我教给我的学生们文字的力量，尝试着让他们通过写作来释放自己，表达自己。在写作课上，我们学着相互信任，因为我们知道公开而诚实地写作是多么困难，我们学着鼓足勇气来分享我们的语言。在教室里，我们每天都可以看到勇气，我总会为学生们的心里话而感到震惊。
一个有关勇气的例子发生在“作家工作室”中的一个自愿分享作品的环节中。学校里来了一个名叫阿尔的新学生，他很瘦小，一张娃娃脸上还有两个小酒窝，这让他看起来比其他同学都小。
事实上，当阿尔在两周前第一次来到班上时，一个同学就说：“你不该在七年级，你还是个孩子呢！”
阿尔立即回答道：“我叫阿尔·比尔史灵顿，我上七年级。”
尽管他的勇气可嘉，可毕竟刚来到我们中间，仍然处于适应阶段。所以，当他自愿要在“作家工作室”上朗读自己的作文时，我感到很惊讶。像往常一样，我笑着点头示意他开始朗读，心里也在为他默默地祈祷，希望其他同学不要在他朗读之后取笑他。教室陷入了沉寂，阿尔开始朗读了。
“如果说我有一个愿望，那就是可以见到爸爸……”他的声音洪亮而清晰，在他朗读的大约15分钟里，他引起了我那些通常不安分的七年级学生的注意。他讲述了自己从未见过父亲的原因：当他还是个小孩时，父亲就离开了家。他和大家分享了一些他的秘密，他如此小的年龄就要为成为家里唯一的男子汉而努力，割草、修理损坏的下水道。他投给我们一种思想：他的脑海里满是他的父亲在哪里，以及他为什么离开的疑问。
我环顾教室四周，寻找着班级里窃笑的面孔，我知道这些学生喜欢取笑别人，但是此时没有一个窃笑者。没有四处张望，没有不耐烦的表情，也没有要攻击的架势。同学们都在听着，确实在听。他们都望着阿尔，像海绵吸水一样倾听着他的话语。我感到很满足。
阿尔继续朗读着，叙述着他的梦魇，叙述他自己从未感觉到做一个男子汉对自己是如此重要，可这离自己又太遥远了。当他朗读着如此深情而真诚的话语时，我可以听出他的声音在颤抖，我看到他那有着两个酒窝的脸颊上淌下了一滴泪珠。我看了一下观众，杰西卡和其他几个少数静静倾听的同学也是泪眼朦胧。
我想，他们允许他这样做，允许他分享一些或许他从来没有与别人分享过的东西，而且他们没有歧视或取笑他，我哽咽了。
在结尾的时候，阿尔竭力朗读着最后一句话：“如果说我有一个愿望的话，那就是能见到我的爸爸，这样我就不会……”他的泪水已经决堤了，我们也是。“……这样我就不会每天晚上躺在床上想象他的样子了。”
我之所以教书（2）
在我没有作出任何暗示的情况下，全体同学起立为他鼓掌。当大家纷纷跑上前去拥抱他的时候，阿尔笑了。
这就是我之所以教书的原因。之所以教书，是因为我可以在那些面孔下面了解到一些故事；是因为我可以看着孩子们成长、欢笑、学习和友爱；更是因为那些像阿尔一样的学生们。
Why I Teach
Whitney L。 Grady
I know my students。 Masses of awkward seventh graders swarm the halls of my rural middle school each day； hauling backpacks over one shoulder； talking and shuffling along the tile hallway floor from class to class。 I watch them like a general from my post（my classroom door） and smile at the fact that I can call each one by name。
I know their secrets； their stories。 Dora slouches1 and is shy； and I know it is because she spends all her time at home trying not to get noticed； so she won’t feel the brunt of her stepfather’s angry hand。 Jay can pitch like a tenth grader； and all the girls swoon2 when he and his blond hair strut by； but I know he doesn’t really even like baseball that much （he plays because his dad wants him to） and he is too scared to ask out the girl he likes。 The kids think Keith is just the class clown； but I know of his dreams to bee an astronaut（and I’ve remended him for space camp）。 I know my students because I am their writing teacher。 They trust me with their stories and so I am given the privilege3 of having a secret bond with each and every one of them。
I teach my students about the power of words； and I try to let them find release and expression through writing。 We learn to trust each other in writing class because we learn how hard it is to write openly and honestly； and we learn that sharing your words takes courage。 I see courage every day in my classroom； and I am always amazed at the words that e from my students’ hearts。
One such example of courage took place during author’s chair； a sharing session at the end of our writer’s workshop in which students volunteer to share what they have written。 We had a new student to the school； Al。 Al was small and； with his dimpled cheeks and baby face； he looked younger than his classmates。
In fact； when Al was first introduced to the class two weeks earlier； one student said； “You’re not in the seventh grade。 You’re a baby。 ”
To that； Al quickly responded； “I’m Al Billslington； and I am in the seventh grade。 ”
Despite his obvious courage； Al had been with us for only a short while and was still trying to fit in。 So I was a little surprised when he volunteered to read during author’s chair。 I had one of those teacher moments； when I smiled and nodded for him to read； while inside I said a silent prayer that the other students would not tease4 the new kid after he read。 The room fell silent； and Al began to read。
