Unit1
Americans believe no one stands still. If you are not moving ahead, you are falling behind. This attitude results in a nation of people committed to researching, experimenting and exploring. Time is one of the two elements that Americans save carefully, the other being labor.
\"We are slaves to nothing but the clock,” it has been said. Time is treated as if it were something almost real. We budget it, save it, waste it, steal it, kill it, cut it, account for it; we also charge for it. It is a precious resource. Many people have a rather acute sense of the shortness of each lifetime. Once the sandshave run out of a person’s hourglass, they cannot be replaced. We want every minute to count.
A foreigner’s first impression of the U.S. is likely to be that everyone is in a rush -- often under pressure. City people always appear to be hurrying to get
where
they
are
going, restlessly seeking
attention
in
a
store,
or elbowing others as they try to complete their shopping. Racing through daytime meals is part of the pace of life in this country. Working time is considered precious. Others in public eating-places are waiting for you to finish so they, too, can be served and get back to work within the time allowed. You also find drivers will
be abrupt and
people
will
push
past
you. You
will
miss
smiles, brief conversations, and small exchanges with strangers. Don’t take it personally. This is because people value time highly, and they resent someone else “wasting” it beyond a certain appropriate point.
Many new arrivals to the States will miss the opening exchanges of a business call, for example. They will miss the ritual interaction that goes with a welcoming cup of tea or coffee that may be a convention in their own country. They may miss leisurely business chats in a restaurant or coffee house.Normally, Americans do not assess their visitors in such relaxed surroundings over extended small talk; much less do they take them out for dinner, or for around on the golf course while they develop a sense of trust. Since we generally assess and probe professionally rather than socially, we start talking business very quickly. Time is, therefore, always ticking in our inner ear.
Consequently, we work hard at the task of saving time. We produce a steady flow of labor-saving devices; we communicate rapidly through faxes, phone calls or emails rather than through personal contacts, which though pleasant, take longer -- especially given our traffic-filled streets. We, therefore, save most personal visiting for after-work hours or for social weekend gatherings.
To us the impersonality of electronic communication has little or no relation to the significance of the matter at hand. In some countries no major business is conducted without eye contact, requiring face-to-face conversation. In America, too, a final agreement will normally be signed in person. However, people are meeting increasingly on television screens, conducting “ teleconferences ” to settle problems not only in this country but also -- by satellite -- internationally.
The U. S. is definitely a telephone country. Almost everyone uses the telephone to conduct business, to chat with friends, to make or break social
appointments, to say “Thank you,” to shop and to obtain all kinds of information. Telephones save the feet and endless amounts of time. This is due partly tothe fact that the telephone service is superb here, whereas the postal service is less efficient.
Some new arrivals will come from cultures where it is considered impolite to work too quickly. Unless a certain amount of time is allowed to elapse, it seems in their eyes as if the task being considered were insignificant, not worthy of proper respect. Assignments are, consequently, felt to be given added weight by the passage of time. In the U. S., however, it is taken as a sign of skillfulness or being competent to solve a problem, or fulfill a job successfully, with speed.Usually, the more important a task is, the more capital, energy, and attention will be poured into it in order to “get it moving.”
Unit2
Learning the Olympic Standard for Love
Nikolai Petrovich Anikin was not half as intimidating as I had imagined he would be. No, this surely was not the ex-Soviet coach my father had shipped me out to
meet.
But Nikolai he was, Petrovich and all. He invited me inside and sat down on t
he couch, patting the blanket next to him to get me to sit next to him. I was so nervous in his presence.
\"You are young,\" he began in his Russian-style English. \"If you like to try for Olympic Games, I guess you will be able to do this. Nagano Olympics too soon for you, but for 2002
in Salt Lake City, you could be ready.\"
\"Yes, why not?\" he replied to the shocked look on my face.
I was a promising
amateur skier, but by no means the top skier in the country. \"Of course, there will be many hard training sessions, and you will cry, but you will improve.\"
To be sure, there were countless training sessions full of pain and more than a few tears,
but in the five years that followed
I could always count on being encouraged by Nikolai's
amusing stories and sense of humor.
