and how you'd been wishing he'd ask you to the prom.

DIANE: You didn't! Tell me you didn't!

FATHER: Oh, yes. Anything for my children. DIANE: (Swallowing hard) And...and -- MOTHER: Diane, are you all right?

DIANE: (She juts out her chin at MOTHER and quickly jerks her head around to face FATHER. ) Well...what did he say?!

FATHER: Well, of course, being the sort of man he is -- frank, understanding, he said he'd speak to the young man, insist he give you a call. DIANE: (Angry scream! ) Whaaaaaat!

SEAN and HEIDI: (Together) Father, you know better than that. FATHER: I do? Yes, yes, I guess I do. I've...done it again, haven't I? º£µÙ£º £¨¶ÔФ¶÷£©ÄãÄÜÏàÐÅÂð£¿

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(The lights quickly fade to black and then come up a second or two later. DIANE stands alone at the Down Right edge of the stage. HEIDI and SEAN enter Down Left and cross to the edge of the stage. )

DIANE: Can you imagine how humiliated I was? An honor student, class president. And Father was out asking people to have their sons call and ask me to the prom! But that's dear old dad. Actually, he is a dear. He just doesn't stop to think. And it's not just one of us who've felt the heavy hand of interference. Oh, no, all three of us live in constant dread knowing that at any time disaster can strike because: DIANE, HEIDI and SEAN: (Shouting in unison) Father knows better.

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(The lights fade to black and quickly come up again Stage Left where there is an executive-type desk and chair and two other chairs. Behind the desk sits MRS. HIGGINS, in charge of admitting new students to Benjamin Harrison High School. HEIDI and FATHER sit in the other chairs. ) MRS.HIGGINS: So this is our new student, is it? FATHER: That's right.

MRS.HIGGINS: What's your name, young lady? HEIDI: HEIDI Thompson.

MRS.HIGGINS: I'm sure you'll find the students friendly. And the teachers more than willing to answer questions.

FATHER: She is an exceptional young woman, you know. HEIDI: Daddy!

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FATHER: Very, very bright.

MRS.HIGGINS: Yes, now if we can get you to fill out --

FATHER: Don't know where she got her brains. Her mother, I suppose. Oh, I was bright enough. But nothing like HEIDI. All her teachers have told Mrs. Thompson -- that's her mother -- and me that she was just about the brightest --

MRS.HIGGINS: (Interrupts as she loses her patience, though trying to be pleasant) As I said, if you have proof of vaccinations --ª²

FATHER: (Interrupts, carrying on with his line of thought) Besides being bright, she's very, very talented.

HEIDI: (Twists her hands over and over in front of her chest. ) Please, Daddy, don't do this.

FATHER: Well, of course I will, darling. I'm proud of you. Your mother and I are proud of you.

(Turns back to MRS. HIGGINS. ) Why just last year, in her last year of junior high school, before we moved, Heidi placed first in the county in the annual spelling bee! Isn't that wonderful? And she plays the piano like an angel. An absolute angel. ¸¸Ç×£º ·Ç³£·Ç³£´ÏÃ÷£¡

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HEIDI: Daddy, please. Please, please. Daddy, I have to go to class. I want to go to class. Please let me go to class.

FATHER: See what I mean? Such an eager learner. I can't imagine anyone's being more eager for knowledge than my Heidi. My little girl. MRS.HIGGINS: Yes, well, be that as it may --ª² HEIDI: Aaargh! Aaaaargh! Aaaargh!

(DIANE and SEAN enter Down Right. They look at HEIDI, FATHER, and MRS. HIGGINS. )

HEIDI, DIANE and SEAN: (Shouting in unison) Daddy, you know better than that! FATHER: Er, uh, I do? (Curtain)

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Unlike the father in the play which began this unit, here we have a father who is far better at seeing things from his son's point of view. As Merton shows, however, this

does not always come easy.

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WHEN FATHER DOESN'T KNOW BEST

Andrew Merton

1 On November 25, 1983, the prizefighter Marvis Frazier, 23 and inexperienced, was knocked out by the heavyweight champion of the world, Larry Holmes, after 2 minutes and 57 seconds of the first round. Holmes pretended to come in with a left punch and Frazier went for it, leaving himself open for a right. Frazier managed to stay on his feet while Holmes rained down 19 blows in a row. Finally, with three seconds left in the round, the referee stopped the fight. At that moment, Marvis Frazier's father and manager, the former heavyweight champion Joe Frazier, embraced his son and repeated over and over: \ ¸¸Ç×δ±ØÓ¢Ã÷ °²µÂ³¡¤Ä¬¶Ù

1983Äê11ÔÂ25ÈÕ£¬Äê½ö23Ëꡢȱ·¦ÁÙ³¡¾­ÑéµÄְҵȭ»÷ÊÖÂíά˹¡¤¸¥À×ÔóÔÚµÚÒ»»ØºÏ±ÈÈü´òµ½2·Ö57Ãëʱ±»ÖØÁ¿¼¶ÊÀ½ç¹Ú¾üÀ­À»ôķ˹»÷µ¹¡£»ôķ˹³ö×óÈ­Ñð¹¥£¬¸¥À×Ôó·ÀÎÀʱÓҲ౩¶¡£»ôÄ·Ë¹ÖØÈ­³ö»÷£¬Óêµã°ãµØÁ¬´ò19È­£¬¸¥À×Ôóͦ×ÅûÓе¹Ï¡£×îºó£¬ÔÚµÚÒ»»ØºÏֻʣÈýÃëÖÓʱ£¬²ÃÅнÐÍ£¡£µ±Ê±£¬Âíά˹¡¤¸¥À×ÔóµÄ¸¸Ç׼澭¼ÍÈË¡¢Ç°ÖØÁ¿¼¶¹Ú¾üÇÇ¡¤¸¥À×Ôó§±§×Ŷù×ÓÒ»±é±éµØËµ£º¡°Ã»Ê¶ù¡£Ã»Ê¶ù¡£ÎÒ°®Äã¡£¡±

2 Later, responding to criticism that he had overestimated his son's abilities, Joe Frazier said, \knew what I was doing.\(1)In the face of clear evidence to the contrary, Joe Frazier was unable to give up the notion that Marvis would succeed him as champion, that he would continue to hold the crown through his son. ºóÀ´£¬ÓÐÈËÅúÆÀËû¶Ô¶ù×ÓµÄʵÁ¦¹À¼Æ¹ý¸ß£¬ÇÇ¡¤¸¥À×Ô󻨴ð˵£º¡°ÎÒÖªµÀ×Ô¼ºÔÚ×öʲô¡£¡± ¾¡¹ÜÊÂʵÇå³þ±íÃ÷²¢·ÇÈç´Ë£¬µ«ÇÇ¡¤¸¥À×Ôó»¹ÊǼáÐÅÂíά˹Äܼ̳ÐËûµÄÒ²§³ÉΪ¹Ú¾ü£¬ËûµÄÈÙÒ«ÄÜͨ¹ý¶ù×Ó¼ÌÐøÏÂÈ¥¡£

3 (2)It is a disturbing business, this drive for immortality, usually much more subtle than thrusting one's son naked into the ring. Often it is simply a matter of expecting the boy to repeat one's own boyhood, step for step.

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4 In July 1983, my son Gabriel was 4 and extremely conscious of it. In fact, he defined and justified much of his behavior by his age:\own clothes.\4-year-old, I thought, was ready for a major-league baseball game. So on Saturday,

July 16, I drove him to Boston to see the Red Sox play the Oakland A's.

1983Äê7Ô£¬ÎÒ¶ù×Ó¼Ó²¼Àï°£¶û4Ë꣬²¢ÇÒÒѾ­ÓÐÁËÇ¿ÁÒµÄÄêÁäÒâʶ¡£ÊÂʵÉÏ£¬ËûµÄÐí¶àÐÐΪÊÇÒÔÄêÁäÀ´½ç¶¨µÄ£º¡°4ËêµÄº¢×Ó»á×Ô¼º´©Ò·þ¡£¡±»òÊÇ£º¡°ÎÒÄܱÈÂõ¿ËÅܵÿ졣ÒòΪÎÒ4ËêÁË£¬Ëû²Å3Ëê¡£¡± µ±Ê±ÎÒÏ룬һ¸ö4ËêµÄº¢×Ó¿ÉÒÔÈ¥¿´È«ÃÀÖ°Òµ°ôÇòÈüÁË¡£ÓÚÊÇ£¬7ÔÂ16ÈÕÐÇÆÚÁù£¬ÎÒ¿ª³µ´øËûÈ¥²¨Ê¿¶Ù¿´ºìÍà¶ÓÓë°Â¿ËÀ¼A¶ÓµÄ±ÈÈü¡£

