“I wish we hadn’t come on this trip!” Jeff’s voice echoed across the narrow canyon (峡谷). His father stopped, breathing heavily. “This is hard on you, but you’ve got to come through with courage!” He gently placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Now, I don’t know if I can make it without stopping every so often. You’re young, but you’re strong and fast. Do you remember the way back from here to the road, if you had to go alone?”

Jeff flashed back to the painful scene of Mark, his seventeen-year-old brother at their campsite. His leg was bitten by a snake yesterday and they did first aid with the wound so that it wouldn’t get so serious before they returned home. But this morning Mark couldn’t move, and the pain got worse. He needed medical attention right away otherwise he might lose his life. The only way is to get the rescue helicopter as soon as possible. They had left their phone in the car, which was stopped out of the canyon and it must have been out of power by then. Leaving Mark at the campsite and seeking help was their only choice.

“Jeff, could you do it?”

Jeff looked to the end of the canyon, several miles away. He nodded and a plan began to take hold in his mind. “What is the name of that little town we stopped, Dad?” There must be a hospital there.

“Flint. We parked at the side of the road a few miles out of Flint.”

Jeff nodded. Then they continued climbing. Stone by stone, they made their way up the canyon. Gradually, Jeff’s father grew smaller and smaller in the distance. Jeff waved to him and then climbed toward the road. Two hours later, he finally reached the road and struggled toward the town, almost exhausted.

“Can’t stop,” he thought. “Mark’s in big trouble. Keep going.” Suddenly, he saw a truck heading toward him. “Hey, mister!” he shouted, waving both arms. He began to jog toward the truck, and then broke into a full-speed run.

The driver saw Jeff and brought his truck to a stop.

Hours later, Jeff came to himself.

I sit at that same desk, and stare at the blank sheet in the typewriter. I wait patiently for ideas to come to me, exam questions for a test I will give my students tomorrow. My wife is off to a reunion somewhere, but I am not alone. Our two children keep me company. Ten-month-old Edward cooperates to some degree. But our 22-month-old daughter Meghan’s plan has conflicted with mine. She follows a daily routine that is both time-consuming and challenging. Her constant companion is Dumpty, a shapeless doll.

Within 15 minutes she appears before me with her shoes and socks in her hands. “Don’t even ask, Meghan. Not today.” I know the pattern. First the shoes and socks. Then the stroller (童车). And pretty soon we’re in the park. She’ll want me to pick her a dandelion (蒲公英). Hearing my words, she reaches up to the typewriter keys and depresses four of them at the same time. “No, thank you, Meghan. Daddy’s seen your work. He’ll do it himself.”

Then she rests her head on my leg, just as she did when she first learned to walk. Finally she leaves, upset. I watch her sit on the floor and try for several minutes to put on one of her socks.

Seeing me looking, she pats the chair, the comfortable one we sit in together to watch TV or to read, and quickly gathers her books: The Poky Little Puppy, The Magic School Bus, The Cat in the Hat, and even that ancient copy of National Geographic with the penguin on the cover…She’s got them all. With her free hand, she pulls my arm.

“No, Meghan,” I say angrily. “Not now. Go away and leave me alone. And take your library with you. “That does it; she leaves. She makes no further attempt to bother me. I can finish the test easily now without interruption-no one trying to climb onto my lap; no extra fingers helping me type.

I see her standing quietly, tears running down her cheeks.

I decide to do something.

When lightning struck

I was in the tiny bathroom in the back of the plane when I felt a jolt (颠簸). and then the horrible swerve (急转弯) that threw me against the door. Somehow, I managed to unlock the door and climb out awkwardly. The flight attendants, all with their seat belts fastened, waved wildly for me to sit down. As I struggled toward my seat, passengers looked up at me with the panic-stricken expressions of creatures who knew they were about to die.

“I think we got hit by lightning,” the girl in the seat next to mine said, her voice shaking. She was from a small town in east Texas, and this was only her second time on an airplane. She had won a trip to London by competing in a high school geography bee and was supposed to make a connecting flight when we landed in Newark.

Across the aisle sat a charming young woman, who had been working on her laptop. Now she put it away. She looked around and then her eyes met mine. “Are you OK?” she asked me. I forced a smile back, when the pilot’s voice came over the speaker. I heard vaguely through my fear, “Engine number two...emergency landing... New Orleans.” When he was done, the voice of a flight attendant came on, reminding us of the emergency procedures she had reviewed before takeoff. Understandably, I had never paid attention to this drill, always figuring that if we ever got to the point where we needed to use life jackets, I would have already died of terror.

Now we began a roller-coaster ride through the thunderclouds. I was ready to faint, but when I saw the face of the girl next to me, I pulled myself together, reached for her hand and reassured her that we were going to make it, “What a story you’re going to tell when you get home!” I said. “After this, London’s going to seem like small potatoes.”

I wondered where I was getting my strength.

And then...we landed safely.