Ammie Reddick from East Kilbride, Lanarkshire, was only 18 months old when she had the accident that had scared her for life. The curious child reached up to grab the wire of a hot kettle in the family kitchen and poured boiling water over her tiny infant frame.

Her mother Ruby turned round and, seeing Ammie horribly burnt, called an ambulance which rushed her daughter to a nearby hospital. Twenty percent of Ammie’s body had been burned and all of her burns were third-degree. There, using tissue taken from unburned areas of Ammie’s body, doctors performed complex skin transplants to close her wounds and control her injuries, an operation that took about six hours. Over the next 16 years, Ammie underwent 12 more operations to repair her body.

When she started school at Maxwelton Primary at age 4, other pupils made cruel comments or simply wouldn’t play with her. “I was the only burned child in the street, the class and the school,” she recalled, “some children refused to become friends because of that.”

Today, aged 17, Ammie can only ever remember being a burned person with scars; pain is a permanent part of her body. She still has to have two further skin transplants. Yet she is a confident, outgoing teenager who offers inspiration and hope to other young burns victims.

She is a member of the Scottish Burned Children’s Club, a charity set up last year. This month, Ammie will be joining the younger children at the Graffham Water Center in Cambridge shire for the charity’s first summer camp. “I will show them how to get rid of unkind stares from others,” she says. Ammie loves wearing fashionable sleeveless tops, and she plans to show the youngsters at the summer camp that they can too. “I do not go to great lengths to hide my burns scars,” she says, “I gave up wondering how other people would react years ago.”

When I was 8 years old, I decided to ran away from home after a quarrel with my mother. With my suitcase packed and some sandwiches in a bag, I started for the front door.

My mom asked where I was going. “I’m leaving home,” I said.

“What’s that you’re carrying?” she asked

“Some clothes and food.” I replied.

“If you want to run away, that’s all right,” she said. “But you came into this home without anything and you can leave the same way.”

I threw my suitcase and sandwiches on the floor and started for the door again.

“Wait a minute,” Mom said. “You didn’t have any clothes on when you arrived, and I want them back.”

This infuriated me. I took my clothes off-shoes, socks, underwear and all—and shouted “Can I go now?”

“Yes,” my mom answered, “but once you close that door, don’t expect to come back.”

I was so angry that I shut the door forcefully and stepped out of my home. Then I noticed down the street two neighbor girls walking toward our house. I was so shy that I saw the big spruce (云杉) tree in our yard and jumped under the low-hanging branches (树枝). A pile of dried-up brown needles (针状物) were beneath the tree, and you can’t imagine the pain those sharp needles caused to my body.

After I was sure the girls had passed by, I ran to the front door and knocked at it loudly.

“It’s Billy! Let me in!”

The voice behind the door answered, “Billy doesn’t live here anymore. He ran away from home.” Looking behind me to see if anyone else was coming down the street, I said, “Mom! I’m sorry. I’m still your son. Let me in!”

The door opened and Mom’s smiling face appeared. “Did you change your mind about running away?” she asked.

“What’s for supper?” I smiled back.

Tina Leverton was 62 when she bought her first pair of ballet shoes. She said putting her feet into the soft leather was very emotional. She said: “I’ve waited a long time for it.”

A few days later, Leverton took her first ballet class after seeing an advertisement in a newspaper. It showed older women dancing in a class near Leverton’s house. “As I came in the door, I found a big smile on my face. From the minute I started, I felt like coming home.”

Leverton had longed to dance as a child. Sadly, her parents couldn’t afford ballet classes, for they were first-generation Indian immigrants, struggling to make a living in the UK. Her father was a train driver on the underground in London and her mother held two cleaning jobs. Nonetheless, she harboured her dream of being a ballerina (芭蕾舞女演员).

At her present age, a grand lie-lowering (俯卧撑) to the floor with bent knees-seemed to be out of the question. It took her three months to master the move: leaping and landing on one foot. “I love the struggle and the challenge of learning something new. People in their 60s have a lot of self-limiting beliefs: ‘I can’t do it,’ ‘I’m not good enough.’ And maybe they’re not good enough. But it doesn’t matter,” she said.

Ballet has been transformative. At a medical appointment a few months after Leverton’s first class, a nurse measured her at 163cm, half an inch taller than she had thought. She attributes (归因) the difference to improved posture. Her muscle tone has improved and her lower back pain has stopped. Dancing has also brought new friends. She met a group of older, more independent women and worked together towards a team award with the Royal Academy of Dance. And then, of course, there is the joyful feeling. “Ballet is all the therapy (治疗) I’ll ever need,” said Leverton.