I d_______ about flying last night.

If I raised the question, “What would be the last thing you would expect to happen while watching your son’s flag football game?” you probably still couldn’t come up with what happened to me and my family.
As we were sitting on the sidelines enjoying the game, a low-flying bird came swooping in attempting to land on my daughter’s head! It honestly came out of nowhere. We were seated by ourselves on the tree lined side of the field. I was able to calm my daughter’s shock and fear once I showed her that the bird was not some wild animal, it was in fact, somebody’s pet!
Now, we’re sitting at the outdoor fields of the Pontiac Silverdome, far from any populated area, wondering where this very social cockatiel, an Australian parrot (澳洲鹦鹉) could have come from. I walked up to the bird and put out my hand. Immediately, it hopped on and chirped in a friendly way. We looked around us and knew that we could not just leave and suppose that the bird would return to where it came from. This was a very domesticated bird that needed help or it would not survive.
The flag football game had ended so we walked the bird over to other groups of adults and asked if they knew of anyone who had lost a bird. All the kids were excited about the bird and fed it with some post game snacks. The bird’s nails were getting long and he was looking pretty dirty, so we knew it had been out here for a long time and was hungry. Since its wings were clipped, it could fly a little but probably not more than 100 yards or so at a try. We all just scratched our heads as a group wondering what to do with the lost bird.
We explained to the kids that this bird needed our help since it was someone’s pet and would not know how to get its own food, and it could not fly well since its wings were clipped. The kids understood, and all of them wanted to take the bird home! The parents however, knew this was not a good choice as one had a large dog, another two cats, etc. We explained to the kids that one of us could take the bird home for the night and then bring it to the Humane Society in the morning in hopes to connect it to its owners. We couldn’t keep the bird. It wasn’t ours. This was tough for the kids to understand at first. We couldn’t just leave the bird either. There was no way it could attend itself. The group of us sat around the Silverdome practice fields for quite a while trying to determine the best course of choice for the lost bird. It was getting dark out but no one was willing to leave that parking lot until we had a game plan for how to help the bird.
The owner of the football league, Chris Novak, offered to take the bird. It was extremely nice of him and he really stepped in to help while all the rest of us who had kids tugging on our shirts and begging to take it home. We took a box and put a bunch of holes in it and he brought it home for the night. Another mom went online and found a family that had lost a bird that looked just like the one we’d found. She emailed the info to Chris who got in touch with the family and the next day, reunited the bird with the family that lost it almost 3 weeks earlier! When Chris emailed us to let us know, we could not believe that this bird had traveled from The Rochester Tienken area all the way to the Silverdome!
We were so happy to be able to save this bird and get it back to its family. I showed my kids the email about how the other family got their pet back. The family has 3 kids who were so happy to see their bird. My kids realized what a nice ending this story had. Not only had we been able to save this bird’s life, but we were able to bring it back to the family that loves and misses him.
The life lesson in the missing bird story seemed to miss its mark with my kids at first. They were a little bummed out that they couldn’t keep the lost bird. I explained to them that when an animal or someone needs help, you just can’t turn a blind eye and hope everything works out OK. The “lost bird incident” was also a reminder to them that teamwork and the kindness of strangers can make a world of difference and that a group of well-meaning strangers can work together to help someone. It wasn’t a heroic act, but one that I knew had sunk in with my kids when they realized that trying to help was the best and only real course of action. 　
【小题1】What happened when the author watched his son’s football games?

Dear Guys,

I’d like to talk to you about the shame you subjected me to last night. Let me first refresh your memory: You, a group of fit, young men, were playing soccer on the field across from my apartment building. I, a better-than-average looking young woman, was walking along the sidewalk with my groceries. That’s when your ball came flying over the fence and landed in front of me.

One of you approached and asked politely if I would throw the ball back to you. Fighting the urge to drop my bags and run screaming down the street, I reluctantly agreed.