\"My friends, they go in the movies, they go in the dance, they go out with girl
s,\" he would start. \"But I,\" he would continue, lowering his voice, \"I am practice, practice, practice in
the stadium. And by the next year, I had cut 1-1/2 minutes off my time in the
15-kilometer race!
\"My friends asked me, 'Nikolai, how did you do it?' And I replied, 'You go in the movies, you go in the dance, you go out with girls, but I am practice, practice, practice.' \"
Here the story usually ended, but on one occasion, which we later learned was his 25th wedding anniversary, he stood proudly in a worn woolen sweater and smiled and whispered, \"And I tell you, I am 26 years old before I ever kiss a girl! She was the woman I later marry.\"
Romantic and otherwise, Nikolai knew love.
His consistent good humor, quiet gratitude, perceptivity, and sincerity set an Olympic standard for love that I continue to reach for, even though my skiing days are over.
Still, he never babied me.
One February day I had a massive headache and felt quite
fatigued. I came upon him in a clearing, and after approximately 15 minutes of striding
into the cold breeze over the white powder to catch him, I fussed, \"Oh, Nikolai, I feel like I am going to die.\"
\"When you are a hundred years old, everybody dies,\" he said, indifferent to my pain.
\"But now,\" he continued firmly. \"Now must be ski, ski, ski.\" And, on skis, I did what he said.
On other matters, though, I was rebellious.
Once, he packed 10 of us into a Finnish bachelor's tiny home for a low-budget ski camp. We awoke
the first morning to find Nikolai making breakfast and then made quick work with our spoons
while sitting on makeshift chairs around a tiny card table.
When we were finished, Nikolai
stacked the sticky bowls in front of my sole female teammate and me, asserting, \"Now, girls do dishes!\"
I threw my napkin on the floor and swore at him,
\"Ask the damn boys! This is unfair.\"
He never asked this of me again, nor did he take much notice of my outburst. He saved
his passion for skiing.
When coaching, he would sing out his instructions keeping rhythm with our stride: \"Yes, yes, one-two-three, one-two-three.\" A dear lady friend of my grandfather, after viewing a copy of a video of me training with Nikolai, asked, \"Does he also teach dance?\"
In training, I worked without rest to correct mistakes that Nikolai pointed out and I asked after each pass if it was better.
\"Yes, it's OK. But the faster knee down, the better.\" \"But is it fast enough?\" I'd persist. Finally he would frown and say,
\"Billion times you make motion—then be perfect,\"
reminding me in an I've-told-you-a-billion-times tone, \"You must be patient.\"
Nikolai's patience and my hard work earned me a fourth-place national ranki
ng heading
into the pre-Olympic season,
but then I missed the cut for the 2002 Olympics.
Last summer, I returned to visit Nikolai. He made me tea... and did the dishes! We talked while sitting on his couch.
Missing the Olympic Team the previous year had made me
pause and reflect on what I had gained—not the least of which was a quiet, indissoluble bond with a short man in a tropical shirt.
Nikolai taught me to have the courage, heart, and discipline to persist, even if it takes a billion tries.
He taught me to be thankful in advance for a century of life on earth, and to
remind myself every day that despite the challenges at hand, \"Now must be love, love, love.
Unit 3
Marriage Across the Nations
Gail and I imagined a quiet wedding. During our two years together we had experienced the usual ups and downs of a couple learning to know, understand,
and respect each other. But through it all we had honestly confronted the
weaknesses and strengths of each other's characters.
Our racial and cultural differences enhanced our relationship and taught us a great deal about tolerance, compromise, and being open with each other. Gail sometimes wondered why I and other blacks were so involved with the racial issue, and I was surprised that she seemed to forget the subtler forms of racial hatred in
American society.
Gail and I had no illusions about what the future held for us as a married, mixed couple in America. The continual source of our strength was our mutual
trust and respect.
We wanted to avoid the mistake made by many couples of marrying for the wrong reasons, and only finding out ten, twenty, or thirty years later that they were
incompatible, that they hardly took the time to know each other, that they overlooked serious personality conflicts in the expectation that marriage was an automatic way to make everything work out right. That point was emphasized by the fact that Gail's parents, after thirty-five years of marriage, were going through
a bitter and painful divorce, which had destroyed Gail and for a time had a
negative effect on our budding relationship.