5 It was a clear, hot day -- very hot, in fact, setting a record for Boston on that date at 97 degrees -- but, rare for Boston, it was dry. I had packed a bag with fruit and vegetables. Gabe slept through the entire 90-minute drive to Boston, a good sign, he'd be fresh for the game. Another good sign: I found a free, legal parking space. And as we entered the ball park, Gabe seemed excited. Gravely he accepted my advice to go

to the bathroom now, so we would not have to move from our seat during the action. ÄÇÊǸöÇçÀÊ¡¢Ñ×ÈȵÄÈÕ×Ó¡ª¡ªÊÂʵÉÏÄÇÒ»Ìì·Ç³£Ñ×ÈÈ£¬ÆøÎ´ﵽ97¶È£¬´´ÏÂÁ˲¨Ê¿¶Ùµ±ÌìµÄ×î¸ß¼Í¼¡ª¡ªµ«Ã»ÓÐÏÂÓ꣬ÕâÔÚ²¨Ê¿¶ÙÊǼ«Îªº±¼ûµÄ¡£ÎÒ×°ÁËÒ»´ó´ü¹ûÊß¡£¼Ó²¼ÔÚǰÍù²¨Ê¿¶ÙµÄ90·ÖÖӵijµ³ÌÀïÒ»Ö±ÔÚ˯¾õ£¬ÕâÊǸöºÃÕ÷Õ×£¬¿´ÇòʱËû¾Í»áÓо«ÉñÁË¡£»¹ÓÐÒ»¸öºÃÕ÷Õ×£ºÎÒÕÒµ½Ò»¸öºÏ·¨µÄÃâ·Ñ²´³µÎ»¡£ÎÒÁ©½ø³¡Ê±£¬¼Ó²¼ÏÔµÃÐËÖ²ª²ª¡£ËûÖ£ÖØÆäʵؽÓÊÜÁËÎҵĽ¨ÒéÏÈÈ¥²ÞËù·½±ã£¬ÕâÑùÔÚÇòÈüµ±ÖÐÎÒÃǾͲ»±ØÀ뿪×ùλÁË¡£

6 As we walked through the tunnel beneath the stadium, I remembered my own first game, in Yankee Stadium in 1952. As my father and I emerged into the sun, I was overwhelmed by the vast, green outfield. A pitcher named Vic Raschi fired strike after strike, A Yankee named Joe Collins hit a home run and the Yankees won, 3-2. The opponent had been the old Philadelphia Athletics, direct ancestors of the Oakland team. I felt joy and anticipation as Gabe and I now emerged into the sun for his first look at the field. Gabe said nothing, but he must have felt the excitement.

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7 We found our seats, on the right-field side of the park. Good seats, from which we could see every part of the playing field. We were about a half-hour early, and we settled down to watch the end of batting practice. Gabe said he was hungry. I gave him a carrot stick, which he chewed happily. When he finished that, he asked what else I had in the bag. I gave him some grapes, then an apple. Within 15 minutes he had polished off most of the contents of the bag. And then he said:\think I've had enough baseball. I want to go home now.\

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9 \es, I have. And I want to go home.\

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12 I considered staying anyway. It was my day with my son that was being ruined here, wasn't it?

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13 (3)But I knew better. I knew now that if I insisted on staying, it would be his day that would be ruined so Dad could watch a ball game. In a rotten mood, I carried him out of the park on my shoulders just as the Red Sox took the field. µ«ÎÒ»¹ÊDZȽÏÃ÷ÖÇ£¬·ÅÆúÁË´ôÏÂÈ¥µÄÄîÍ·£¬ÎÒºÜÃ÷°×Èç¹ûÎÒ¼á³Ö´ô×Ų»×ߣ¬ÄÇËûµÄÒ»Ìì¾Í»áÒòΪ°Ö°ÖÏë¿´ÇòÈü¶ø¹ýµÃÊ®·ÖɨÐË¡£ ÎÒÇéÐ÷Ôã͸ÁË£¬ÈÃËûÆïÔÚÎҵļçÉÏ£¬¾ÍÔÚºìÍà¶ÓÉϳ¡»÷Çòʱ×ß³öÁËÌåÓý³¡¡£

14 \ ¡°°Ö°Ö£¬ÎÒÏë³Ô±ùä¿ÁÜ£¬ÐÐÂ𣿡±

15 Without much grace, I bought him an ice-cream. Then we got in the car, and I drove away from my precious parking space, still in a bad temper. He was well aware that I was upset; I could see the troubled look on his face, a combination of fear and pain. I hated that look. But I could not shake my mood. I was not looking forward to the drive back to New Hampshire.

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16 Then on Storrow Drive, I spotted the Boston Museum of Science, just across the Charles River. Gabe had been there before, and he had loved it, although he still

referred to it, quite seriously, as the \of Silence.\Still angry, I managed to say,\

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17 \eah,\ ¡°Ï룬¡±Ëû˵¡£

18 We had the museum nearly to ourselves. As we walked through the wonderfully cool exhibition halls, I acknowledged to myself how much I wanted Gabe to be like me. (4)He was supposed to like the baseball game, not for his sake, but for mine, and I had gotten angry at him when he didn't measure up to my expectations. It was those expectations, and not Gabe's actions, that were out of line. And it was those expectations that had to change.

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19 I also thought about the competition between us: what had happened at the ball park was, after all, a battle of wills. He had won. He had stood up for what he thought was right.

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20 We spent three quick hours at the museum, viewing the life-sized tyrannosaurus rex from different angles, trying out the space capsule, making waves and viewing exhibits on everything imaginable. And I was excited.

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21 Son and father, together, had saved the day -- he by holding out for something he enjoyed and I by having the sense, finally, to realize that he was right, and to let go of my dream of how things should be. ¶ù×Ӻ͸¸Ç×£¬Á½¸öÈ˹²Í¬Íì¾ÈÁËÕâÒ»Ì졪¡ªËû¼á³Ö²»·ÅÆú×Ô¼ºËùϲ»¶µÄÊÂÎ¶øÎÒ£¬×ÜËãÃ÷ÖÇ£¬×îÖÕÈÏʶµ½ËûÊǶԵ쬲¢·ÅÆúÁË×Ô¼º²»ÇÐʵ¼ÊµÄ»ÃÏë¡£

22 This time, anyway. ÖÁÉÙÕâÒ»´ÎÊÇÕâÑùµÄ¡£

23 And then I remembered something else. When my own father took me to

Yankee Stadium, I was 6 years old, not 4.

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24 Maybe in a couple of years... Ò²ÐíÔÙ¹ýÒ»Á½Äê??

Unit4

Maia Szalavitz, formerly a television producer, now spends her time as a writer. In this essay she explores digital reality and its consequences. Along the way, she compares the digital world to the \world, acknowledging the attractions of the electronic dimension.

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A Virtual Life

Maia Szalavitz

1 After too long on the Net, even a phone call can be a shock. My boyfriend's Liverpool accent suddenly becomes impossible to interpret after his easily understood words on screen; a secretary's clipped tone seems more rejecting than I'd imagined it would be. Time itself becomes fluid -- hours become minutes, or seconds stretch into days. Weekends, once a highlight of my week, are now just two ordinary days. ÐéÄâÊÀ½çµÄÉú»î ÂõÑÇ¡¤ÈûÀ­Î¬´Ä

ÔÚÍøÉÏ´ôÁËÌ«¾Ã£¬Ìýµ½µç»°ÁåÉùÒ²»áÏÅÒ»´óÌø¡£ÏÔʾÆÁÉÏ¿´¶àÁËÎÒÄÐÅóÓÑÄÇЩһĿÁËÈ»µÄÎÄ×Ö£¬ËûµÄÀûÎïÆÖ¿ÚÒôÒ»ÏÂ×Ó±äµÃÄÑÒÔÌý¶®£»¶øÃØÊéµÄÇå´à¿ìËÙµÄÓïµ÷ÌýÉÏÈ¥±ÈÎÒÏëÏóµÄÒªÉúÓ²¡£Ê±¼ä±¾Éí±äµÃ×½Ãþ²»¶¨¡ª¡ª¼¸Ð¡Ê±±ä³É¼¸·ÖÖÓ£¬»ò¼¸ÃëÖÓÑÓÉìΪ¼¸Ìì¡£ÖÜĩԭ±¾ÊÇÎÒÒ»ÖܵĻƽðʱ¶Î£¬ÏÖÔÚÈ´²»¹ýÊÇÆ½Æ½³£³£µÄÁ½Ìì¡£

2 For the last three years, since I stopped working as a television producer, I have done much of my work as a telecommuter. I submit articles and edit them via email and communicate with colleagues on Internet mailing lists. My boyfriend lives in England, so much of our relationship is also computer-assisted. ÔÚÎÒ²»ÔÙµ±µçÊÓÖÆÆ¬È˵ÄÕâÈýÄê¼ä£¬ÎҵĴ󲿷ֹ¤×÷¶¼ÊÇÔÚ¼ÒÀïʹÓüÆËã»úÖն˽øÐеġ£ÎÒͨ¹ýµç×ÓÓʼþͶ¸åºÍУ¶©£¬ÀûÓû¥ÁªÍøÉϵÄÈËÃûµØÖ·ÓëͬÐн»Á÷¡£ÎÒÄÐÅóÓÑסÔÚÓ¢¹ú£¬Òò´ËÁ½È˵ĹØÏµÒ²Ôںܴó³Ì¶ÈÉϽèÖúÓÚµçÄÔάϵ¡£

3 If I desired, I could stay inside for weeks without wanting anything. I can order food, and manage my money, love and work. In fact, at times I have spent as long as three weeks alone at home, going out only to get mail and buy newspapers and groceries. I watched most of the endless snowstorm of '96 on TV.

