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I feel it enormous responsibility, as a mother of two little girls, to lead you down a path that is relatively healthy when it comes to beauty and self-image.
????????????? In a lot of women’s eyes I’ve probably already failed in that respect due to the amount of pink princess Barbie (芭比娃娃) mess cluttering up (堆满) Vera’s room. But I will say something about Barbie: I played with that stuff for a solid decade when I was growing up and here I am now at a healthy weight with a healthy outlook on my body and image. I have a successful career. If Barbie was really so damaging to my femininity (女性气质) and self-image I highly doubt I could list all of the accomplishments.
But I get it too. It’s hard for women to maintain a healthy self-image. I have girlfriends around whom I have to brace myself to see, because just being around them makes me self-conscious. I look at old pictures of my mother and wonder why I’ve never been able to be as skinny as she was. And then I have friends who are thinner than their mothers ever were. We women go round and round in circles, holding hands and trying to be one another sometimes. Men like to think we dress and style ourselves for them, but why would we when they hardly notice? I’ve never tried so hard to look good when I know I’m about to meet up with a stylish girlfriend. It’s she who will notice my slimmed-down waist or the thinnest, little bracelet on my arm.
And I have no doubt that the two of you, Veronica and Juliette, will endlessly compare yourselves to each other. You will wonder why one of you got longer legs or shinier hair. The thing I’ll tell you is this: not even the prettiest of us feel settled. The girl you think looks the most perfect in the world is probably the girl who wants to change herself more than anyone else.
Don’t take these on. You are not worthless. You are so full of love and light and you should let it shine through your every second. If someone pushes you down for standing tall then just push yourself back up and stand even taller. And know that the reason they push you down in the first place is just because they’re scared.
1.From the second paragraph, we can infer that the author _____.
A. regrets buying so much Barbie stuff for her daughters
B. thinks loving Barbie makes her not confident about her self-image
C. owes her beauty and success to playing with Barbie
D. thinks playing with Barbie caused no damage to her beauty and success
2.In the third paragraph, the author intends to show that _____.
A. women tend to be proud of their beautiful friends
B. she cares much about her appearance
C. she feels proud of her mother’s beauty
D. women tend to admire others and compare with each other
3.Which of the following is true according to the passage?
A. The author is disappointed that few men take notice of her slim figure.
B. The author cares more about looking good before her girlfriends.
C. Girls should constantly compare themselves with others to improve their beauty.
D. Only the prettiest girl can feel confident about her beauty.
4.The author advises her daughters that _____.
A. they should be cautious not to be pushed down by others
B. they should care much about their strong points instead of appearances
C. they should try to grow taller than others
D. they should care more about others’ opinions
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When I was seven, my parents gave me a doll, a doll’s house and a book. The Arabian Nights, came wrapped in red paper. I was just ready to read when my mother walked into my room．
“Isn’t your doll just beautiful?” my mother asked. I looked at the doll, with fair hair in a pink dress----I’ll have to call her “she” because I never gave her a name. I folded my lips and raised my eyebrows, not really knowing how to let my mother down easily.
“This doll is different.” My mother explained, trying to talk me into playing with it.
Thinking the doll needed love, I hugged her tightly for a long time. Useless, I said to myself. Finally, I decided to play with the doll’s house. But since rearranging the tiny furniture seemed to be the only active possible, I lost interest. I caught sight again of the third of my gifts The Arabian Nights, and I began to read it. From that moment, the book was my constant companion.
Every day I climbed our garden tree, nestled among its branches, I read the stories in The Arabian Nights to my heart’s content. My mother became concerned as she noticed I wasn’t playing with either the doll or the little house. She insisted that I take the doll up the tree with me.
Trying to read on a branch 15 feet off the ground while holding on to the silly doll was not easy. After nearly falling off twice, I tied one end of a long vine around the doll’s neck and the opposite one around the branch, letting the doll hang in mid air while I read. I always looked out for my mother, though. I sensed that my playing with the doll was of great importance to her. So every time I heard her coming, I lifted the doll up and hugged her. The smile in my mother’s eyes told me my plan worked.
The inevitable(不可避免的) happened one afternoon. Totally absorbed in the reading, I didn’t hear my mother calling me. When I looked down, I saw my mother staring at the hanging doll. Fearing the worst of scolding, I climbed down in a flash, reaching the ground just as my mother was untying the doll. To my surprise, she didn’t scold. She kept on staring at the doll．
The next day, my father came home early and suggested he and I play with the doll’s house. Soon I was bored, but my father seemed to be having so much fun, I didn’t have the heart to tell him. Quietly I slipped out, picking up my book on my way to the yard. So absorbed was he in arranging and rearranging the tiny furniture that he didn’t notice my quick exit.
Almost 20 years passed before I found out why the hanging-doll incident had been so significant for my parents. By then I was a parent myself. After recalling the incident, my mother said all those years she had been afraid whether I would turn out to be a most loving and understanding mother to my son．
My mother often thanks God aloud for making me a good parent, pointing out that with education I might have been a rich dentist instead of a poor poet. I look back on that same childhood incident, recalling my third gift, the book in red-paper, and I take advantage of the experiences that have made me who and what I am. Sometimes I pause to wonder at life’s wonderful ironies （讽刺）.