Before I continue, let me explain something that I didn’t have a chance to mention last night: I hate sports. More specifically, I hate sports involving balls. This results from my lack of natural ability when it comes to throwing, catching and hitting. I’m bad at aiming too. So you can understand why I’d be nervous at what I’m sure seemed to you like a laughably simple request. However, wanting to appear agreeable, I put my bags down, picked up the ball and, eyes half-shut, and threw it as hard as I could.

It hit the middle of the fence and bounced back to me.

Trying to act casually, I said something about being out of practice, then picked up the ball again. If you’ll remember, at your command, I agreed to try throwing underhand. While outwardly I was smiling, in my head, I was praying, Oh God, oh please oh please oh please. I threw the ball upward with all my strength, terrified by what happened next.

The ball hit slightly higher up on the fence and bounced back to me.

This is the point where I start to take issue with you. Wouldn’t it have been a better use of your time, and mine, if you had just walked around the fence and took the ball then? I was clearly struggling; my smiles were more and more forced. And yet, you all just stood there, motionless.

Seeing that you weren’t going to let me out of the trouble, I became desperate. Memories of middle school softball came flooding back. I tried hard to throw the ball but it only went about eight feet, then I decided to pick it up and dash with ball in hand towards the baseline, while annoyed thirteen-year-old boys screamed at me that I was ruining their lives. Children are cruel. Being a big girl now, I pushed those memories aside and picked up the soccer ball for the third time. I forced a good-natured laugh while crying inside as you patiently shouted words of support over the fence at me.

“Throw it granny-style!” one of you said.

“Just back up a little and give it all you’ve got!” another offered.

And, most embarrassing of all, “You can do it!”

I know you thought you were being encouraging, but it only served to deepen the shame.

Anyway, I accepted your ball-throwing advice, backed up, rocked back and forth a little, took a deep breath and let it fly.

It hit the edge of the fence and bounced back to me.

I surprised myself --- and I’m sure you as well --- by letting out a cry, “DAMN IT!!!” I then willed myself to have a heart attack and pass out in front of you just so I’d be put out of my misery. Alas, the heart attack didn’t happen, and you continued to look at me expectantly, like you were content to do this all night. I had become a sort of exhibition for you. I could feel your collective thoughts drifting through the chain-link: “Can she really not do it? But I mean, really?”

Unfortunately for you, I wasn’t really game to continue your experiment. Three failed attempts at a simple task in front of a group of people in a two-minute period was just enough blow for me for one night. I picked up the ball one last time, approached the fence and grumbled, “Please just come get the damn ball.”

And you did. And thanks to you, I decided at that very moment to never throw anything ever again, except disrespectful glances at people who play sports.

Sincerely, Jen Cordery

1. The writer agreed to throw the ball because _______.

A. she needed to have a relax carrying the heavy groceries

B. she wanted to refresh her childhood memories

C. she could not refuse the polite request from the young man

D. she had fallen in love with the young man at first sight

2.Which of the following is closest in meaning to the underlined word “game”?

A. anxious                                      B. brave                                C. afraid                                D. curious

3.Why did the writer mention her middle school memory?

A. To explain why she failed the attempts to throw the ball back.

B. To complain that she had not mastered the ball throwing skills.

C. To show how cruel those 13-year-old boys were.

D. To express her dislike towards softball.

4.What the boys said before the writer’s third attempt actually made the writer ________.

A. inspired                                     B. encouraged                     C. embarrassed                   D. depressed

5.What’s the writer’s purpose in writing this open letter?

A. To express her regret over what she did the day before.

B. To announce that she would never play ball games again.

C. To explain her own inability to throw the ball over the fence.

D. To criticize the young men for their cruelty to her dignity.

Dear Guys,

 I’d like to talk to you about the shame you subjected me to last night. Let me first refresh your memory: You, a group of fit, young men, were playing soccer on the field across from my apartment building. I, a better-than-average looking young woman, was walking along the sidewalk with my groceries. That’s when your ball came flying over the fence and landed in front of me.

