Have you ever been involved in animal rescue? This is what happened to the Winter the dolphin. Winter was found off the coast of Florida in December of 2005. She was just a few months old, alone, and caught in a crab trap. The ropes from the trap were wrapped tightly around her body.

The fisherman who found her called for help, and the rescue team soon arrived. The ropes had cut off the blood circulation to her tail. She was badly hurt. Her rescuers didn't think she would survive. Hoping for a miracle and racing against time to save her, the rescuers transferred her to the ClearwaterMarine Aquarium in Florida.

The doctors managed to save Winter, but sadly, not her tail. He tail flukes were too damaged and had to be removed so Winter could live.

The little dolphin Winter survived against all odds, but she would never be able to swim normally without a tail. Thankfully the story doesn't end here. Winter was able to swim, but not very well. Because she didn't have a tail. She moved her body in a side-to-side motion like a shark. But doctors at the aquarium were worried that unconventional moment would hurt her spine.

Kevin Carroll heard Winter's story and for thought, he would could help. He is a specialist who designs and provides prostheses for people. If he could help people, why not help a dolphin? He started working with Winter and came up with a solution for the new fluke and tail section

Kevin designed a stretchy sleeve to fit winter's body and protect her skin. Then a tail made of silicone and plastic was made to tightly fit over the sleeve. Now winter can swim like other dolphins. And she is a great inspiration to people who struggle with their own injuries.

A little boy almost thought of himself as the most unfortunate child in the world because poliomyelitis (脊髓灰质炎) made his leg lame and his teeth uneven and ugly. He seldom played with his classmates; and when the teacher asked him to answer questions in the class, he always lowered his head without saying a word.

One spring, the boy’s father asked for some saplings (树苗) from the neighbor. He excitedly told his children to plant a sapling each person. The father said, “Whose small tree grows best, I will buy a favorite gift.” The boy also wanted to get his father’s gift. But seeing his brothers and sisters carrying water to water the trees with great enthusiasm, anyhow, he hit upon an idea: he hoped the tree he planted would die soon. So watering it once or twice, he never attended to it any longer.

A few days later, when the little boy went to see his tree again, he was surprised to find it not only didn’t die, but also grew some fresh leaves, and compared with the trees of his brothers and sisters, his appeared greener and more vital. And his father kept his promise and bought the little boy his favorite gift.

Since then, the little boy slowly became optimistic. Nevertheless, again and again on his mind the little boy wondered why his little tree should grow so much better than others’, since he had never paid enough attention to the tree. Who should have done everything?

One night, the little boy lay on the bed but couldn’t sleep.

Decades passed.

When I was in middle school, my social studies teacher asked me to enter a writing contest. I said no without thinking. I did not love writing. English was my second language. Writing was so difficult and painful for me.

So, why did he suddenly force me to do something at which I was sure to fail? His reply, “Because I love your stories. If you’re willing to apply yourself, I think you have a good shot at this.” Encouraged by his words, I agreed to give it a try.

I chose Paul Revere’s horse as my subject. Paul Revere was a silversmith (银匠) who rode a horse at night to warn people that British soldiers were coming. My story would come straight from the horse’s mouth. Not a brilliant idea, but funny; and unlikely to be anyone else’s choice.

What did the horse think, as he sped through the night? Did he get tired? Have doubts? Did he want to quit? I sympathized immediately. I got tired. I had doubts. I wanted to quit. But, like Revere’s horse, I kept going. I worked hard. I checked my spelling. I asked my older sister to correct my grammar. I checked out a half dozen books on Paul Revere from the library. I even read a few of them.

When I handed in the essay to my teacher, he read it, laughed out loud, and said, “Great. Now, write it again.” I wrote it again, and again and again. When I finally finished it, the thought of winning had given way to the enjoyment of writing. If I didn’t win, I wouldn’t care.

A few weeks later, when I almost forgot the contest, there came the news. My name was announced as the winner in the writing contest, and I was invited to attend the award presentation. There, when I accepted the award, my heart skipped a beat, my breath caught in my throat, and tears filled my eyes. My teacher was right: I did have a good shot at this.

I went to my teacher’s office after the award presentation.