1.Why didn’t the author give the doll a name?
A. Because the gift was given by her parents.
B. Because the girl didn’t care much for the doll.
C. Because her parents would give the doll a name.
D. Because the doll had little in common with her.
2.The author’s account of a childhood incident shows that, as a young girl, she viewed her parents as people who .
A. hoped to shape their children’s future
B. were unconcerned about their behavior
C. ruined their children’s dreams completely
D. might withdraw their love at any moment
3. What can we infer from the last paragraph?
A. The mother is now satisfied with her daughter’s career.
B. The daughter now regrets what she did when she was a girl.
C. The mother thinks the daughter’s achievements are unsatisfactory.
D. The daughter wishes that she had been allowed more freedom as a child.
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When I was seven, my parents gave me a doll, a doll's house and a book． The Arabian Nights, came wrapped in red paper． I was just ready to read when my mother walked into my room．
"Isn't your doll just beautiful?" my mother asked． I looked at the doll, with fair hair in a pink dress-I'll have to call her "she" because I never gave her a name． I folded my lips and raised my eyebrows, not really knowing how to let my mother down easily．
"This doll is different．" My mother explained, trying to talk me into playing with it．
Thinking the doll needed love, I hugged her tightly for a long time． Useless, I said to myself．Finally, I decided to play with the doll's house． But since rearranging the tiny furniture seemed to be the only active possible, I lost interest． I caught sight again of the third of my gift The Arabian Nights, and I began to read it． From that moment, the book was my constant companion．
Every day I climbed our garden tree, Nestled among its branches, I read the stories in The Arabian Nights to my heart's content． My mother became concerned as she noliced I wasn't playing with either the doll or the little house． She insisted that I take the doll up the tree with me．
Trying to read on a branch 15 feet off the ground while holding on to the silly doll was not easy． Alter nearly falling off twice, I tied one end of a long vine around the doll's neck and the opposite one -around the branch, letting the doll hang in mid air while I read． I always looked out for my mother, though． I sensed that my playing with the doll was of great importance to her． So every time I heard her coming, I lifted the doll up and hugged her． The smile in my mother's eyes told me my plan worked．
The inevitable happened one afternoon． Totally absorbed in the reading, I didn't hear my mother calling me． When I looked down, I saw my mother staring at the hanging doll． Fearing the worst of scolding, I climbcd down in a flash, reaching the ground just as my mother was untying the doll． To my surprise, she didn't scold． She kept on staring at the doll．
The next day, my father came home early and suggested he and I play with the doll's house．Soon I was bored, but my father seemed to be．having so much fun, I didn't have the heart to tell him．Quietly I slipped out, picking up my book on my way to the yard． So absorbed was he in arranging and rearranging the tiny furniture that he didn't notice my quick exit．
Almost 20 years passed before I found out why the hanging-doll incident had been so significant for my parents． By then I was a parent myself． After recalling the incident, my mother said all those years she had been afraid whether I would turn out to be a most loving and understanding mother to my son．
My mother often thanks God aloud for making me a good parent, pointing out that with education I might have been a rich dentist instead of a poor poet． I look back on that same childhood incident, recalling my third gift, the book in red- paper, and I take advantage of the experiences that have made me who and what I am． Sometimes I pause to wonder at life's wonderful ironies （讽刺） ．
67． Why didn't the author give the doll a name?
A． Because the gift was given by her parents．
B． Because the girl didn't care much for the doll．
C． Because her parents would give the doll a name．
D． Because the doll had little in common with her．
68． Which of the following best refers to the "irony" mentioned at the end of the passage?
A． The author has herself now become a mother．
B． The father was as troubled by the incident as her mother．
C． The father was comfortable playing with toys traditionally meant for girls．
D． The author was influenced most by the gift which was least valued by her mother．
69． The author's account of a childhood incident shows that, as a young girl, she viewed her parents
as people who .
A． hoped to shape their children's future
B． were unconcerned about their behavior
C． ruined their children's dreams completely
D． might withdraw their love at any moment
70． What can we infer from the last paragraph?