One of you approached and asked politely if I would throw the ball back to you. Fighting the urge to drop my bags and run screaming down the street, I reluctantly (勉强地) agreed.

Before I continue, let me explain something that I didn’t have a chance to mention last night: I hate sports. More specifically, I hate sports involving balls. This results from my lack of natural ability when it comes to throwing, catching and hitting. I’m bad at aiming too. So you can understand why I’d be nervous at what I’m sure seemed to you like a laughably simple request.

However, wanting to appear agreeable, I put my bags down, picked up the ball and, eyes half-shut, threw it as hard as I could.

It hit the middle of the fence and bounced back to me.

Trying to act casually, I said something about being out of practice, then picked up the ball again. If you’ll remember, at your command, I agreed to try throwing underhand. While outwardly I was smiling, in my head, I was praying, Oh God, oh please oh please oh please. I threw the ball upward with all my strength, terrified by what happened next.

The ball hit slightly higher up on the fence and bounced back to me.

This is the point where I start to take issue with you. Wouldn’t it have been a better use of your time, and mine, if you had just walked around the fence and took the ball then? I was clearly struggling; my smiles were more and more forced. And yet, you all just stood there, motionless.

Seeing that you weren’t going to let me out of the trouble, I became desperate. Memories of middle school softball came flooding back. I tried hard to throw the ball but it only went about eight feet, then I decided to pick it up and dash with ball in hand towards the baseline, while annoyed thirteen-year-old boys screamed at me that I was ruining their lives. Children are cruel.

Being a big girl now, I pushed those memories aside and picked up the soccer ball for the third time. I forced a good-natured laugh while crying inside as you patiently shouted words of support over the fence at me.

“Throw it granny-style!” one of you said.

“Just back up a little and give it all you’ve got!” another offered.

And, most embarrassing of all, “You can do it!”

I know you thought you were being encouraging, but it only served to deepen the shame.

Anyway, I accepted your ball-throwing advice, backed up, rocked back and forth a little, took a deep breath and let it fly.

It hit the edge of the fence and bounced back to me.

I surprised myself-and I’m sure you as well-by letting out a cry, “DAMN IT!!!” I then willed myself to have a heart attack and pass out in front of you just so I’d be put out of my misery.

Alas, the heart attack didn’t happen, and you continued to look at me expectantly, like you were content to do this all night. I had become a sort of exhibition for you. I could feel your collective thoughts drifting through the chain-link: “Can she really not do it? But I mean, really?”

Unfortunately for you, I wasn’t really game to continue your experiment. Three failed attempts at a simple task in front of a group of people in a two-minute period was just enough blow for me for one night. I picked up the ball one last time, approached the fence and grumbled, “Please just come get the damn ball.”

And you did. And thanks to you, I decided at that very moment to never throw anything ever again, except disrespectful glances at people who play sports.

Sincerely, Jen Cordery

1.The writer agreed to throw the ball because ______.

A. she needed to have a relax carrying the heavy groceries

B. she wanted to refresh her childhood memories

C. she could not refuse the polite request from the young man

D. she had fallen in love with the young man at first sight

2.Why did the writer mention her middle school memory?

A. To explain why she failed the attempts to throw the ball back.

B. To complain that she had not mastered the ball throwing skills.

C. To show how cruel those 13-year-old boys were.

D. To express her dislike towards softball.

3.What the boys said before the writer’s third attempt actually made the writer _______.

A. inspired                B. encouraged             C. embarrassed                  D. depressed

4.What happened to the ball at last?

A. The writer managed to throw the ball back.

B. The boy got the ball back by himself.

C. The writer threw the ball away out of anger.

D. The boys got angry and left without the ball.

Dear Guys,

I’d like to talk to you about the shame you subjected me to last night. Let me first refresh your memory: You, a group of fit, young men, were playing soccer on the field across from my apartment building. I, a better-than-average looking young woman, was walking along the sidewalk with my groceries. That’s when your ball came flying over the fence and landed in front of me.