ÎÒÒªÊÇÔ¸ÒâµÄ»°£¬¿ÉÒÔÒ»Á¬¼¸¸öÐÇÆÚ²»³öÃŶøÊ²Ã´Ò²²»È±¡£ÎÒ¿ÉÒÔÔÚÍøÉ϶©¹ºÊ³Æ·¡¢ÍøÉÏÀí²Æ¡¢ÍøÉÏÁµ°®¡¢ÍøÉϹ¤×÷¡£ÊÂʵÉÏÎÒÓÐʱ¶À×Ô´ôÔÚ¼ÒÀﳤ´ïÈý¸öÐÇÆÚ£¬Ö»Å¼¶û³öÈ¥ÄÃÐÅ¡¢Âò±¨Ö½¼°ÈÕÓÃÆ·¡£1996ÄêÄÇÒ»³¡½ÓÒ»³¡µÄ±©·çÑ©ÎÒ´ó¶¼ÊÇÔÚµçÊÓÉÏ¿´µ½µÄ¡£

4 But after a while, life itself begins to feel unreal. I start to feel as though I've become one with my machines, taking data in, spitting them back out, just another link in the Net. Others on line report the same symptoms. We start to feel an aversion to outside forms of socializing. We have become the Net critics' worst nightmare. È»¶ø£¬Ò»¶Îʱ¼äÖ®ºó£¬Éú»î±¾Éí¾ÍÏԵò»ÄÇÃ´ÕæÊµÁË¡£ÎÒ¿ªÊ¼¾õµÃ×Ô¼ºËƺõÓë»úÆ÷ÈÚΪһÌåÁË£¬ÎÒ½ÓÊÕÐÅÏ¢£¬ÔÙ·¢ËͳöÈ¥£¬¾ÍÈçͬ»¥ÁªÍøµÄÒ»¸öÁ¬½Óµã¡£ÆäËûÉÏÍøµÄÈËҲ̸µ½ÁËͬÑùµÄÖ¢×´¡£ÎÒÃÇ¿ªÊ¼Ñá¶ñÍâÃæµÄÉç½»·½Ê½¡£ÎÒÃǵÄ×´¿ö³ÉÁËÅúÆÀ»¥ÁªÍøµÄÈËÃÇ×żûµ½µÄһĻ¡£

5 What first seemed like a luxury, crawling from bed to computer, not worrying about hair, and clothes and face, has become a form of escape, a lack of discipline. And once you start replacing real human contact with cyber-interaction, coming back out of the cave can be quite difficult. һϴ²¾ÍÉÏ»ú£¬²»ÔÙΪ·¢ÐÍ¡¢·þÊΡ¢Ã沿»¯×±·³ÐÄ£¬Æð³õ¿´ËƸ߼¶µÄÏíÊÜÈç½ñÈ´³ÉΪһÖÖ¶ÔÉú»îµÄÌӱܣ¬Ò»ÖÖȱ·¦×ÔÂɵıíÏÖ¡£ÄãÒ»µ©¿ªÊ¼ÓÃÍøÂç½»¼ÊÈ¡´úÈËÓëÈ˵ÄÕæÊµ½Ó´¥£¬Òª×ß³öÕâÖÖѨ¾Ó״̬¾Í»áÏ൱À§ÄÑ¡£

6 I find myself shyer, more cautious, more anxious. Or, conversely, when suddenly confronted with real live humans, I get overexcited, speak too much, interrupt. I constantly worry if I am dressed appropriately, that perhaps I've actually forgotten to put on a skirt and walked outside in the T-shirt and underwear I sleep and live in.

ÎÒ·¢ÏÖ×Ô¼º±äµÃ±ÈÒÔǰÇÓÉú¡¢½÷É÷¡¢½¹ÂÇ¡£»òÕߣ¬·´¹ýÀ´£¬µ±ÎÒÍ»È»Ãæ¶ÔÏÖʵÖлîÉúÉúµÄÈËʱ£¬»á±äµÃ¹ýÓÚÐË·Ü£¬Ëµ¸ö²»Í££¬°®´ò¶Ï±ðÈ˵Ľ²»°¡£ÎÒÀÏÊǵ£ÐÄ×Ô¼ºÒÂ×ÅÊÇ·ñµÃÌ壬µ£ÐÄ×Ô¼º»á²»»áÕæµÄÍüÁË´©È¹×Ó£¬Ö»´©×ÅÒ¹¼ä˯¾õ¡¢°×Ìì»î¶¯µÄÄǼþTÐôºÍÄÚÒ¾ͳöÃÅÁË¡£

7 At times, I turn on the television and just leave it to talk away in the background, something that I'd never done previously. The voices of the programs are comforting, but then I'm jarred by the commercials. I find myself sucked in by soap operas, or needing to keep up with the latest news and the weather. \\\ork 1, every possible angle of every story over and over and over, even when they are of no possible use to me. Work moves into the background. I decide to check my email.

ÓÐʱÎҰѵçÊÓ»ú¿ª×Å£¬ÈÃËü×÷Ϊ±³¾°ÉùÒôÒ»Ö±Ïì×Å£¬ÒÔǰÎÒ´Ó²»ÕâÑù×ö¡£

µçÊÓ½ÚÄ¿ÖеÄ˵»°ÉùÈÃÈ˸е½¿í¿ÉÄÇЩ¹ã¸æÓÖ½ÐÎÒÐÄ·³¡£ÎÒ·¢ÏÖ×Ô¼º³Á½þÔÚ·ÊÔí¾çÀ»òÕß²»Í£µØÊÕ¿´×îеÄÐÂÎű¨µÀºÍÌìÆøÔ¤±¨¡£Ò»¶øÔÙÔÙ¶øÈýµØ´Ó¡°Ã¿ÈÕÐÂÎÅ¡±¡¢¡°Ò»ÏßÐÂÎÅ¡±¡¢ ¡°Ò¹¼äÐÂÎÅ¡±¡¢ ÓÐÏßÐÂÎŵçÊÓÍø¡¢Å¦Ô¼Ò»Ì×ÉÏÊÕ¿´ÓйØÃ¿Ò»ÌõÐÂÎŵĸ÷ÖÖ²»Í¬Êӽǵı¨µÀ£¬¾¡¹ÜËüÃǶÔÎÒºÁÎÞÓô¦¡£¹¤×÷³ÉÁË´ÎÒªµÄ¡£ÎÒ¾ö¶¨È¥¿´Ò»ÏÂ×Ô¼ºµÄµç×ÓÐÅÏä¡£

8 On line, I find myself attacking everyone in sight. I am bad-tempered, and easily angered. I find everyone on my mailing list insensitive, believing that they've forgotten that there are people actually reading their wounding remarks. I don't realize that I'm projecting until after I've been embarrassed by someone who politely points out that I've attacked her for agreeing with me.

ÔÚÍøÉÏ£¬ÎÒ·¢ÏÖ×Ô¼º¼ûË­¹¥Ë­¡£ÎÒÆ¢Æø±©Ô꣬¶¯éüÉúÆø¡£ÎÒ¾õµÃÎÒÓë֮ͨÐŵÄÿһ¸öÈ˶¼Âéľ²»ÈÊ£¬ÈÏΪËûÃÇÒѾ­ÍüÈ´»¹ÓÐÈËÕæ»áÈ¥¶ÁËûÃÇÄÇЩ¿Ì±¡ÉËÈ˵ÄÑÔ´Ç¡£Ö±µ½ÓÐÈËÀñòµØÖ¸³ö£¬ËýͬÒâÎҵĹ۵ãÈ´Ôâµ½ÎÒµÄÅê»÷ʱ£¬ÎÒ²ÅÒâʶµ½£¬×Ô¼ºÊÇÔÚÒÔ¼º¶ÈÈË£¬²»ÓɵÃÉî¸ÐÞÏÞΡ£

9 When I'm in this state, I fight my boyfriend as well, misinterpreting his intentions because of the lack of emotional cues given by our typed dialogue. The fight takes hours, because the system keeps crashing. I say a line, then he does, then crash! And yet we keep on, doggedly.

ÔÚÕâÖÖ¾«Éñ״̬Ï£¬ÎÒÒ²ºÍÄÐÅóÓѳ³¼Ü£¬³£Òò¼ü³öµÄ¶Ô»°È±·¦Çé¸Ð°µÊ¾¶øÎó½âËûµÄ±¾Òâ¡£ÓÉÓÚϵͳ³£³ö¹ÊÕÏ£¬Á½ÈËÒ»Õù¾ÍÊǼ¸¸öСʱ¡£ÎÒдһ¾ä£¬Ëû»ØÒ»¾ä£¬½Ó×ÅϵͳʧÁ飡¿ÉÎÒÃÇÁ©»¹ÊÇïÆ¶ø²»ÉáµØ½Ó×ų³¡£

10 I'd never realized how important daily routine is: dressing for work, sleeping normal hours. I'd never thought I relied so much on co-workers for company. I began to understand why long-term unemployment can be so damaging, why life without an externally supported daily plan can lead to higher rates of drug abuse, crime, suicide. ÒÔǰÎÒ´ÓδÒâʶµ½ÈÕ³£µÄÉú»îÆð¾ÓÊǶàÃ´ÖØÒª£¬Èç´©´÷ÕûÆëÈ¥Éϰ࣬°´Ê±¾ÍÇÞ¡£ÒÔǰÎÒ´ÓδÏë¹ý×Ô¼º»áÄÇôÒÀÀµÍ¬ÊÂ×ö°é¡£ÎÒ¿ªÊ¼Àí½âΪʲô³¤Ê±¼äµÄʧҵ»áÄÇôÉËÈË£¬ÎªÊ²Ã´Ò»¸öÈ˵ÄÉú»îȱÉÙÁËÍⲿ֧³ÖµÄÈÕ³£¼Æ»®¾Í»áµ¼ÖÂÎü¶¾¡¢·¸×ï¡¢×ÔɱÂʵÄÔö³¤¡£

11 To restore balance to my life, I force myself back into the real world. I call people, arrange to meet with the few remaining friends who haven't fled New York City. I try to at least get to the gym, so as to set apart the weekend from the rest of my week. I arrange interviews for stories, doctor's appointments -- anything to get me out of the house and connected with others.