When Gail spread the news of our wedding plans to her family she met with
some resistance. Her mother, Deborah, all along had been supportive of our relationship, and even joked about when we were going to get married so she could have grandchildren. Instead of congratulations upon hearing our news, Deborah counseled Gail to be really sure she was doing the right thing.
\"So it was all right for me to date him, but it's wrong for me to marry him. Is his color the problem, Mom?\" Gail subsequently told me she had asked her mother.
\"To start with I must admit that at first I harbored reservations about a mixed marriage, prejudices you might even call them. But when I met Mark I found him a charming and intelligent young guy. Any mother would be proud to have him for a son-in-law. So, color has nothing to do with it. Yes, my friends talk. Some even express shock at what you're doing. But they live in a different world. So you see, Mark's color is not the problem. My biggest worry is that you may be marrying Mark for the same wrong reasons that I married your father. When we met I saw him as my beloved, intelligent, charming, and caring. It was all so new, all so exciting, and we both thought, on the surface at least, that ours was an ideal marriage with every indication that it would last forever. I realized only later that I
didn't know my beloved, your father, very well when we married.\"
\"But Mark and I have been together more than two years,\" Gail railed. \"We've been through so much together. We've seen each other at our worst many times.
I'm sure that time will only confirm what we feel deeply about each other.\"
\"You may be right. But I still think that waiting won't hurt. You're only
twenty-five.\"
Gail's father, David, whom I had not yet met personally, approached our
decision with a father-knows-best attitude. He basically asked the same questions as Gail's mother: \"Why the haste? Who is this Mark? What's his citizenship status?\"
And when he learned of my problems with the Citizenship department, he immediately suspected that I was marrying his daughter in order to remain in the
United States.
\"But Dad, that's harsh,\" Gail said.
\"Then why the rush? Buy time, buy time,\" he remarked repeatedly.
\"Mark has had problems with citizenship before and has always taken care of them himself,\" Gail defended.\" In fact, he made it very clear when we were discussing marriage that if I had any doubts about anything, I should not hesitate
to cancel our plans.\"
Her father proceeded to quote statistics showing that mixed couples had higher divorce rates than couples of the same race and gave examples of mixed
couples he had counseled who were having marital difficulties.
\"Have you thought about the hardships your children would go through?\" he
asked.
\"Dad, are you a racist?\"
\"No, of course not. But you have to be realistic.\"
\"Maybe our children will have some problems, but whose children don't? But
one thing they'll always have: our love and devotion.\"
\"That's idealistic. People can be very cruel toward children from mixed
marriages.\"
\"Dad, we'll worry about that when the time comes. If we had to resolve all
doubt before we acted, very little would ever get done.\"
\"Remember, it's never too late to change your mind.\"
Unti4
A Test of True Love
Six minutes to six, said the digital clock over the
information desk in Grand Central Station. John Blandford, a tall young army officer, focused his eyesight on the clock to note the exact time. In six minutes he would see the woman who had filled a special place in his life for the past thirteen months, a woman he had never seen, yet whose written words had been with him and had given him strength without fail.
Soon after he volunteered for military service, he had received a book from this woman. A letter, which wished him courage and safety, came with the book. He discovered that many of his friends, also in the army, had received the identical book from the woman, Hollis Meynell. And while they all got strength from it, and appreciated her support of their cause, John Blandford was the only person to write Ms. Meynell back. On the day of his departure, to a destination overseas where he would fight in the war, he received her reply. Aboard the cargo ship that was taking him into enemy territory, he stood on the deck and read her letter to him again and again. For thirteen months, she had faithfully written to him. When his letters did not arrive, she wrote anyway, without decrease. During the difficult days of war, her letters nourished him and gave him courage. As long as he received letters from her, he felt as though he could survive. After a short time, he believed he loved her, and she loved him. It was as if fate had brought them together.
