It is four years ____she came to this college.

In 1974, after filling out fifty applications, going through four interviews, and winning one offer, I took what I could get ----- a teaching job at what I considered a distant wild area: western New Jersey. My characteristic optimism was alive only when I reminded myself that I would be doing what I had wanted to do since I was fourteen ------- teaching English.
School started, but I felt more and more as if I were in a foreign country. Was this rural area really New Jersey? My students took a week off when hunting season began. I was told they were also frequently absent in late October to help their fathers make hay on the farms. I was a young woman from New York City, who thought that “Make hay while the sun shines” just meant to have a good time.
But, still, I was teaching English. I worked hard, taking time off only to eat and sleep. And then there was my sixth-grade class ---- seventeen boys and five girls who were only six years younger than me. I had a problem long before I knew it. I was struggling in my work as a young idealistic teacher. I wanted to make literature come alive and to promote a love of the written word. The students wanted to throw spitballs and whisper dirty words in the back of the room.
In college I had been taught that a successful educator should ignore bad behavior. So I did, confident that, as the textbook had said, the bad behavior would disappear as I gave my students positive attention. It sounds reasonable, but the text evidently ignored the fact that humans, particularly teenagers, rarely seems reasonable. By the time my boss, who was also my taskmaster, known to be the strictest, most demanding, most quick to fire inexperienced teachers, came into the classroom to observe me, the students exhibited very little good behavior to praise.
My boss sat in the back of the room. The boys in the class were making animal noises, hitting each other while the girls filed their nails or read magazines. I just pretended it all wasn’t happening, and went on lecturing and tried to ask some inspiring questions. My boss, sitting in the back of the classroom, seemed to be growing bigger and bigger. After twenty minutes he left, silently. Visions of unemployment marched before my eyes.
I felt mildly victorious that I got through the rest of class without crying, but at my next free period I had to face him. I wondered if he would let me finish out the day. I walked to his office, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
He was sitting in his chair, and he looked at me long and hard. I said nothing. All I could think of was that I was not an English teacher; I had been lying to myself, pretending that everything was fine.
When he spoke, he said simply, without accusation, “You had nothing to say to them.”
“You had nothing to say to them”. he repeated.” No wonder they are bored. Why not get to the meat of literature and stop talking about symbolism. Talk with them, not at them. And more important, why do you ignore their bad behavior”? We talked. He named my problems and offered solutions. We role-played. He was the bad student, and I was the forceful, yet, warm, teacher
As the year progressed, we spent many hours discussing literature and ideas about human beings and their motivations. He helped me identify my weaknesses and strengths. In short, he made a teacher of me by teaching me the reality of Emerson’s words: “The secret to education lies in respecting the pupil.”
Fifteen years later I still drive that same winding road to the same school. Thanks to the help I received that difficult first year, the school is my home now.
【小题1】 It can be inferred from the story that in 1974 ________________.

In 1974, after filling out fifty applications, going through four interviews, and winning one offer, I took what I could get ----- a teaching job at what I considered a distant wild area: western New Jersey. My characteristic optimism was alive only when I reminded myself that I would be doing what I had wanted to do since I was fourteen ------- teaching English.

School started, but I felt more and more as if I were in a foreign country. Was this rural area really New Jersey? My students took a week off when hunting season began. I was told they were also frequently absent in late October to help their fathers make hay on the farms. I was a young woman from New York City, who thought that “Make hay while the sun shines” just meant to have a good time.

But, still, I was teaching English. I worked hard, taking time off only to eat and sleep. And then there was my sixth-grade class ---- seventeen boys and five girls who were only six years younger than me. I had a problem long before I knew it. I was struggling in my work as a young idealistic teacher. I wanted to make literature come alive and to promote a love of the written word. The students wanted to throw spitballs and whisper dirty words in the back of the room.

In college I had been taught that a successful educator should ignore bad behavior. So I did, confident that, as the textbook had said, the bad behavior would disappear as I gave my students positive attention. It sounds reasonable, but the text evidently ignored the fact that humans, particularly teenagers, rarely seems reasonable. By the time my boss, who was also my taskmaster, known to be the strictest, most demanding, most quick to fire inexperienced teachers, came into the classroom to observe me, the students exhibited very little good behavior to praise.