ΪÁ˻ָ´Éú»îµÄƽºâ£¬ÎÒÇ¿ÆÈ×Ô¼º»Øµ½ÕæÊµÊÀ½çÖÐÈ¥¡£ÎÒ¸ø±ðÈË´òµç»°£¬ÓëËùÊ£ÎÞ¼¸µÄÈÔȻסÔÚŦԼ³ÇµÄ¼¸¸öÅóÓѰ²ÅżûÃæ¡£ÎÒÖÁÉÙÉ跨ȥȥ½¡Éí·¿£¬ÒÔ±ãʹÖÜÄ©Ó빤×÷ÈÕÓÐËù²»Í¬¡£ÎÒ°²ÅŲɷúÃд±¨µÀ£¬Ô¤Ô¼¿´Ò½Éú¡ª¡ª°²ÅÅÈκÎÐèÒªÎÒ³öÃÅÓëËûÈ˽Ӵ¥µÄ»î¶¯¡£

12 But sometimes being face to face is too much. I see a friend and her ringing laughter is intolerable -- the noise of conversation in the restaurant, unbearable. I

make my excuses and flee. I re-enter my apartment and run to the computer as though it were a place of safety.

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13 I click on the modem, the once-annoying sound of the connection now as pleasant as my favorite tune. I enter my password. The real world disappears.

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Thought you were safe sharing secrets with Internet friends? Wait for the doorbell... ÄãÒÔΪÓëÍøÓÑ·ÖÏíÃØÃܲ»»á³öʶùÂ𣿵È×ÅÃÅÁåÏìÆðÀ´°É??

Mother's Mad About the Internuts

Carol Sarler

1 Tap tap tappa tap-tap. It is the last sound to be heard before sleep. On especially bad days, it is the first sound to be heard in the morning. (1) It is the sound of the only lasting disagreement in a household that is otherwise peaceful. My daughter is hooked on the Internet and I think that it is mad, bad and dangerous. ĸÇ׺ÞËÀÁËÍø³æ ¿¨ÂÞ¶û¡¤Èø¶ûÀÕ àªàª£¬àªàª£¬àª£­àª¡£ÕâÊÇÈë˯ǰ×îºóÌýµ½µÄÉùÒô¡£Óöµ½ÌرðÔã¸âµÄÈÕ×Ó£¬ÔçÉÏÒ»ÐÑÀ´¾ÍÌýµ½ÕâÖÖÉùÒô¡£ÕâÊÇÒ»¸öÔ­±¾°²ÄþµÄ¼ÒÍ¥ÖÐΩһ³ÖÐø²»È¥µÄ²»ºÍгÒô¡£Å®¶ù³ÁÃÔÓÚ»¥ÁªÍø£¬ÎÒ¾õµÃÕâÊÇÒ»ÖÖ·è¿ñµÄ²»¶ËÐÐΪ£¬¶øÇÒÐ×ÏÕËÄ·ü¡£

2 She is in every other respect a sensible young woman. She graduated in the summer, she goes to work each day, she and her friends are on the phone all evening and she goes out with them at weekends. But on top of that she has lately started spending some two hours in intense communication with a computer. And I hate it. ËýÔÚ±ðµÄÄĸö·½Ãæ¶¼²»Ê§ÎªÒ»¸öÃ÷ÊÂÀíµÄ¹ÃÄï¡£ËýÊÇÏÄÌì±ÏÒµµÄ£¬ÌìÌìÉϰ࣬ÍíÉϺÍÅóÓÑÃÇÔڵ绰ÀïÁÄÌ죬ÖÜÄ©ºÍËûÃÇÒ»ÆðÍâ³öÍæË£¡£µ«³ý´ËÖ®Í⣬½üÀ´ËýÿÌ컨Á½¸öСʱ¹â¾°ÓëµçÄÔØËÊØÔÚÒ»Æð¡£¶Ô´ËÎÒÉî¶ñÍ´¾ø¡£

3 This is not just fear of new technology. Of course, there is value in instant access to information banks worldwide and, of course, email is revolutionizing the way we correspond with each other. My mistrust is based on the fact that this use of the Internet is such a pale copy of the time-honored way in which people communicate with each other. (2) It leads to intimacy before acquaintance; it scatters secrets outwards, not inwards; and, most worrying of all, it is a vehicle for liars. Õâ²»ÍêÈ«ÊǶÔпƼ¼µÄ¿Ö¾å¡£µ±È»£¬ÄÜËæÊ±»ñȡȫÊÀ½çÐÅÏ¢¿âÖеÄÐÅÏ¢ÊǺÜÓмÛÖµµÄ£¬µç×ÓÓʼþÕýÔÚÍêÈ«¸Ä±äÈËÃÇÏ໥¼äͨÐÅÁªÏµµÄ·½Ê½¡£ÎҵIJ»ÐÅÈθÐÊÇ»ùÓÚÕâÑùÒ»¸öÊÂʵ£ºÊ¹Óû¥ÁªÍøÍ¨Ñ¶ÓëÈËÃÇ´«Í³µÄÏ໥½»Á÷·½Ê½Ïà±ÈʵÔÚ´óΪѷɫ¡£ËüʹÈËÃÇ»¹Î´Ïàʶ¾ÍÒÑÇ×½ü£¬Ëü²»Äܱ£ÊØÃØÃÜ·´¶øÀ©É¢ÃØÃÜ£»¶ø×îÁîÈ˵£

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4 What frightens me is that my daughter rejects all this. The denial is there in the language she uses. \Janet in January,\\we've been 'friends' ever since.\\to Alex the other day and he 'said'...\\he didn't,\friends are friends when, and only when, you have seen the whites of their eyes. She just rolls hers, skywards.

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5 Imagine this. When I was planning to go away for a few days last month, this intelligent 22-year-old announced a plan for a party, the guests to include a variety of

Internuts who, coming as they would from all corners, would need to stay overnight. ÄãÏëÏóµÃµ½Âð£¬ÉϸöÔÂÎÒÕý´òËãÍâ³öÊýÈÕµÄʱºò£¬Õâλ´ÏÃ÷µÄ22ËêµÄ¹ÃÄïÐû²¼´òËã¾ÙÐÐÒ»´Î¾Û»á£¬¿ÍÈ˰üÀ¨¸÷É«Íø³æ£¬ËûÃÇÀ´×Ô¸÷µØ£¬»¹ÒªÔÚÎÒ¼Ò¹ýÒ¹¡£

6 Overnight? In my home, my home that contains everything I care about, rather high on the list being my daughter herself.

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7 She said: \be silly.\She said it would be quite all right, because the people she was planning to invite were those whom she had \for at least a year and whom she \as any of her other friends that, on the whole, I tend to like. (3) I said, trying to be reasonable but not altogether succeeding, that in and among the things they \just have been overlooked, might it not? Ëý˵£¬¡°±ðɵ¡£¡±Ëý˵²»»áÓÐʵģ¬ÒòΪËý×¼±¸ÑûÇëµÄÄÇЩÈ˶¼ÊÇ¡°ÈÏʶ¡±ÁËÖÁÉÙÓÐÒ»ÄêµÄ£¬¶øÇÒËý¡°Á˽⡱ËûÃÇ£¬¾ÍÏñÁ˽âÎÒ×ܵÄÀ´Ëµ±È½Ïϲ»¶µÄËýµÄÆäËûÅóÓÑÒ»Ñù¡£ÎÒ˵£¬ËûÃÇžßÕžßÕ¡°½²¡±¸ø»¥ÏàÌýµÄÊÂÇéÖУ¬É±È˵ÄÇãÏò»òÐí¾Í±»ºöÂÔÁË£¬ÄѵÀÕâ²»¿ÉÄÜÂð£¿ÎÒ˵Õ⻰ʱ¾¡Á¿Ïë×öµ½Í¨Çé´ïÀí£¬µ«²»ÍêÈ«³É¹¦¡£

8 The party did not happen. The row most certainly did. ¾Û»á²»ÁËÁËÖ®¡£µ«ÎÒºÍËýȷʵ´ó³³ÁËÒ»³¡¡£

9 When I say that if they are not nutters they are nerds, she tries to reason. Do I think she is a nerd? Absolutely not. Well, then, why should they be? Do I think she is a liar? Just as absolutely not. Seizing the initiative she moves over to the attack.