A． The mother is now satisfied with her daughter's career．
B． The daughter now regrets what she did when she was a girl．
C． The mother thinks the daughter's achievements are unsatisfactory．
D． The daughter wishes that she had been allowed more freedom as a child．
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A few years ago, I was with a close woman friend in a grocery store in California．As we walked along the aisle (过道), we saw a mother with a small boy moving in the opposite direction and met us head-on (正面的) in each aisle．The woman barely noticed us because she was so angry with her little boy, who wanted to pull items off the lower shelves．As the mother became more and more annoyed, she started to yell at the child and several aisles later had progressed to shaking him by the arm．k+s-5#u
At this point my friend spoke up．A wonderful mother of three and founder of a progressive school, she had probably never once in her life treated any child so harshly(严厉地)．I expected my friend would give this woman a solid mother-to-mother talk about controlling herself and about the effect this behavior has on a child．Instead, my friend said, “What a beautiful little boy．How old is he?” The woman answered cautiously, “He’s three．” My friend went on to comment on how curious he seemed and how her own three children were just like him in the grocery store, pulling things off shelves, so interested in all the wonderful colors and packages．“He seems so bright and intelligent,” my friend said．
The woman had the boy in her arms by now and a shy smile came upon her face．Gently brushing his hair out of his eyes, she said, “Yes, he’s very smart and curious, but sometimes he wears me out．” My friend responded sympathetically(表示同情地), “Yes, they can do that; they are so full of energy．”
As we walked away, I heard the mother speaking kindly to the boy about getting home and cooking his dinner．“We’ll have your favorite — macaroni(通心面) and cheese,” she told him．
The mother was angry with her baby because ．
A．the mother was very tired k+s-5#u
B．the baby asked for more things
C．the baby ran madly in the store
D．the baby was pulling the goods off the shelves
We can learn from the passage that the author’s friend ．
A．treated her children well only
B．was probably good to any child
C．liked the boy very much
D．always wanted to help others
The author’s friend talked with the mother in that way to ．
A．show her sympathy for the woman
B．know something about the boy first
C．show her anger with the woman k+s-5#u
D．make the woman realize children’s natural quality
With the story, the author most probably intends to tell us that ．
A．we should respect a child’s nature
B．we should never blame a child
C．mothers usually share the same interest
D．mothers should try to be gentle and polite k+s-5#u
查看习题详情和答案>>things, floats on the surface of the water, and we share deeper connections than that. That is why she
fascinates me-why I spend my off-duty time sitting beside her.
Today is difficult. The ward (病房) is full of patients and I am kept busy emptying bed-pans, filling
out forms, changing dressings. Finally, late in the afternoon, I get a few moments to make coffee, to take
it over to the orange plastic chair beside her bed. I am thankful to be off my feet, glad to be in her
company once again.
"Hello, Jasmine," I say, as if greeting myself.
She does not reply. Jasmine never replies. She is down too deep.
She has been sea-damaged. I too am the daughter of a fisherman, so I choose my words like
fish-hooks, cast them into her ears, imagine them sinking down through cold, dark water. Down to
wherever she may be.
"I have little time today," I tell her, touching her hair.
With Jasmine, it is always difficult not to touch. She is that rare thing, a truly beautiful woman.
Because of this, people invent reasons to walk by. I catch them looking, drinking her in, feeding on her.
They are barracuda (梭鱼), all of them.
Great beauty is something Jasmine and I do not share. I am glad of it.
"Your father may be here soon," I say. "Last week he said he would come."
Jasmine says nothing. Her left eyelid flickers, perhaps.
It is two months since the incident on her father's fishing boat, since she fell overboard, sank, became
entangled in the nets. It was some time before anyone noticed, then there was panic. Her father hauled
her back on board and sailed for home. When he finally arrived, he carried ashore what he thought was
his daughter's body.
"Jasmine," I whisper. I want her to take our baited (用作诱醒的) name. I want her to swallow it.
Fortunately, there was a doctor in the village that morning, a young man visiting relatives. It was he
who brought this drowned woman back from the brink, he who told me her story. She opened her eyes,
he said, looked up at her father and spoke a single word-then sank again, this time into coma.
Barracuda. That is what Jasmine said.
When her father visits, he touches her hair, kisses her cheek, sits in the orange plastic chair at the
side of her bed and holds her hand. Like my own father, he has the big, brown, life-roughened hands
of a fisherman. He too smells of the sea, and pretends he is a good, simple man.
Jasmine. We share so much, we are almost one.
I remember early mornings, my hair touched to wake me, my father lifting me half-asleep from my
bed, carrying me, dropping me into his boat. His voice rough in my ear, his hands rough on my skin. I
never wanted to go, but I was just a child. He did as he wished.
I remember salt water, hot sun, my mother shrinking on the shore. I remember the rocking of the
boat, the screams of the seagulls.
"Jasmine, you have a life inside you. Can't you hear it calling?"
Nothing.
The ward door bangs, and I see Jasmine's father walking towards us, carrying flowers. He smiles
at me. Even in death, my own child had my father's smile, and Jasmine's will have this man's. I know it.
He stops by her bed and touches her hair. Something stirs deep inside me. I watch Jasmine's eyelids,
waiting for her to bite.
B. Jasmine looks very fascinating.
C. They have much in common.
D. Jasmine's father is very pitiful.
B. is a good and simple man in the author's eyes
C. took his daughter out to the sea against her will
D. thought his daughter dead when back to the shore
B. She is nearly dying.
C. She is completely deaf.
D. She is in a bad mood.
B. Jasmine was pulled out of water without delay
C. the author spends her duty time attending Jasmine
D. it was a young doctor who happened to save Jasmine