During last Christmas holiday, my wife, our three boys and I were in France on our way from Paris to Nice (尼斯). For five bad days everything had gone wrong. Our hotels were “tourist traps”, our rented car broke down and we were all annoyed and exhausted in the crowded car. On Christmas Eve, when we checked into a dark and dirty hotel in Nice, there was no Christmas spirit in our hearts.

It was raining and cold when we went out to eat. We found a small restaurant roughly decorated for the holidays. In the corner, a piano player listlessly played Christmas music. I was too tired and miserable to leave. I looked around and noticed that the other customers were eating in stony silence. The only person who seemed happy was the American sailor. While eating he was writing a letter, and a half-smile covered his face.

My wife ordered our meal in French. The waiter brought us the wrong thing, so I scolded my wife for being stupid. She began to cry. The boys defended her, and I felt even worse. All of us were interrupted by an unpleasant strong movement of cold air. Through the front door came an old French flower woman, dressed in shabby clothes.

The young sailor finished his meal, got up and walked over to the flower woman. “Happy Christmas!” he said, smiling, and picking out two corsages (小花束). “How much are they?” he asked.

“Two francs, sir.”

Pressing one of the small corsages flat, he put it into an envelope he was to send, then handed the woman a 20-franc note.

“I don’t have change, sir,” she said.

I chewed on my pencil as I walked back and forth across my bedroom. What was I going to do? It was bad enough that I was the new kid. But now I was sure to get laughed right out of fifth grade. How could my first homework be such a disaster?

“My name is Anna, and this summer I——”I stopped. How could I stand in front of my class and say that I’d spent the entire summer handling something that most people don’t even like to talk about? Poop (粪便). I’d spent three months shoveling (铲), collecting, and analyzing co w poop on my grandparents’ farm. I tried to think of a different adventure I could share. Maybe I could say I’d spent the summer on the Weather Control Team preventing floods.

“Time for dinner,” my mom called.

I walked slowly down the stairs and slid into my chair.

“You’ve been in your room since you came home from school,” Mom said. “What are you working on?”

I sighed. “I have to tell the class what I did this summer.”

My younger brother, Seymour, began to laugh uncontrollably. “No one will want to sit next to you after they hear you were covered in cow poop all summer!”

“OK, that’s enough, Seymour,” Dad said.

“Anna,” said Mom, putting green beans in a bowl, “be proud of the work we did this summer. Our planet would be in sad shape without scientists like your grandfather.”

It’s true that my grandfather does important work. He developed an easy way to use poop as a source of fuel. Using the poop is now easy, economical, and environmentally safe.

“I know, Mom,” I said, staring at my meatloaf. “But it’s not exactly something people want to hear about before lunch.”

That night I dreamed about more splendid adventures: cave diving in Mexico; hiking through the Amazon rainforest.

At school the next day, I bent over my desk, listening to each kid speak. My palms were sweaty, and the knot (结) in my stomach grew tighter.

“And that was my journey to Mount Everest,” Ember Adams said, finishing her report. She bowed and took her seat.

“It’s your turn, Anna,” Ms. Hammond said.

The class cheered as I returned to my desk, and some of my classmates approached me with admiration in their eyes.