But when he asked her for a photo, she declined his request. She explained her objection: \"If your feelings for me have any reality, any honest basis, what I look like won't matter. Suppose I'm beautiful. I'd always be bothered by the feeling that you loved me for my beauty, and that kind of love would disgust me. Suppose I'm plain. Then I'd always fear you were writing to me only because you were lonely and had no one else. Either way, I would forbid myself from loving you. When you come to New York and you see me, then you can make your decision. Remember, both of us are free to stop or to go on after that—if that's what we choose...\"
One minute to six... Blandford's heart leaped.
A young woman was coming toward him, and he felt a connection with her right away. Her figure was long and thin, her spectacular golden hair lay back in curls from her small ears. Her eyes were blue flowers; her lips had a gentle firmness. In her fancy green suit she was like springtime come alive.
He started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she wasn't wearing a rose, and as he moved, a small, warm smile formed on her lips.
\"Going my way, soldier?\" she asked.
Uncontrollably, he made one step closer to her. Then he saw Hollis Meynell.
She was standing almost directly behind the girl, a woman well past forty, and a fossil to his young eyes, her hair sporting patches of gray. She was more than fat; her thick legs shook as they moved. But she wore a red rose on her brown coat.
The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away and soon vanished into the fog. Blandford felt as though his heart was being compressed into a small cement ball, so strong was his desire to follow the girl, yet so deep was his longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned and brought warmth to his own; and there she stood. Her pale, fat face was gentle and intelligent; he could see that now. Her gray eyes had a warm, kindly look.
Blandford resisted the urge to follow the younger woman, though it was not easy to do so. His fingers held the book she had sent to him before he went off to the war, which was to identify him to Hollis Meynell. This would not be love. However, it would be something precious, something perhaps even less common than love—a friendship for which he had been, and would always be, thankful. He held the book out toward the woman.
\"I'm John Blandford, and you—you are Ms. Meynell. I'm so glad you could meet me. May I take you to dinner?\" The woman smiled. \"I don't know what this is all about, son,\" she answered. \"That young lady in the green suit—the one who just went by—begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said that if you asked me to go out with you, I should tell you that she's waiting for you in that big restaurant near the highway. She said it was some kind of a test.\"
Unte5
Weeping for My Smoking Daughter)
My daughter smokes. While she is doing her homework, her feet on the bench in front of her and her calculator clicking out answers to her geometry problems, I am looking at the half-empty package of Camels tossed carelessly close at hand. I pick them up, take them into the kitchen, where the light is better, and study them -- they are filtered, for which I am grateful. My heart feels terrible. I want to weep. In fact, I do weep a little, standing there by the stove holding one of the instruments, so white, so precisely rolled, that could cause my daughter's death. Wh
en she smoked
Marlboros and Players I hardened myself against feeling so bad; nobody I knew ever
smoked these brands.
She doesn't know this, but it was Camels that my father, her grandfather,
smoked. But before he smoked cigarettes made by manufacturers -- when he was very young and very poor, with glowing eyes -- he smoked Prince Albert tobacco in cigarettes he rolled himself. I remember the bright-red tobacco tin, with a picture of
Queen Victoria's partner, Prince Albert, dressed in a black dress coat and carrying a cane.
By the late forties and early fifties no one rolled his own anymore (and few women smoked) in my hometown of Eatonton, Georgia. The tobacco industry, coupled
with Hollywood movies in which both male and female heroes smoked like chimneys,
completely won over people like my father, who were hopelessly hooked by cigarettes. He never looked as fashionable as Prince Albert, though; he continued t
o look like a poor, overweight, hard working colored man with too large a family, black, with a very white cigarette stuck in his mouth.
I do not remember when he started to cough. Perhaps it was unnoticeable at first, a little coughing in the morning as he lit his first cigarette upon getting out of bed. By the time I was sixteen, my daughter's age, his breath was a wheeze, embarrassing to hear; he could not climb stairs without resting every third or fourth step. It was not unusual for him to cough for an hour.
My father died from \"the poor man's friend\en his
lung illnesses had left him low. I doubt he had much lung left at all, after coughing
for so many years. He had so little breath that, during his last years, he was always
leaning on something. I remembered once, at a family reunion, when my daughter was
two, that my father picked her up for a minute -- long enough for me to photograph them -- but the effort was obvious. Near the very end of his life, and largely because he had no more lungs, he quit smoking. He gained a couple of pounds, but by then he was so slim that no one noticed.
