[其他] 见证学习的过程，说说我们进行的教材学习片段（GLENCOE COURSE 1）

长见识了！

mark

Bump.

佩服

佩服牛妈   

刚从加州那里追到这里来，爬楼看了许多内容，发现最后一个帖子是去年9月初的，最近有没有新的进展啊？希望能继续跟着楼主看看。

上面那首诗，是因为感觉晦涩难懂，所以，第一次逐句翻译了，但也大多体现是意译，而不能完全按字面意思。

这首诗，儿子学起来有点费劲。

我们也是大致了解诗的内容和情感，不做细致深入。

本帖最后由 charlenedavid 于 2012-9-2 15:40 编辑

本帖最后由 charlenedavid 于 2012-7-30 00:06 编辑

P367 Eleven by Sandra Cisneros

What they don’t understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you’re eleven, you’re also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don’t. You open your eyes and everything’s just like yesterday, only it’s today. And you don’t feel eleven at all. You feel like you’re still ten. And you are—underneath the year that makes you eleven.
Like some days you might say something stupid, and that’s the part of you that’s still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama’s lap because you’re scared, and that’s the part of you that’s five. And maybe one day when you’re all grown up maybe you will need to cry like if you’re three, and that’s okay. That’s what I tell Mama when she’s sad and needs to cry. Maybe she’s feeling three.

Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That’s how being eleven years old is.

You don’t feel eleven. Not right away. It takes a few days, weeks even, sometimes even months before you say Eleven when they ask you. And you don’t feel smart eleven, not until you’re almost twelve. That’s the way it is.

Only today I wish I didn’t have only eleven years rattling inside me like pennies in a tin Band-Aid box. Today I wish I was one hundred and two instead of eleven because if I was one hundred and two I’d have known what to say when Mrs. Price put the red sweater on my desk. I would’ve known how to tell her it wasn’t mine instead of just sitting there with that look on my face and nothing coming out of my mouth.

“Whose is this?” Mrs. Price says, and she holds the red sweater up in the air for all the class to see. “Whose? It’s been sitting in the coatroom for a month.”
“Not mine,” says everybody. “Not me.” “It has to belong to somebody,” Mrs. Price keeps saying, but nobody can remember. It’s an ugly sweater with red plastic buttons and a collar and sleeves all stretched out like you could use it for a jump rope. It’s maybe a thousand years old and even if it belonged to me I wouldn’t say so.
Maybe because I’m skinny, maybe because she doesn’t like me, that stupid Sylvia Saldívar says, “I think it belongs to Rachel.” An ugly sweater like that, all raggedy and old, but Mrs. Price believes her. Mrs. Price takes the sweater and puts it right on my desk, but when I open my mouth nothing comes out.

“That’s not, I don’t, you’re not . . . Not mine,” I finally say in a little voice that was maybe me when I was four.
“Of course it’s yours,” Mrs. Price says. “I remember you wearing it once.” Because she’s older and the teacher, she’s right and I’m not.
Not mine, not mine, not mine, but Mrs. Price is already turning to page thirty-two, and math problem number four. I don’t know why but all of a sudden I’m feeling sick inside, like the part of me that’s three wants to come out of my eyes, only I squeeze them shut tight and bite down on my teeth real hard and try to remember today I am eleven, eleven. Mama is making a cake for me for tonight, and when Papa comes home everybody will sing Happy birthday, happy birthday to you.

But when the sick feeling goes away and I open my eyes, the red sweater’s still sitting there like a big red mountain. I move the red sweater to the corner of my desk with my ruler. I move my pencil and books and eraser as far from it as possible.

I even move my chair a little to the right. Not mine, not mine, not mine.
In my head I’m thinking how long tilllunchtime, how long till I can take the red sweater and throw it over the school yard fence, or leave it hanging on a parking
meter, or bunch it up into a little ball and toss it in the alley. Except when math
period ends Mrs. Price says loud and in front of everybody, “Now, Rachel, that’s enough,” because she sees I’ve shoved the red sweater to the tippy-tip corner of my desk and it’s hanging all over the edge like a waterfall, but I don’t care.
“Rachel,” Mrs. Price says. She says it like she’s getting mad. “You put that sweater on right now and no more nonsense.”
“But it’s not—”
“Now!” Mrs. Price says.