µ±ÎÒ˵ÄÇЩÈ˼´Ê¹²»ÊÇ·è×ÓÒ²Ò»¶¨ÊÇЩ¹ÖÈËʱ£¬ËýÊÔͼ¸úÎÒÕùÂÛ¡£ÄÇÎÒÊDz»ÊǾõµÃËý¾ÍÊǹÖÈËÒ»¸ö£¿¾ø¶Ô²»ÊÇ¡£¼ÈÈ»ÕâÑù£¬ÄÇËûÃÇΪʲô»áÊǹÖÈËÄØ£¿ÎÒÊDz»ÊǾõµÃËý¾ÍÊǸö»ÑÑÔ¼Ò£¿µ±È»Ò²²»ÊÇ¡£ËýץסÁËÖ÷¶¯È¨£¬¿ªÊ¼·´¹¥¡£

10 \ou remember that favorite story of yours, the one about how the army captain and the woman whose book he discovered got to know one another solely through writing letters? And how she refused to send him a photograph because she felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like? Well, they hadn't seen each other either.\always like that, so annoying. They always know where your weak points are, just where to slip in under your guard.

¡°»¹¼ÇµÃÄã×îϲ»¶µÄÄǸö½²Ò»¸öÉÏξºÍÒ»¸öÅ®È˵ĹÊÊÂÂð£¿ÄǸöËû¿´µ½ÄÇÅ®µÄ¶Á¹ýµÄÒ»±¾Êé±ãºÍËýͨ¹ýÊéÐÅÍùÀ´¶øÈÏʶµÄ¹ÊÊ£¿¼ÇµÃÂð£¬Ëý¾Ü¾ø¸øËû¼ÄÕÕÆ¬£¬ÒòΪËýÈÏΪÈç¹ûËûÕæµÄϲ»¶Ëý£¬Ëý³¤µÃÔõôÑù²¢²»ÖØÒª£¿ÇÆ£¬ËûÃÇÁ©Ò²Ã»¼û¹ýÃæÂï¡£¡±ËýµÃÒâµØÐ¦ÁË¡£¸úÅ®¶ùÕù±ç×ÜÊÇÕâ¸öÑù£¬×ÜÊÇÁîÄã·³ÄÕ²»¿°¡£ËýÃÇÉîÖªÄãµÄÈõµã£¬ÖªµÀÈçºÎ³ËÐé¶øÈë¡£

11 But I cannot clear it from my head, the worries refuse to go away. It is not that, as individuals, I have reason to believe they would lie. But they could. They could lie about their age, their state of mind or even their sex. Indeed, apparently in America it is common for men to tap-tap pretending to be women on the basis that they then get other women to communicate with far greater intimacy.

µ«ÎÒ×ÜÊÇÍü²»ÁËÕâ¸öʶù£¬ÖÖÖÖµ£ÓÇÝÓÈÆÐÄÍ·¡£²¢²»ÊÇ˵ÎÒÓÐÀíÓÉÈÏΪ£¬ËûÃÇ×÷Ϊ¸öÈË£¬Ò»¶¨»áÈö»Ñ¡£µ«ËûÃÇ¿ÉÄÜ»áÈö»Ñ¡£ËûÃÇ¿ÉÄÜÒþÂ÷×Ô¼ºµÄÕæÊµÄêÁä¡¢ÐÄ̬£¬ÉõÖÁÐԱ𡣵ÄÈ·£¬ÔÚÃÀ¹úÏÔÈ»Óв»ÉÙÉÏÍøµÄÄÐÈ˳£³£×Ô³ÆÅ®ÈË£¬ÈÏΪ½å´Ë¿ÉʹÆäËûÅ®È˸üÎ޹˼ɵØÓëËûÃǽ²ÖªÐÄ»°¡£

12 A thought occurs. The worst scenes my mind dreams up play like a horror movie. So I call a friend in Hollywood: has anyone thought of this for a movie plot? He laughs. There are five, to his knowledge alone, in development and one heading into production. (4) Needless to say, it is a new version of the old tale of innocents calling forth evil forces they cannot control, this time in the form of a visitor with the ever-handy axe packed in his luggage. ÓÐÒ»ÌìÎÒͻȻ²úÉúÁËÒ»¸öÏë·¨¡£ÎÒÄÔ×ÓÀïÐé¹¹³öÀ´µÄ×î¿Éŵij¡¾°Ò»Ä»½Ó×ÅһĻ£¬¾ÍÏñÒ»²¿¿Ö²ÀƬ¡£ÓÚÊÇÎÒ¸øÒ»¸öºÃÀ³ÎëµÄÅóÓÑ´òÁ˸öµç»°£ºÓÐûÓÐË­Ïë¹ýÓÃÕâ¸öÌâ²Ä¹¹Ë¼Ò»²¿µçÓ°Çé½Ú£¿Ëû¹þ¹þ´óЦ¡£¾ÝËû±¾ÈËËùÖª¾ÍÓÐ5²¿ÕýÔÚÔÍÄðÖ®ÖУ¬Ò»²¿ÒѾ­½øÈëÖÆ×÷½×¶ÎÁË¡£²»ÓÃ˵£¬ÕâÓÖÊÇһЩÎÞ¹¼µÄÈËÒý³öÁËа¶ñµÄÁ¦Á¿È´ÓÖ²»ÄÜ¿ØÖƵÄÀϹÊÊµķ­°æ£¬ÕâÒ»´ÎµÄа¶ñÁ¦Á¿ÊÇÒÔһλÀ´¿ÍµÄÃæÃ²³öÏÖ£¬µ«ÐÐÄÒÖÐÈ´²Ø×Ÿ«Í·£¬ËæÊ±¿ÉÒÔÄóöÀ´É±ÈË¡£

13 So now, I say to my daughter, we just wait for life to imitate art and we're home and dry. And murdered in our beds. ÓÚÊÇ£¬ÎÒ¶ÔÅ®¶ù˵£¬ÎÒÃǾ͵È×Å¿´Éú»îȥģ·ÂÒÕÊõ°É¡£ÎÒÃÇÏÖÔÚ°²È»ÎÞí¦¡£Ë­ÖªµÀʲôʱºò±»Ä±É±ÔÚ×Ô¼ºµÄÎÔ´²ÉÏ¡£

14 She laughs. \you in the morning, Mum. I'm just going upstairs to talk to my friends. Goodnight.\

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Unit5

Look at the following two sayings and then see if the story of Michael Stone bears out the points they make.

The greater the obstacle, the more glory in overcoming it. -- Moli¨¨re

When it is dark enough, you can see the stars. -- Charles A. Beard

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Ö»ÓÐÌì¿ÕÆáºÚʱ£¬Äã²Å¿ÉÒÔ¿´µ½ÐÇÐÇ¡£ ¡ª¡ª²é¶û˹¡¤A¡¤±È¶ûµÂ

True Height

David Naster

1 His palms were sweating. He needed a towel to dry his grip. The sun was as hot as the competition he faced today at the National Junior Olympics. The pole was set at 17 feet. That was three inches higher than his personal best. Michael Stone confronted the most challenging day of his pole-vaulting career. ÕæÕýµÄ¸ß¶È ´óÎÀ¡¤ÄÉÊ·ÌØ

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2 The stands were still filled with about 20,000 people, even though the final race had ended an hour earlier. The pole vault is truly the highlight of any track and field competition. It combines the grace of a gymnast with the strength of a body builder. It also has the element of flying, and the thought of flying as high as a two-story building is a mere fantasy to anyone watching such an event.

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3 As long as Michael could remember he had always dreamed of flying. Michael's mother read him numerous stories about flying when he was growing up. Her stories were always ones that described the land from a bird's-eye view. Her excitement and passion for details made Michael's dreams full of color and beauty. Michael had this one recurring dream. He would be running down a country road. As he raced between golden wheat fields, he would always outrun the locomotives passing by. It was at the exact moment he took a deep breath that he began to lift off the ground. He would begin soaring like an eagle.

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4 Where he flew would always coincide with his mother's stories. Wherever he flew was with a keen eye for detail and the free spirit of his mother's love. His dad, on the other hand, was not a dreamer. Bert Stone was a hard-core realist. He believed in hard work and sweat. His motto: If you want something, work for it!