When I travel to Third World countries I see many people like my father and
daughter. There are large advertisement signs directed at them both: the tough, confident or fashionable older man, the beautiful, \"worldly\" young woman, both
dragging away. In these poor countries, as in American inner cities and on
reservations, money that should be spent for food goes instead to the tobacco companies; over time, people starve themselves of both food and air, effectively
weakening and hooking their children, eventually killing themselves. I read in the
newspaper and in my gardening magazine that the ends of cigarettes are so
poisonous that if a baby swallows one, it is likely to die, and that the boiled water from a bunch of them makes an effective insecticide.
There is a deep hurt that I feel as a mother. Some days it is a feeling of uselessness.
I remember how carefully I ate when I was pregnant, how patiently I taught my daughter how to cross a street safely. For what, I sometimes wonder; so that she can struggle to breathe through most of her life feeling half her strength, and t
hen die
of self-poisoning, as her grandfather did?
There is a quotation from a battered women's shelter that I especially like: \"Peace on earth begins at home.\" I believe everything does. I think of a quotation for people trying to stop smoking: \"Every home is a no smoking zone.\" Smoking is a form of self-battering that also batters those who must sit by, occasionally joke or complain, and helplessly watch. I realize now that as a child I sat by, through the years, and literally watched my father kill himself: surely one such victory in my family, for the prosperous leaders who own the tobacco companies, is enough.
Uint6 a
For her first twenty-four years, she'd been known as Debbie—a name that didn't suit her good looks and elegant manner.
\"My name has always made me think I should be a cook,\" she complained.
\"I just don't feel like a Debbie.\"
One day, while filling out an application form for a publishing job, the young woman impulsivelysubstituted her middle name, Lynne, for her first name Debbie.
\"That was the smartest thing I ever did,\" she says now.
\"As soon as I stopped calling myself Debbie, I felt more comfortable with myself... and other people started to take me more seriously.\"
Two years after her successful job interview, the former waitress is now a successful magazine editor.
Friends and associates call her Lynne.
Naturally, the name change didn't cause Debbie/Lynne'sprofessional achievement—but it surely helped if only by adding a bit of self-confidence to hertalents
Social scientists say that what you're called can affect your life.
Throughout history, names have not merely identified people but also described them.
\"As his name is, so is he.\" says theBible, and Webster's Dictionary includes the following definition of name: \"a word or words expressing some quality considered characteristic or descriptive of a person or a thing, often expressing approval or disapproval\".
Note well \"approval or disapproval\".
For better or worse, qualities such as friendliness or reserve, plainness or charm may be suggested by your name and conveyed to other people before they
even meet you.
Names become attached to specific images, as anyone who's been called \"a plain Jane\" or \"just an average Joe\" can show.
Thelatter name particularly bothers me since my name is Joe, which some think makes me more qualified to be a baseball player than, say, an art critic.
Yet, despite this disadvantage, I did manage to become an art critic for a time.
Even so, one prominent magazine consistently refused to print \"Joe\" in myby-line, using my first initials, J. S., instead.
I suspect that if I were a morerefined Arthur or Adrian, the name would have appeared complete.
Of course, names with a positive sense can work for you and even encourage new acquaintances.
A recent survey showed that American men thought Susan to be the most attractive female name, while women believed Richard and David were the most attractive for men.
One woman I know turned down a blind date with a man named Harry because \"he sounded dull\".
Several evenings later, she came up to me at a party, pressing for an introduction to a very impressive man; they'd been exchanging glances all evening.
\"Oh,\" I said. \"You mean Harry.\"
She was ill at ease.
Though most of us would like to think ourselves free from such prejudiced notions, we're all guilty of name stereotyping to some extent.