My boss sat in the back of the room. The boys in the class were making animal noises, hitting each other while the girls filed their nails or read magazines. I just pretended it all wasn’t happening, and went on lecturing and tried to ask some inspiring questions. My boss, sitting in the back of the classroom, seemed to be growing bigger and bigger. After twenty minutes he left, silently. Visions of unemployment marched before my eyes.

I felt mildly victorious that I got through the rest of class without crying, but at my next free period I had to face him. I wondered if he would let me finish out the day. I walked to his office, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

He was sitting in his chair, and he looked at me long and hard. I said nothing. All I could think of was that I was not an English teacher; I had been lying to myself, pretending that everything was fine.

When he spoke, he said simply, without accusation, “You had nothing to say to them.”

“You had nothing to say to them”. he repeated.” No wonder they are bored. Why not get to the meat of literature and stop talking about symbolism. Talk with them, not at them. And more important, why do you ignore their bad behavior”? We talked. He named my problems and offered solutions. We role-played. He was the bad student, and I was the forceful, yet, warm, teacher

As the year progressed, we spent many hours discussing literature and ideas about human beings and their motivations. He helped me identify my weaknesses and strengths. In short, he made a teacher of me by teaching me the reality of Emerson’s words: “The secret to education lies in respecting the pupil.”

Fifteen years later I still drive that same winding road to the same school. Thanks to the help I received that difficult first year, the school is my home now.

1. It can be inferred from the story that in 1974 ________________.

A．the writer became an optimistic person

B．the writer was very happy about her new job

C．it was rather difficult to get a job in the USA

D．it was easy to get a teaching job in New Jersey

2.According to the passage, which of the following is most probably the writer’s problem as a new teacher?

A．She had blind trust in what she learnt at college.

B．She didn’t ask experienced teachers for advice.

C．She took too much time off to eat and sleep.

D．She didn’t like teaching English literature.

3.What is the writer’s biggest worry after her taskmaster’s observation of her class?

A．She might lose her teaching job.

B．She might lose her students’ respect.

C．She couldn’t teach the same class any more.

D．She couldn’t ignore her students’ bad behavior any more.

4.Which of the following gives the writer a sense of mild victory?

A．Her talk about symbolism sounded convincing.

B．Her students behaved a little better than usual.

C．She managed to finish the class without crying.

D．She was invited for a talk by her boss after class.

5.The students behaved badly in the writer’s classes because

A．They were eager to embarrass her.

B．She didn’t really understand them.

C．They didn’t regard her as a good teacher.

D．She didn’t have a good command of English.

6.The taskmaster’s attitude towards the writer after his observation of her class can be described as________________.

A．cruel but encouraging                    B．fierce but forgiving

C．sincere and supportive                   D．angry and aggressive

“Mom, I have cancer.” These four words catapulted my son and me on a journey that lasted two years. On that day I felt a wave of paralyzing fear.

Scott was the oldest of my four children. He was 33 years old and a successful assistant principal at SamRayburn Hifht School in Pasadena, Texas. He and his wife Carolyn were busy raising four active children. Scott was 6’2’’, weighed 200 pounds and had never been sick a day in his life.

A few month earlier a mole（痣）on his neck had changed color. “Dr.Warner called,” Scott said that spring morning. “It’s melanoma.（黑素瘤）” I tried to comfort him, naming all the people I knew who had survived skin cancer. Yet, I felt small tentacles of fear begin to wrap around my chest.

Our next stop was MDAnderson, the famous cancer hospital in Houston. Scott had surgery at the end of May and was scheduled for radiation treatments over the summer recess. “There is an 80 percent chance it won’t reoccur,” the doctors said. At the end of summer, all his tests came back negative and Scott was back at school in the fall. However, in December, Scott discovered a lump on his neck. It was examined and the result came back “malignant.（恶性的）” We now realized that Scott fell into the 20 percent category. I could feel the tentacles tightening around my chest. He entered the hospital for an aggressive treatment, a combination of interferon and interleukin.