Ëû·ÉÔ½µÄ¶¼ÊÇĸÇ×¹ÊÊÂÀïÃèÊöµÄµØ·½¡£ÎÞÂÛËû·ÉÏòºÎ·½£¬Ëû¶¼»³×Åĸ°®Ëù´ÍÓèËûµÄ×ÔÓɾ«Éñ£¬ÓÃÃôÈñµÄÄ¿¹â¹Û²ìÈë΢¡£¿ÉËûµÄ¸¸Ç×È´²»ÊǸöÃÎÏë¼Ò¡£²®ÌØ¡¤Ë¹Í¨ÊǸö³¹Í·³¹Î²µÄÏÖʵÖ÷ÒåÕß¡£ËûÐÅ·îµÄÊÇŬÁ¦Óë¿à¸É¡£ËûµÄ¸ñÑÔÊÇ£ºÒªÏëÓÐËùÊÕ»ñ£¬¾ÍµÃŬÁ¦¹¤×÷£¡

5 From the age of 14, Michael did just that. He began a very careful training program. He worked out every other day with weightlifting, with some kind of running work on alternate days. The program was carefully monitored by Michael's coach, trainer and father. Michael's dedication, determination and discipline was a coach's dream. Besides being an honor student and only child, Michael Stone continued to help his parents with their farm chores. Mildred Stone, Michael's mother, wished he could relax a bit more and be that \dreaming\little boy. On one occasion she attempted to talk to him and his father about this, but his dad quickly interrupted, smiled and said, \ou want something, work for it!\ ´Ó14ËêÆð£¬Âõ¿Ë¶û¾ÍÊÇÕâô×öµÄ¡£Ëû¿ªÊ¼°´·Ç³£ÖÜÃܵļƻ®ÑµÁ·¡£Ëûÿ¸ôÒ»Ìì½øÐоÙÖØÑµÁ·£¬ÆäËüµÄÈÕ×Ó×öЩÅܲ½ÑµÁ·¡£ÑµÁ·¼Æ»®ÓÉÂõ¿Ë¶ûµÄ½ÌÁ·¡¢ÑµÁ·Ô±¼æ¸¸Ç×ÑϼӶ½µ¼¡£Âõ¿Ë¶ûµÄͶÈë¡¢Ö´×Å¡¢×ÔÂÉÕýÊÇÿһ¸ö½ÌÁ·ËùÃÎÃÂÒÔÇóµÄ¡£Âõ¿Ë¶ûÔÚѧУÊÇλÓÅÐãÉú£¬ÔÚ¼ÒÊǸö¶ÀÉú×Ó£¬µ«ËûÈÔ°ïÖú¸¸Ä¸ÔÚ×Ô¼ÒµÄÅ©³¡ÉϸÉЩÔӻÂõ¿Ë¶ûµÄĸÇ×Ã×¶ûµÂÀïµÂ¡¤Ë¹Í¨Ï£ÍûËûÄܸü·ÅËÉЩ£¬»¹ÊÇ×öÄǸö¡°×ÔÓÉ»ÃÏ롱µÄСÄк¢¡£ÓÐÒ»´Î£¬ËýÊÔͼ¸úËû¼°Æä¸¸Ç׺úÃ̸һÏ£¬¿Éµ±¸¸Ç×µÄÂíÉϾʹò¶ÏÁËËý£¬Ð¦×Å˵£º¡°ÒªÏëÓÐËùÊÕ»ñ£¬¾ÍµÃŬÁ¦¹¤×÷£¡¡±

6 All of Michael's vaults today seemed to be the reward for his hard work. If

Michael Stone was surprised, excited or vain about clearing the bar at 17 feet, you couldn't tell. As soon as he landed on the inflated landing mat, and with the crowd on its feet, Michael immediately began preparing for his next attempt at flight. He seemed unaware of the fact that he had just beaten his personal best by three inches and that he was one of the final two competitors in the pole-vaulting event at the National Junior Olympics.

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7 When Michael cleared the bar at 17 feet 2 inches and 17 feet 4 inches, again he showed no emotion. As he lay on his back and heard the crowd groan, he knew the other vaulter had missed his final jump. He knew it was time for his final jump. Since the other vaulter had fewer misses, Michael needed to clear this vault to win. A miss would get him second place. Nothing to be ashamed of, but Michael would not allow himself the thought of not winning first place.

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8 He rolled over and did his routine of three finger-tipped push-ups. He found his pole, stood and stepped on the runway that led to the most challenging event of his 17-year-old life.

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9 The runway felt different this time. It startled him for a brief moment. Then it all hit him like a wet bale of hay. The bar was set at nine inches higher than his personal best. That's only one inch off the National record, he thought. The intensity of the moment filled his mind with anxiety. He began shaking the tension. It wasn't working. He became more tense. Why was this happening to him now, he thought. He began to get nervous. Afraid would be a more accurate description. What was he going to do? He had never experienced these feelings. Then out of nowhere, and from the deepest depths of his soul, he pictured his mother. Why now? What was his mother doing in his thoughts at a time like this? It was simple. His mother always used to tell him when you felt tense, anxious or even scared, take deep breaths.

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10 So he did. Along with shaking the tension from his legs, he gently laid his pole at his feet. He began to stretch out his arms and upper body. The light breeze that was once there was now gone. He carefully picked up his pole. He felt his heart pounding. He was sure the crowd did, too. The silence was deafening. When he heard the singing of some distant birds in flight, he knew it was his time to fly.

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11 As he began sprinting down the runway, something felt wonderfully different, yet familiar. The surface below him felt like the country road he used to dream about. Visions of the golden wheat fields seemed to fill his thoughts. When he took a deep breath, it happened. He began to fly. His take-off was effortless. Michael Stone was now flying, just like in his childhood dreams. Only this time he knew he wasn't dreaming. This was real. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. The air around him was the purest and freshest he had ever sensed. Michael was soaring like an eagle.

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12 It was either the eruption of the people in the stands or the thump of his landing that brought Michael back to earth. On his back with that wonderful hot sun on his face, he knew he could only see in his mind's eye the smile on his mother's face. He knew his dad was probably smiling too, even laughing. What he didn't know was that his dad was hugging his wife and crying. That's right: Bert \ou Want It, Work For It\Stone was crying like a baby in his wife's arms. He was crying harder than Mildred had ever seen before. She also knew he was crying the greatest tears of all: tears of pride. Michael was immediately surrounded by people hugging and congratulating him on the greatest accomplishment of his life. He later went on that day to clear 17 feet 6? inches: a National and International Junior Olympics record. »òÐíÊÇ¿´Ì¨ÉÏÈËÃDZ¬·¢³öµÄ»¶ºôÉù£¬»òÐíÊÇËû×ŵØÊ±àصÄÒ»ÉùÏìʹÂõ¿Ë¶û»Øµ½ÏÖʵ֮ÖС£ËûÑöÃæÌÉ×Å£¬Ã÷ÃĵĽ¾ÑôÓ³ÕÕ×ÅËûµÄÁ³¡£ËûÖªµÀ×Ô¼ºÖ»ÄÜÏëÏóĸÇ×µÄЦØÌ£¬ËûÖªµÀ°Ö°Ö»òÐíÒ²ÔÚ΢Ц£¬Éõ»ò»¶Éù´óЦ¡£Ëû²»ÖªµÀµÄÊÇ£¬Ëû°Ö°ÖÕý

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13 With all the media attention and sponsorship possibilities, Michael's life would never be the same again. It wasn't just because he won the National Junior Olympics and set a new world record. And it wasn't because he had just increased his personal best by 9? inches. It was simply because Michael Stone is blind. Ëæ×ÅýÌåµÄ¹Ø×¢ÒÔ¼°¿ÉÄÜËæÖ®¶øÀ´µÄ¸÷ÖÖÔÞÖú£¬Âõ¿Ë¶ûµÄÉú»î¿Ï¶¨»á²»Í¬ÒÔÍù¡£Õâ²»½ö½öÊÇÒòΪËû»ñµÃÁËÈ«¹úÉÙÄê°ÂÁÖÆ¥¿Ë¹Ú¾ü²¢Ë¢ÐÂÁËÒ»ÏîÊÀ½ç¼Í¼,Ò²²»ÊÇÒòΪËû½«×Ô¼ºµÄ×î¸ß¼Í¼Ìá¸ßÁË9Ó¢´ç°ë,¶øÊÇÒòΪÂõ¿Ë¶û¡¤Ë¹Í¨ÊǸöäÈË¡£

A chance encounter can sometimes make all the difference to whether hardship brings out the best in us or the worst.

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Fourteen Steps

Hal Manwaring

1 They say a cat has nine lives, and I am inclined to think that possible since I am now living my third life and I'm not even a cat. Ê®Ëļ¶Ì¨½× ¹þ¶û¡¤ÂíÄÉÁÖ

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2 My first life began on a clear, cold day in November, 1904, when I arrived as the sixth of eight children of a farming family. My father died when I was 15, and we had a hard struggle to make a living. I had to wait until the early years of my marriage before I really began to enjoy my first life. But then I was very happy, in excellent health, and quite a good athlete. My wife and I became the parents of two lovely girls. I had a good job in San Jose and a beautiful home in San Carlos.

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3 Life was a pleasant dream.

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4 Then the dream ended and became one of those horrible nightmares that cause you to wake in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. I began to suffer from a slowly progressive disease of the motor nerves, affecting first my right arm and leg, and then my other side.

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5 Thus began my second life.... ¾ÍÕâÑùÎҵĵڶþ´ÎÈËÉú¿ªÊ¼ÁË??

6 In spite of my disease I still drove to and from work each day, with the aid of special equipment installed in my car. And I managed to keep healthy and optimistic, to a degree, because of 14 steps.

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7 Crazy? Not at all.

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8 Our home was a split-level affair with 14 steps leading up from the garage to the kitchen door. Those steps were my yardstick, my challenge to continue living. (1) I felt that if the day arrived when I was unable to lift one foot up one step and then drag the other painfully after it -- repeating the process 14 times until, utterly spent, I would be through -- I could then admit defeat and lie down and die.

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9 So I kept on working, kept on climbing those steps. And time passed. The girls went to college and were happily married, and my wife and I were alone in our beautiful home with the 14 steps.

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10 You might think that here walked a man of courage and strength. Not so. Here hobbled a bitterly disillusioned cripple, a man who held on to his sanity and his wife and his home and his job because of 14 miserable steps leading up to the back door from his garage.