\"There I was, trying to get a little active boy named Julian to sit quietly and read a book— I had their personalities confused because of their names!\" Apparently, such prejudices can affect classroom achievement as well. In a study conducted by Herbert Harari of San Diego State University, and John McDavid of Georgia State University, teachers gave consistently lower grades on essays apparently written by boys named Elmer and Hubert than they <36>awarded to the same papers when the writers' names were given as Michael and David. However, teacher prejudice isn't the only source of classroom difference. <37>Dr. Thomas V. Busse and Louisa Seraydarian of Temple University found those girls with names such as Linda, Diane, Barbara, Carol, and Cindy (A companion study showed girls' <41>popularity with their peers was also related to the popularity of their names―although the connection was less clear for boys.) Though your parents probably meant your name to last a lifetime, remember that when they picked it they'd hardly met you, and the hopes and dreams they valued when they chose it may not match yours. If your name no longer seems to fit you, don't <42>despair; Movie stars regularly change their names, and with some determination, you can, too. Unit7 a If you often feel angry and overwhelmed, like the stress in your life is spinning out of control, then you may be hurting your heart. If you don't want to break your own heart, you need to learn to take charge of your life where you can—and recognize there are many things beyond your control. So says Dr. Robert S. Eliot, author of a new book titled From Stress to Strength: How to Lighten Your Load and Save Your Life . He's a clinical professor of medicine at the University of Nebraska. Eliot says there are people in this world that he calls \"hot reactors\". For these people, being tense may cause tremendous and rapid increases in their blood pressure. Eliot says researchers have found that stressed people have higher cholesterol levels, among other things. \"We've done years of work in showing that excess alarm or stress chemicals can literally burst heart muscle fibers. When that happens it happens very quickly, within five minutes. It creates many short circuits, and that causes crazy heart rhythms. Eliot, 64, suffered a heart attack at age 44. Heattributessome of the cause to stress. For years he was a \"hot reactor\". On the exterior, he was cool, calm and collected, but on the interior, stress was killing him. He's now doing very well. The main predictors of destructive levels of stress are the FUD factors—fear, uncertainty and doubt together with perceived lack of control, he says. For many people, the root of their stress is anger, and the trick is to find out where the anger is coming from. \"Does the anger come from a feeling that everything must be perfect?\" Eliot asks. \"That's very common in professional women. They think, 'I should, I must, I have to.' Perfectionists cannot delegate. They get angry that they have to carry it all, and they blow their tops. \"Others are angry because they have no compass in life. And they give the same emphasis to a traffic jam> that they give a family argument,\" he says. \"If you are angry for more than five minutes— if youstir the anger within you and let it build with no safet youtlet—you have to find out where it's coming from.\" \"What happens is that the hotter people get, physiologically, with mental stress, the more likely they are to blow apart with some heart problem.\" One step to calming down is to recognize you have this tendency. Learn to be less hostile by changing some of your attitudes and negative thinking. Eliotrecommends taking charge of your life. \"If there is one word that should be substituted for stress, it's control. Instead of the FUD factors, what you want is the NICE factors—new, interesting, challenging experiences.\" \"You have to decide what parts of your life you can control,\" he says. \"Stop where you are on your trail and say, 'I'm going to get my compass out and find out what I need to do.'\" He suggests that people write down the six things in their lives that they feel are the most important things they'd like to achieve. Ben Franklin did it at age 32. \"He wrote down things like being a better father, being a better husband, being financially>independent beingstimulated intellectually and remaining even-tempered —he wasn't good at that.\" Eliot says you can first make a list of 12 things, then cut it down to 6 and set your priorities. \"Don't give yourself impossible things, but things that will affect your identity, control andself-worth\\.\" \"Put them on a note card and take it with you and look at it when you need to. Since we can't create a 26-hour day we have to decide what things we're going to do.\" \"The kids grow up, the dog dies and you change your priorities.\" From Eliot's viewpoint , the other key to controlling stress is to \"realize that there are other troublesome parts of your life over which you can have little or no control—like the economy and politicians\". You have to realize that sometimes with things like traffic jams, deadlines and unpleasant bosses \"You can't fight. You can't flee. You have to learn how to flow.