“If I had one wish； it would be to meet my dad。。。 ” He started out loud and clear and held the attention of my usually restless seventh graders as he read on for what seemed like fifteen minutes。 He told of how he had never known his father； who had left the family when Al was a baby。 He shared the intimate details of his struggles to be the only man in the house at such a young age； of having to mow the lawn and fix broken pipes。 He revealed to us the thoughts that raced through his mind constantly about where his father might be and why he might have left。txt电子书分享平台
我之所以教书（3）
My eyes scanned5 the room for snickering faces of seventh…grade kids who I knew were prone to jump at a weakness and try to crack a joke； but there were no snickers。 There were no rolling eyes or gestures insinuating boredom or pending attacks。 All of my seventh…grade students were listening； really listening。 Their eyes were on Al； and they were absorbing his words like sponges。 My heart was full。
Al continued on； telling of nightmares at night； of never knowing a man so important to him； yet so unreal。 I could hear his voice growing shaky as he read such passionate and honest words； and I saw a tear roll down one of his dimpled cheeks。 I looked to the audience。 There were tears on Jessica’s face and on the faces of a few others seated quietly； intently listening。
They are letting him do this； I thought。 They are allowing him to share something he perhaps has never shared before； and they aren’t judging him or teasing him。 I felt a lump6 in my own throat。
Al finished； struggling now to read his last sentence。 “If l had one wish； it would be to meet my dad； so I wouldn’t。。。 ” His tears were rolling now； and so were ours； “。。。 so I wouldn’t have to close my eyes in bed every night just wondering what he looks like。 ”
Without any cue from me； the class stood up and applauded。 Al smiled from ear to ear as they all rushed him with hugs。 I was floored。
This is why I teach。 I teach because I am allowed to learn the stories behind the faces。 I teach because I can watch kids grow and laugh and learn and love。 I teach because of students like Al。
。。
欢聚一堂
凯西·皮平·哈里斯
感恩节那天，我家的所有亲戚都聚在一起，他们围坐在长桌旁，或是坐在高脚桌上。有的人一边看电视一边调侃着什么。
电视中的一些节目吸引了他们的注意，一个大人喊道：“快听！”另一个人则附和道：“天啊，真棒啊！”
他们的语言简单朴实，不时还夹带一些方言，都是一些有趣的俗语，可以活跃气氛，还可以暖场。
这与学校的老师教我们的语言是不同的，像亲戚那样说话是不允许的。有时，父母说一些学校里不教的话，他们会经常纠正自己，就像改正错误似的。
当然，我们也学会了一些方言，说话时也会冒出一句。这些方言说起来很舒服，也很亲切。
父亲家的亲戚都是来自阿肯色州和俄克拉荷马州，他们说话时都带有当地口音，声音很高、很好听，从我们的谈话中就可以很容易地听出来，我和哥哥经常因为语言跟别人有差异而遭到取笑。
母亲家的亲戚来自伊利诺伊州，他们的说话速度都很快，也有口音，我和哥哥均受到了影响，学校的孩子们有些听不懂我们的话。
父亲家的亲戚很爱笑，日子过得很开心。母亲家的亲戚很严肃，很多时候都是静静地体会和享受自己的快乐。
他们之间的这种差异就像一条五颜六色的文化织棉，给了我和哥哥一个多角度的生活。感恩节通常是逍遥自在的一天，舒适而让人期待，是这个季节的第一个真正的节日，人们会聚在一起，享受一个“极其”快乐的日子。
时光荏苒，越来越多的家人离开了人世，可以聚在一起的人也越来越少。屋内仍然回荡着动听的音乐，并慢慢远去。放着高脚桌和长桌的房间现在也只剩下了一张桌子。食物还很丰盛，但是房间却十分冷清，心情也低落了下来。
“介意出去散步吗？”哥哥吃完晚饭后问我。
“当然！”
于是我们穿上夹克出去了。
“往哪条路走呢？”我问。
他耸耸肩说：“随便，就这条路吧。”他指着左边，于是我们出发了。
那是一个寒冷的感恩节的下午，天色渐黑了，空气中弥漫着烧过的木头的焦味。我们漫步在曾经玩耍的街道上，如此安静。我们不由地想起了居住在这里的家人。我们穿过一片田地，曾经，我们在这里挖土建造堡垒，两株曾经用来做房屋的大树，一片被洪水淹没的水洼，我们在这里捉蜥蜴和蝌蚪，让我们的狗自由地飞奔。人行道上的一颗枯树上有一只朝鸟响亮而清脆地叫着，打破了周围的孤寂。
哥哥拍着我的肩膀，笑着对我说：“快听！”
我摇了摇头，笑了。我们继续散步，当我听到从满是亲戚的房间里传出的这句话时，我泪眼朦胧……
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快听！
Listen at It
Kathy Pipping Harris
Thanksgiving time and all the relatives were gathered around the long table； or seated behind TV trays。 The television was on and some folks