The day of our diving (跳水) test had arrived, filling me with fear. While our parents considered it fortunate for us to have access to an Olympic-size swimming pool at school, I couldn’t find any happiness in that thought. Instead, the swimming pool terrified me, mainly because of my extreme shyness.

I was so shy that I always sat at the back of the room in class to avoid being called upon to read. During our physical education class on Monday mornings, I would make my way to the back of the line forming at the diving board, hoping to escape practicing the dives.

Now, it was yet another Monday morning —the morning of our diving test. My heart sank as Ms. Robbins, our teacher, announced that our final grade would be determined by our performance of the most difficult dive —the jackknife. And she added, “This diving is important. Those who fail will have to spare time in the following Monday mornings to practice diving in this pool and retake the test.”

My body trembled with fear as the line to the scary diving board shortened. As I watched, each student seemed to perform the challenging dive effortlessly. Soon, I would have to attempt something that I had never even practiced before.

Then I recalled someone telling me that when you picture yourself doing a skill over and over again, it’s just as effective as physically practicing that skill. Encouraged by this thought, I watched carefully as each classmate leapt off the board, added a jump for height, folded their body in half to reach for their toes, and finally straightened out like an arrow for going into the water. After careful observation, I was actually in a state of surprise, because all of a sudden I realized that it was possible for me to perform these four steps of diving. Eventually, all my classmates completed their jump except me.

Then I heard the teacher declare, “It’s your turn.”

Knowing I failed, I climbed out of the pool, embarrassed.

At around 6 pm, Jane and her husband, Charlie were driving on the road. They were incredibly excited because they would attend the dream wedding of her daughter Iris the next day. As they drove beyond a town heat their destination, the sky grew darker and darker and suddenly the rain poured down. When they were approaching a bridge，a wave of fast- moving water washed over the top of it.

Within seconds, the rapids had lifted the little white car into the river. It happened so   quickly that they were too shocked to scream. Finally, the car caught an object in the middle of the river.

Muddy flood water was pouring into the car and rising quickly. Jane knew they had to get out quickly before the water rose too high in the car. Forcing the door open, Charlie jumped into the flood from the back row. Meanwhile, Jane grabbed the front door handle and tried to open it but in vain."Try it again!" her husband shouted anxiously.

Hearing that, Jane took hold of the handle, using all her strength, and was able to pull the door open. She came out of the vehicle and finally reached Charlie, coughing and shaking. They leaned tightly against the back of the Car and screamed for help.

At the same time a truck driver called Joe was complaining about the bad weather in his truck parked in his yard near the river.He had planned a road trip.Suddenly, carrying over the roar of the water, he heard screams coming from the river and rushed out immediately，spotting a car in the river."I've got to do something,”he told himself.But how did he approach the car in such a complete darkness? Without thinking twice, Joe returned to his truck and drove to the river bank.Then he turned on the headlights and got a long rope from it.After that, he fastened the one end of the rope to the truck tight.

The water was still rising.

Joe finally reached the couple.

My father is a practical man. He can’t explain calculus (微积分) , but he can tell you how much pressure boiler needs. He put himself through night school to become an engineer, but that was only after he worked as an electrician and a mechanic.

One day we walked by a toy store window. Sitting in the corner was the most unusual dollhouse (玩具屋) I’d ever seen. It was shaped like an upturned log.

“Oh, Daddy,” I said, “isn’t it beautiful? Do you think Santa Claus will bring it to me?”

Dad looked at the $100 price tag—an exorbitant (过高的) figure in those days. “I think even Santa couldn’t afford this house,” he joked, hiking up his belt as he often does when he’s nervous. “Maybe one day, sweetheart.”

On Christmas morning, I awoke early and raced downstairs. In the dim (昏暗的) light, I made out some wrapped boxes under the tree—but none large enough to contain my dollhouse. Dad could see my disappointment. He pulled me onto his lap and gently told me how, as a boy, he had wanted a red wagon, but his father couldn’t afford one. He said he made his own from wood and old wheels he found. “I’ll make one for you,” Dad promised me.

And right after Christmas, despite all the unfinished projects at home, he started it. I had thought it was an easy toy to make, but every step of the long process was more complex (复杂的) than I had expected. Night after night, Dad would come home from his job dead tired, yet he’d always find time to work on the log house. In the dim light, dad was always busy creating my dollhouse.

I hesitated (犹豫) , wondering if I should help mу father.

In all, it took one month of hard work by us.