\" Unit8 a Reading a survey report on first-year college students, I recalled the regret, <2>informal <3>polls of students both in Macon and at the Robins <4>Resident Center: According to the survey based on responses from over 188,000 students, Not surprising in these hard times, Less important than ever is developing a meaningful philosophy of life. On the other hand, <13>enrollment in business programs, engineering and computer science is way up. That's no surprise either. A friend of mine (a sales representative for a chemical company) was making twice the salary of college instructors during her first year on the job—even before she completed her two-year associate degree. \"I'll tell them what they can do with their music, history, literature, etc.,\" she was fond of saying. And that was four years ago; Frankly, I'm proud of the young lady (not her attitude but her success). Most people, somewhere between the ages of 30 and 50, Sure, everyone wants to be financially comfortable, While it's true all of us need a career, <27>preferably a prosperous one, It is equally true that, in studying the <32>diverse <33>wisdom of others, we learn how to think. wages, only to drive their employer out of business. No company, no job. How <35>short-sighted in the long run. one of them is talking on the <39>intercom: \"Miss Baxter,\" he says, \"could you please send in someone who can <40>distinguish right from wrong?\" I think it can be. My college <41>roommate, now head of a large shipping company in New York, not surprisingly was a business major. But he also hosted a <42>classical music show on the college's <43>FM station and listened to Wagner as he studied his accounting. That's the way it should be. There's a lot more to life than a job. 第八单元 It has often been remarked that the saddest thing about youth is that it is wasted on the young. Reading a survey report on first-year college students, I recalled the regret, \"If only I knew then what I know now.\" The survey revealed what I had already suspected from informal polls of students both in Macon and at the Robins Resident Center: if it (whatever it may be) won't compute and you can't drink it, smoke it or spend it, then \"it\" holds little value. According to the survey based on responses from over 188,000 students, today's college beginners are \"more consumeristic and less idealistic\" than at any time in the seventeen years of the poll. Not surprising in these hard times, the students' major objective \"is to be financially well off. Less important than ever is developing a meaningful philosophy of life.\" Accordingly, today the most popular course is not literature or history but accounting. Interest in teaching, social service and the humanities is at a low, along with ethnic and women's studies. On the other hand, enrollment in business programs, engineering and computer science is way up. That's no surprise either. A friend of mine (a sales representative for a chemical company) was making twice the salary of college instructors during her first year on the job — even before she completed her two-year associate degree. \"I'll tell them what they can do with their (music, history, literature, etc.),\" she was fond of saying. And that was four years ago; I tremble to think what she's earning now. Frankly, I'm proud of the young lady (not her attitude but her success). But why can't we have it both ways? Can't we educate people for life as well as for a career? I believe we can. If we can not, then that is a conviction against our educational system — kindergarten, elementary, secondary and higher. In a time of increasing specialization, a time when 90 percent of all the scientists who have ever lived are currently alive, more than ever, we need to know what is truly important in life. This is where age and maturity enter. Most people, somewhere between the ages of 30 and 50, finally arrive at the inevitable conclusion that they were meant to do more than serve a corporation, a government agency, or whatever. Most of us finally have the insight that quality of life is not entirely determined by a balance sheet. Sure, everyone wants to be financially comfortable, but we also want to feel we have a perspective on the world beyond the confines of our occupation; we want to be able to render service to our fellow man and to our God. If it is a fact that the meaning of life does not dawn until middle age, is it then not the duty of educational institutions to prepare the way for that revelation? Most people, in their youth, resent the Social Security deductions from their pay, yet a seemingly few short years later find themselves standing anxiously by the mailbox. While it's true all of us need a career, preferably a prosperous one, it is equally true that our civilization has collected an incredible amount of knowledge in fields far removed from our own. And we are better for our understanding of these other contributions — be they scientific or artistic. It is equally true that, in studying the diverse wisdom of others, we learn how to think. More importantly, perhaps, education teaches us to see the connections between things, as well as to see beyond our immediate needs. Weekly we read of unions that went on strike for higher wages, only to drive their employer out of business. No company, no job. How shortsighted in the long run. But the most important argument for a broad education is that in studying the accumulated wisdom of the ages, we improve our moral sense. I saw a cartoon recently which depicts a group of businessmen looking puzzled as they sit around a conference table; one of them is talking on the intercom: \"Miss Baxter,\" he says, \"could you please send in someone who can distinguish right from wrong?