One of you approached and asked politely if I would throw the ball back to you. Fighting the urge to drop my bags and run screaming down the street, I reluctantly (勉强地) agreed.

Before I continue, let me explain something that I didn’t have a chance to mention last night: I hate sports. More specifically, I hate sports involving balls. This results from my lack of natural ability when it comes to throwing, catching and hitting. I’m bad at aiming too. So you can understand why I’d be nervous at what I’m sure seemed to you like a laughably simple request.

However, wanting to appear agreeable, I put my bags down, picked up the ball and, eyes half-shut, threw it as hard as I could.

It hit the middle of the fence and bounced back to me.

Trying to act casually, I said something about being out of practice, then picked up the ball again. If you’ll remember, at your command, I agreed to try throwing underhand. While outwardly I was smiling, in my head, I was praying, Oh God, oh please oh please oh please. I threw the ball upward with all my strength, terrified by what happened next.

The ball hit slightly higher up on the fence and bounced back to me.

This is the point where I start to take issue with you. Wouldn’t it have been a better use of your time, and mine, if you had just walked around the fence and took the ball then? I was clearly struggling; my smiles were more and more forced. And yet, you all just stood there, motionless.

Seeing that you weren’t going to let me out of the trouble, I became desperate. Memories of middle school softball came flooding back. I tried hard to throw the ball but it only went about eight feet, then I decided to pick it up and dash with ball in hand towards the baseline, while annoyed thirteen-year-old boys screamed at me that I was ruining their lives. Children are cruel.

Being a big girl now, I pushed those memories aside and picked up the soccer ball for the third time. I forced a good-natured laugh while crying inside as you patiently shouted words of support over the fence at me.

“Throw it granny-style!” one of you said.

“Just back up a little and give it all you’ve got!” another offered.

And, most embarrassing of all, “You can do it!”

I know you thought you were being encouraging, but it only served to deepen the shame.

Anyway, I accepted your ball-throwing advice, backed up, rocked back and forth a little, took a deep breath and let it fly.

It hit the edge of the fence and bounced back to me.

I surprised myself-and I’m sure you as well-by letting out a cry, “DAMN IT!!!” I then willed myself to have a heart attack and pass out in front of you just so I’d be put out of my misery.

Alas, the heart attack didn’t happen, and you continued to look at me expectantly, like you were content to do this all night. I had become a sort of exhibition for you. I could feel your collective thoughts drifting through the chain-link: “Can she really not do it? But I mean, really?”

Unfortunately for you, I wasn’t really game to continue your experiment. Three failed attempts at a simple task in front of a group of people in a two-minute period was just enough blow for me for one night. I picked up the ball one last time, approached the fence and grumbled, “Please just come get the damn ball.”

And you did. And thanks to you, I decided at that very moment to never throw anything ever again, except disrespectful glances at people who play sports.

Sincerely, Jen Cordery

1.The writer agreed to throw the ball because ______.

A. she needed to have a relax carrying the heavy groceries

B. she wanted to refresh her childhood memories

C. she could not refuse the polite request from the young man

D. she had fallen in love with the young man at first sight

2.Why did the writer mention her middle school memory?

A. To explain why she failed the attempts to throw the ball back.

B. To complain that she had not mastered the ball throwing skills.

C. To show how cruel those 13-year-old boys were.

D. To express her dislike towards softball.

3. What the boys said before the writer’s third attempt actually made the writer _______.

A. inspired                B. encouraged             C. embarrassed                  D. depressed

4.What happened to the ball at last?

A. The writer managed to throw the ball back.

B. The boy got the ball back by himself.

C. The writer threw the ball away out of anger.

D. The boys got angry and left without the ball.