After five months of treatment, he had radical surgery on his neck. The test results were encouraging, only three of the 33 lymph nodes（淋巴结） removed were malignant. We were very hopeful.

For the next six months, Scott’s follow-up visits went well. Then in October, X-ray revealed a spot on his lung. The spot was removed during surgery and the doctors tried to be optimistic. It was a daily battle to control the fear and panic each setback brought.

In January, he was diagnosed as having had a “disease explosion.” The cancer had spread to his lungs, spine and liver and he was given three to six months to live. There were times during this period when I felt like I was having a heart attack. The bands constricting my chest made breathing difficult.

When you watch your child battle cancer, you experience a roller coaster of emotions. There are moments of hope and optimism but a bad test result or even an unusual pain can bring on dread and panic.

Scott was readmitted to the hospital for one last try with chemotherapy. He died, quite suddenly, just six weeks after his last diagnosis. I was completely destroyed. I had counted on those last few months.

The next morning I was busy notifying people and making funeral arrangements. I remember having this nagging feeling that something was physically wrong with me. It took a moment to realize that the crushing sensation in my chest was gone. The thing every parent fears the most had happened. My son was gone. Of course, the fear had been replaced by unbearable sorrow.

After you lose a child, it is so difficult to go on. The most minimal tasks, combing your hair or taking a shower, becoming monumental. For months I just sat and stared into space. That spring, the trees began to bloom; flowers began to pop up in my garden. Friendswood was coming back to life but I was dead inside.

During those last weeks, Scott and I often spoke about life and death. Fragments of those conversations kept playing over and over in my mind.

“Don’t let this ruin your life, Mom.”

“Make sure Dad re models his workshop.”

“Please, take care of my family.”

I remember wishing I could have just one more conversation with him. I knew what I would say, but what would Scott say? “I know how much you love me, Mom. So just sit on the couch and cry.” No, I knew him better than that. Scott loved life and knew how precious it is. I could almost hear his voice saying, “Get up Mom, Get on with your life. It’s too valuable to waste.”

That was the day I began to move forward. I signed up for a cake decorating class. Soon I was making cakes for holidays and birthdays. My daughter-in-law told me about a writing class in Houston. I hadn’t written in years, but since I was retired I decided it be time to start again. The local college advertised a Life Story Writing class that I joined. There I met women who had also lost their children. The Poet Laureate of Texas was scheduled to speak at our local Barnes and Noble. I attended and joined our local poetry society. I never dreamed that writing essays and poems about Scott could be so therapeutic. Several of those poems have ever been published. In addition, each group brought more and more people into my life..

I don’t believe you ever recover from the loss of a child. Scott is in my heart and mind every day. However, I do believe you can survive.

Scott fought so bravery to live and he never gave up. He taught me that life is a gift that should be cherished, not wasted. It has taken years to become the person I am today. The journey has been a difficult, painful process but certainly worth the effort and I know that my son would be proud.

1.How old was Scott probably when he died?

A．33               B．35                 C．37           D．40

2.What does the underlined sentence “ The bands constricting my chest made breathing difficult” probably imply?

A．It implies that Scott’s mother was likely to have a heart attack.

B．It implies that there was something wrong with Scott’s mother’s chest.

C．It implies that Scott’s mother was very upset and panic because of Scott’s severe illness.

D．It implies that the cancer had spread to her chest just like her son.

3.Which of the following statements best shows the author’s feeling about Scott’s death?

A．It was a daily battle to control the fear and panic each setback brought.

B．She felt a wave of fear.

C．She felt a feeling of fear begin to wrap around her chest.

D．The fear had been replaced by unbearable sorrow.

4.From Scott and his mother’s conversation, we can know that Scott is ________.

A．considerable      B．humorous         C．determined      D．sensitive

5.The author intends to tell us that___________.

A．it takes a long time to make a person recover from the shock of losing a child

B．Scott is proud of his mother

C．life is full of happiness and sorrow.

D．We’d better make our life count instead of counting your days.

6.What might be the best title of the passage ?

A．Life is valuable                         B．Grieving and Recovery

C．Love and sorrow                        D．Alive or dead