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11 As I became older, I became more disillusioned and frustrated. I'm sure that

my wife and friends had some unhappy times when I chose to talk about my philosophy of life. (2) I believed that in this whole world I alone had been chosen to suffer. I had carried my cross now for nine years and probably would bear it for as long as I could climb those 14 steps.

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12 Then on a dark night in August, 1971, I began my third life. It was raining when I started home that night, beating down hard on the car as I drove slowly down one of the less-traveled roads. Suddenly the steering wheel jumped in my hands as one of the tires burst with a bang. I fought the car to a stop and sat there as the terrible nature of the situation swept over me. It was impossible for me to change that tire! Utterly impossible!

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13 A thought that a passing motorist might stop was dismissed at once. Why should anyone? I knew I wouldn't! Then I remembered that a short distance up a little side road was a house. I started the engine and drove slowly along until I came to the house. Lighted windows welcomed me as I pulled into the driveway and honked the horn.

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14 The door opened and a little girl stood there, peering at me. I rolled down the window and called out that I had a flat and needed someone to change it for me because I had a crutch and couldn't do it myself.

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15 She went into the house and a moment later came out bundled in raincoat and hat, followed by a man who called a cheerful greeting.

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16 I sat there comfortable and dry, and felt a bit sorry for the man and the little girl working so hard in the storm. Well, I would pay them for it. The rain seemed to be easing a bit now, and I rolled down the window to watch. It seemed to me that they

were awfully slow and I was beginning to become impatient. I heard the little girl's voice from the back of the car. \by the murmur of the man's lower voice and the slow tilting of the car as it was jacked up.

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17 There followed a long interval of noises and low conversation from the back of the car, but finally it was done. I felt the car bump as the jack was removed, and I heard the slam of the trunk lid, and then they were standing at my car window.

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18 He was an old man, bent and slightly built. The little girl was about eight or ten, I judged, with a merry face and a wide smile as she looked up at me.

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19 He said, \ Ëû˵£º¡°ÕâÖÖÌìÆøÓÖÊÇÒ¹À³µ³öÁËÎÊÌâ¿ÉÕæ¹»Çº£¬²»¹ýÏÖÔÚ¶¼¸øÄãÐÞºÃÁË¡£¡±

20 \ ¡°¶àлÁË£¬¡±ÎÒ˵£¬¡°¶àл¡£ÎҸø¶ÄãÃǶàÉÙÄØ£¿¡±

21 He shook his head. \me you were on crutches. Glad to be of help. I know you'd do the same for me. There's no charge, friend.\ ËûÒ¡Ò¡Í·¡£¡°Ê²Ã´Ò²²»Òª¸¶¡£ÐÁÎ÷櫸úÎÒ˵Äã¿¿¹ÕÕÈ×ß·¡£ºÜ¸ßÐËÄܰïÉÏæ¡£ÎÒÖªµÀÈç¹ûÊÇÎÒÓöµ½ÕâÖÖÇé¿öÄãÒ²»áÕâÑù°ïÎҵġ£²»ÒªÇ®£¬ÅóÓÑ¡£¡±

22 I held out a five-dollar bill. \.\ ÎÒÄóöÒ»ÕÅ5ÃÀÔªµÄ³®Æ±¡£¡°ÄDz»ÐУ¡ÎÒ²»Ï²»¶Ç·È˼ҵÄÇé¡£¡±

23 He made no effort to take it and the little girl stepped closer to the window and said quietly, \

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24 (3) In the next few frozen seconds the shame and horror of that moment penetrated, and I was sick with an intensity I had never felt before. A blind man and a child! Feeling with cold, wet fingers for bolts and tools in the dark -- a darkness that

for him would probably never end until death. ɲÄǼ䣬ʱ¼äÄý¹ÌÁË£¬ÎҸе½Íò·ÖµÄÐßÀ¢ºÍÕ𾪡£ÎÒ´ÓÀ´Ã»ÓÐÕâôÄÑÊܹý¡£Ò»¸öäÈ˺ÍÒ»¸öº¢×Ó£¡ÓÃÓÖÀäÓÖʪµÄË«ÊÖÔÚºÚ°µÖÐÃþ×ÅÄÇЩÂÝ˨ºÍ¹¤¾ß¸É»î¡ª¡ª¶ÔËûÀ´Ëµ£¬ÕâºÚ°µºÜ¿ÉÄÜÓÀÔ¶²»ÄÜÇýÉ¢£¬Ö±ÖÁËûËÀÍö¡£

25 They changed a tire for me -- changed it in the rain and wind, with me sitting in comfort in the car with my crutch. I don't remember how long I sat there after they said good night and left me, but it was long enough for me to search deep within myself and find some disturbing traits.

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26 (4) I realized that I was filled to overflowing with self-pity, selfishness, and indifference to the needs of others.

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27 I sat there and said a prayer. I prayed for strength, for a greater understanding, for keener awareness of my shortcomings.

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28 I prayed for blessings upon the blind man and his granddaughter. Finally I drove away, shaken in mind, humbled in spirit.

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29 I am trying now not only to climb 14 steps each day, but in my small way to help others. Someday, perhaps, I'll have the chance to help a blind man in equal difficulties -- someone as blind as I had been.

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Unit6

How do some women manage to combine a full-time job with family responsibilities and still find time for doing other things? Adrienne Popper longs to be like them, but wonders whether it is an impossible dream.

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I'm Going to Buy the Brooklyn Bridge

Adrienne Popper

1 Not long ago I received an alumni bulletin from my college. It included a brief item about a former classmate:\L. teaches part-time at the University of Oklahoma and is assistant principal at County High School. In her spare time she is finishing her doctoral dissertation and the final drafts of two books, and she still has time for tennis and horse riding with her daughters.\Four words in that description undid me: in her spare time. A friend said that if I believed everything in the report, she had a bridge in Brooklyn she'd like to sell me. ÎÒÒªÂòϲ¼Â³¿ËÁÖÇÅ

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2 My friend's joke hit home. What an idiot I'd been! I resolved to stop thinking about Kate's incredible accomplishments and to be suitably skeptical of such stories in the future.

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3 But like a dieter who devours a whole box of cookies in a moment of weakness, I found my resolve slipping occasionally. In weak moments I'd comb the pages of newspapers and magazines and consume success stories by the pound. My favorite superwomen included a politician's daughter who cared for her two-year-old and a newborn while finishing law school and managing a company; a practicing pediatrician with ten children of her own; and a television anchorwoman, mother of two preschoolers, who was studying for a master's degree.

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4 One day, however, I actually met a superwoman face to face. Just before Christmas last year, my work took me to the office of a woman executive of a national corporation. Like her supersisters, she has a husband, two small children and, according to reports, a spotless apartment. Her life runs as precisely as a Swiss watch. Since my own schedule rarely succeeds, her accomplishments fill me with equal amounts of wonder and guilt.

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5 On a shelf behind her desk that day were at least a hundred jars of strawberry jam, gaily tied with red-checked ribbons. The executive and her children had made the jam and decorated the jars, which she planned to distribute to her staff and visiting clients. ÄÇÌ죬Ëý°ì¹«×ÀºóÃæµÄ¼Ü×ÓÉÏ·ÅÖÃÁËÖÁÉÙÒ»°Ù¹Þ²ÝÝ®½´£¬ÉÏÃæÔú×ÅÏÊÑ޵ĺì¸ñ¶Ð´ø¡£ÕâЩ¹û½´ÊÇ×ܲúÍËýµÄº¢×ÓÃÇÒ»ÆðÖÆ×÷µÄ£¬¹Þ×ÓÒ²ÊÇËûÃÇÒ»Æð×°Êεģ¬Ëý×¼±¸°Ñ¹û½´Ë͸øÔ±¹¤¼°À´·ÃµÄ¿Í»§¡£

6 When, I wondered aloud, had she found the time to complete such an impressive holiday project? I should have known better than to ask. The answer had a familiar ring: in her spare time. ÎÒ²»ÓɵþªÎÊ£¬Ëý´ÓÄĶù³é³öʱ¼äÍê³ÉÈç´ËÁîÈËÇÕÅåµÄ¼ÙÈÕ¹¤³Ì£¿ÎÒÕæ²»¸Ã¶à´ËÒ»ÎÊ¡£´ð°¸ÌýÉÏÈ¥Ï൱ÊìϤ£ºÒµÓàʱ¼ä¡£

7 On the train ride home I sat with a jar of strawberry jam in my lap. It reproached me the entire trip. Other women, it seemed to say, are movers and shakers -- not only during office hours, but in their spare time as well. What, it asked, do you accomplish in your spare time?

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8 I would like to report that I am using my extra moments to complete postdoctoral studies in physics, to develop new theories of tonal harmony for piano and horn, and to bake cakes and play baseball with my sons. The truth of the matter is, however, that I am by nature completely unable to get my act together. No matter how carefully I plan my time, the plan always goes wrong.