\" In the long run that's what education really ought to be about. I think it can be. My college roommate, now head of a large shipping company in New York, not surprisingly was a business major. But he also hosted a classical music show on the college's FM station and listened to Wagner as he studied his accounting. That's the way it should be. Oscar Wilde had it right when he said we ought to give our ability to our work but our genius to our lives. Let's hope our educators answer students' cries for career education, but at the same time let's ensure that students are prepared for the day when they realize their shortsightedness. There's a lot more to life than a job 第九单元 “Get yourself up and make something of yourself, buddy,!” though she has passed away ,my mother is words are as clear in my head today as I was a boy . She may have bad my interests at heart ,but form my standpoint at the time ,her less than tender approach to parenting was the equivalent of bamboo torture treatment . Christ ,I utter ,I have made something of myself . I am entitled to sleep late If there`s one thing I can`t stand ,it `s a quitter her voice in my head is more powerful than my will to refuse .so I pull myself form bed . My father died after fiver years of marriage .my mother didn`t have any money after he died .she had three babies to care for and lots of bills to pay .she had just started college .but she had to quit to look for work . when we lost our house with nothing but scattered pieces of a life to pick up .my insane grandmother who was dying had to be institutinonalized and we all had to take shelter with her brother allen .she eventually found work as a grocer at a supermarket at ten dollars a week . Mother ,although hopeful that I would make millions ,never deceived herself about my abilities to do so .and so she pushed me toward working with words form an early age . Words ran in her family .the most spectacular proof was my mother`s first cousin Edwin ,he was my managing editor of the new york times and had gained a name for himself shile covering the Cuban missile crisis .she often used Edwin as an example of how far an ambitious man could get without much talent Edwin james was so smarter than anybody else though a little faster as a typist .and look where he is today .my mother said ,and said ,and said . Her early identification of my own gift for words gave her purpose and from then on .her whole life started to revolve around helping me to develop my talents. Though\\ very poor .she signed us up for a set of books for intermediate and advanced readers .one book arriver by mail each month for just 39 cents . What I read with joy ,though were newspapers . I lapped up every word about monstrous crimes .awful accident and terrible acts committed against people in faraway wars and the refugees who had to escape form their home countries .accounts of police corruption and murderers dying in the electric fascinated me . In 1947 I graduated form johns Hopkins and applied for a job with the Baltimore sun as a police reporter ,why they picked me was a mystery ,it paid ＄30 a week .when I complained the wage was humiliating for learned man ,mother refused to sympathize.\\ If you work hard at this job .she said maybe you can make something of it After a while I was given an assignment to cover .diplomats at various African embassies .then .seven years after I started . I was assigned by the sun to cover the white house .reporting form the oval office was as close to heaven as a journalist could get .i looked forward to seeing the delight on my mother`s face when I told her .considering the onward and upward course she had set for me .i should have known better, Well .russ ,she said .if you work hard at this white house job .you might be able to make something of yourself\\ Her weak praise didn`t correspond to my achievement .no matter what I did .any accomplishment of mine only seemed margined in her eyes ‘this would often make me crazy .she would never congratulate me or make any concession that I was doing great things. There was always something negative to be said even when I succeeded Even if you get to the top .you have to watch out .she was always keen to point out .the bigger they come .the harder they fall\\ Uncle Edwin`s success was a sincere nuisance during my early years as a reporter . what a thrill . I though .if I were to be hired by the times thus proving my worth to my mother once and for all . Then .out of my wildest childhood fantasy .the times came knocking .it was sad that uncle Edwin had departed by this time .eventually .i would be offered one of the most prized assignments for which a reporter could possibly hope .a regular opinion piece in the new york times It was proof that my mother`s scheme to push me toward literature from an early age had been absolutety right In 1979 I reached the summit of my professional career winning a major award .namely the Pulitzer prize /unfortunately .my mother`s brain and overall health collapsed the years before leaving her in a nursing home .out of touch with life forevermore .she never knew of my Pulitzer I can probably guess how she`d have responded .that`s nice .buddy it shows if you work hard .you`ll be able to make something of yourself one of these days。 因篇幅问题不能全部显示，请点此查看更多更全内容