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9 If I create schedules of military precision in which several afternoon hours are given over to the writing of the Great American Novel, the school nurse is sure to phone at exactly the moment I put pencil to paper. One of my children will have developed a strange illness that requires him to spend the remainder of the day in bed, calling me at frequent intervals to bring soup, juice, and tea. Èç¹ûÎÒÖÆ¶¨Ïñ×÷Õ½¼Æ»®ÄÇÑù¾«È·µÄʱ¼ä±í£¬½«ÏÂÎçÈô¸ÉСʱÓÃÓÚд×÷Ò»²¿Î°´óµÄÃÀ¹úС˵£¬ÄÇôÓ×¶ùÔ°µÄ±£ÓýÔ±¿Ï¶¨»áÔÚÎÒ¸Õ¸ÕÌá±ÊµÄÄÇһ˲¼ä´òÀ´µç»°¡£ÎÒµÄÒ»¸öº¢×ÓµÃÁËÒ»ÖÖ¹Ö²¡ÐèÒªÕûÌìÎÔ´²ÐÝÏ¢£¬»¹²»Í£µØÈÃÎÒ¶ËÌÀµ¹²èË͹ûÖ­¡£

10 Other days, every item on my schedule will take three times the number of minutes set aside. The cleaner will misplace my clothes. My order won't be ready at the butcher shop as promised. The woman ahead of me in the supermarket line will pay for her groceries with a check drawn on a Martian bank, and only the manager (who has just left for lunch) can OK the matter. \who only stand and wait,\wrote the poet John Milton, but he forgot to add that they don't get to be superwomen that way.

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11 Racing the clock every day is such an exhausting effort that when I actually have a few free moments, I tend to collapse. Mostly I sink into a chair and stare into space while I imagine how lovely life would be if only I possessed the organizational skills and the energy of my superheroines. In fact, I waste a good deal of my spare time just worrying about what other women are accomplishing in theirs. Sometimes I think that these modern fairy tales create as many problems for women as the old stories that had us biding our time for the day our prince would come.

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12 Yet superwomen tales continue to charm me. Despite my friend's warning against being taken in, despite everything I've learned, I find that I'm not only willing, but positively eager to buy that bridge she mentioned. Why? I suppose it has something to do with the appeal of an optimistic approach to life -- and the fact that extraordinary deeds have been accomplished by determined individuals who refused to believe that \

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13 Men have generally been assured that achieving their heart's desires would be a piece of cake. Women, of course, have always believed that we can't have our cake and eat it too-the old low-dream diet. Perhaps becoming a superwoman is an impossible dream for me, but life without that kind of fantasy is as unappealing as a diet with no treats.

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14 I know the idea of admiring a heroine is considered silly today; we working women are too sophisticated for that. Yet the superwomen I read about are my heroines. When my faith in myself falters, it is they who urge me on, whispering, \for it, lady!\

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15 One of these days I plan to phone my former classmate Kate and shout \done!\into the receiver. I hope she won't be modest about her achievements. Perhaps she will have completed her dissertation and her two books and moved on to some new work that's exciting or dangerous or both. I'd like to hear all about it. After that I'm going to phone the friend who laughed at me for believing all the stories I hear. Then I'll tell her a story: the tale of a woman who bought her own version of that bridge in Brooklyn and found that it was a wise investment after all.

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When you find yourself tied down to doing a job that just isn't you, it is easy to wish to be able to start off along a completely new path. Unfortunately, this is often easier said than done, the path stony and difficult to follow. For Muriel Whetstone, however, it turned out to be a journey well worth the effort.

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Beginning Anew

Muriel L. Whetstone

1 I dreaded Sundays. I began living for the weekend at 8:30 Monday mornings. I felt bitter towards my boss. (1) The thought of answering other people's telephones, typing other people's work and watching other people take credit for my ideas and opinions would throw me into week-long bouts of depression. I hated my job. I hated my life. I hated myself for not having the courage to change either one. ÖØÐ¿ªÊ¼

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2 When most of my friends were planning college schedules and partying into the night, I was changing dirty diapers and walking the floor with a crying baby. At 19 years old I was the mother of two, and a pitifully young wife. Everything I did for years, every decision I made, was done with my family in mind.

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3 And then I turned 29, and 30 was only a breath away. (2) How long could I live like this? Certainly not until I retired. I began to feel that if I didn't do something soon, something quickly, I would die of unhappiness. I decided to follow my childhood dream: I was going to get my undergraduate degree and become a full-time journalist. Ò»»ÎÎÒ¾Í29ËêÁË£¬Àë30Ëê½öÒ»²½Ö®Ò£¡£ÕâÑùµÄÉú»îÎÒÄÜά³Ö¶à¾Ã£¿¿Ï¶¨²»»áµ½ÎÒÍËÐÝ֮ʱ¡£ÎÒ¿ªÊ¼¾õµÃ£¬Èç¹ûÎÒ²»ÔçÈÕÓÐËù×÷Ϊ£¬ÂíÉÏÐж¯µÄ»°£¬ÎҾͻá¿àÃÆ¶øËÀ¡£ÎÒ¾ö¶¨È¥×·Ñ°¶ùʱµÄÃÎÏ룺ÎÒÒªÄõ½´óѧ±¾¿ÆÑ§Î»£¬×öÒ»¸öȫְµÄ¼ÇÕß¡£

4 I quit my job on one of my good days, a Friday. Almost at once I was filled with anxiety. What would I tell my husband and what would be his reaction? How would we pay our bills? I must be crazy, I thought. I was too old to begin again. I prayed, Lord, what have I done? I wondered if I was experiencing some sort of early mid-life

crisis. Perhaps if I crawled back to my boss on my hands and knees and pleaded temporary madness, he'd give me my job back. I spent that entire weekend in the eye of an emotional storm.

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5 But while I was feeling uneasy about the bridge I'd just crossed, I also began to feel a renewed sense of hopefulness about the possibilities on the other side. I had had a long love affair with the written word that was separate and apart from any of my roles. What we shared was personal: It belonged to me and would always be mine despite anything going on outside of me. I wasn't quite sure what my journey would involve, but I was positive who would be at the other end.(3) I steeled myself to travel the road that would lead me to a better understanding of who I was and of what I wanted out of life. I shared my mixed feelings with my husband. He was as worried as I was, but he was also warmly supportive. And so I stepped off the bridge and onto the path, nervous but determined. I soon discovered that I loved to learn and that my mind soaked up knowledge at every opportunity. My decision at those times felt right. But sometimes, after realizing what was expected of me, I would be weighed down by self-doubt and uncertainty. È»¶ø£¬¾ÍÔÚÎÒ¶Ô¸Õ¸Õ¿çÔ½ÈËÉúÖ®Çŵľٶ¯Éî¸Ð²»°²Ö®¼Ê£¬ÎÒͬʱҲ¿ªÊ¼¸Ðµ½Ï£ÍûµÄ¸´ÃÈ£¬¾õµÃ±Ë°¶ÓÐÖÖÖÖ»ú»áÔÚµÈ×ÅÎÒ¡£³¤¾ÃÒÔÀ´£¬ÎÒ¶ÔÓë×Ô¼ºÉú»îÖеÄÖÖÖÖ½ÇÉ«ºÁ²»Ïà¸ÉµÄÎÄ×ÖÇéÓжÀÖÓ¡£ÎÒÓëÎÄ×ÖÖ®¼äÓÐÒ»ÖÖĬÆõ£ºËüÊôÓÚÎÒ×Ô¼º£¬²¢½«ÓÀÔ¶ÊÇÎҵģ¬ÎÞÂÛÍâÃæµÄÊÀ½ç·¢ÉúʲôÊÂÇé¡£ÎÒ²¢²»ÍêÈ«Ã÷°×ÎÒµÄÈËÉúÂÃ;Öн«Òª·¢Éúʲô£¬µ«ÎÒ¶Ôµ½´ïÂÃ;ÖÕµãÖ®ºóµÄ×Ô¼º»³ÓÐÐÅÐÄ¡£ÎҼᶨµØ×ßÏÂÈ¥£¬ÕâÌõ·½«Ê¹ÎÒ¸üºÃµØÁ˽â×Ô¼º£¬¸üºÃµØÈÏÇå×Ô¼ºÉú»îµÄÄ¿µÄ¡£ÎÒÏòÕÉ·ò̹³Â×Ô¼ºµÄ¸´ÔÓÐÄÐ÷¡£ËûºÍÎÒÒ»Ñùµ£ÓÇ£¬µ«Í¬Ê±Ò²ÈÈÇéÖ§³ÖÎÒ¡£ÓÚÊÇÎÒ×ßÏÂÇÅÀ´£¬Ì¤ÉÏÕ÷;£¬½ôÕŵ«È´¼á¶¨¡£ÎҺܿ췢ÏÖ£¬ÎÒÈȰ®Ñ§Ï°£¬ÀûÓÃÒ»Çлú»á¼³È¡ÖªÊ¶¡£ÕâʱºòÎÒ»á¾õµÃÎҵľö¶¨×ö¶ÔÁË¡£µ«ÓÐʱ£¬Ã¿µ±Òâʶµ½±ðÈ˶Ô×Ô¼ºµÄÆÚ´ýʱ£¬ÎÒÓÖ»áÓÉÓÚ×ÔÎÒ»³ÒɺͶÔδÀ´×½Ãþ²»¶¨¶ø¸Ðµ½ÐÄÇé³ÁÖØ¡£

6 I was older than a few of my instructors and nearly all of my classmates. I felt like an outsider practically that entire first semester. Finally I met a group of older female students who were, like me, making a fresh start. We began to share our experiences of returning to school, dealing with husbands, lovers, children and bills that had to be paid. Over time we have become sisters, supporting ourselves by encouraging and supporting one another.

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