This is when I wish I wasn’t eleven, because all the years inside of me—ten, nine, eight, seven, six, fi ve, four, three, two, and one—are pushing at the back of my eyes when I put one arm through one sleeve of the sweater that smells like cottage cheese, and then the other arm through the other and stand there with my arms apart like if the sweater hurts me and it does, all itchy and full of germs that aren’t even mine.

That’s when everything I’ve been holding in since this morning, since when Mrs. Price put the sweater on my desk, finally lets go, and all of a sudden I’m crying in front of everybody. I wish I was invisible but I’m not. I’m eleven and it’s my birthday today and I’m crying like I’m three in front of everybody. I put my head down on the desk and bury my face in my stupid clown-sweater arms. My face all hot and spit coming out of my mouth because I can’t stop the little animal noises from coming out of me, until there aren’t any more tears left in my eyes, and it’s just my body shaking like when you drink milk too fast.

I wish I was invisible but I’m not.
But the worst part is right before the bell rings for lunch. That stupid Phyllis Lopez, who is even dumber than Sylvia Saldívar, says she remembers the red sweater is hers! I take it off right away and give it to her, only Mrs. Price pretends like everything’s okay.
Today I’m eleven. There’s a cake Mama’s making for tonight, and when Papa comes home from work we’ll eat it. There’ll be candles and presents and everybody will sing Happy birthday, happy birthday to you, Rachel, only it’s too late.
I’m eleven today. I’m eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, fi ve, four, three, two, and one, but I wish I was one hundred and two. I wish I was anything but eleven, because I want today to be far away already, far away like a runaway balloon, like a tiny o in the sky, so tiny-tiny you have to close your eyes to see it.

Sorry!
有眼不识泰山!
新来的

都消消气，这个平台很好，我们好好利用。

你儿子现在在家还能让你教.
我家孩子10岁了,都反感我教了.

帖子好长，留个记号，再回来看！

请问：HIGH5是什么?
哪里可以下载入门的英文听力资源

本帖最后由 charlenedavid 于 2012-7-14 23:56 编辑

像93楼的那篇文章，我们在加州G6里就学过的。

讲述印第安人的一个成人礼，就是把孩子赤身涂满一种白色的香草汁，放到野外18天，直到身上的白色消尽，不能洗。。。也不给带钱及任何东西，这是用来考验孩子的生存能力传统仪式。。。。
Ta-Na-E-Ka was a test of survival.

这本教材是可以复制，粘贴的，但是需要再编辑一下，字体啊，排列啊。。。

加州的G6（PDF文档）就不能复制，我确实是手敲出来的，我挺喜欢打字的，打着打着，心也就静了。。。

为什么要编辑在WORD里呢？

第一是习惯，我习惯这样了。

第二是可以在上面做很多标记，比如没理解的句子，单词啊。。。。

第三是可以存起来，有种成就感：哦，我已经看了那么多了。。。。

这些字都是你敲进来的吗？你太牛了，我发现自己很难沉下心来看这样大段的。严重不一个层次啊，飘走

本帖最后由 charlenedavid 于 2012-7-13 23:36 编辑

P297 TA-NA-E-KA by Mary Whitebird

As my birthday drew closer, I had awful nightmares about it. I was reaching the age at which all Kaw Indians had to participate in Ta-Na-E-Ka.
Well, not all Kaws. Many of the younger families on the reservation were beginning to give up the old customs. But my grandfather, Amos Deer Leg, was devoted to tradition. He still wore handmade beaded moccasins instead of shoes and kept his iron-gray hair in tight braids. He could speak English, but he spoke it only with white men. With his family he used a Sioux dialect.1
1. The Sioux dialect is a language spoken by some Native Americans of the Great Plains.

Grandfather was one of the last living Indians (he died in 1953, when he was eighty-one) who actually fought against the U.S. Cavalry. Not only did he fi ght, he was wounded in a skirmish at Rose Creek—a famous encounter in which the
celebrated Kaw chief Flat Nose lost his life. At the time, my grandfather was only eleven years old.
Eleven was a magic word among the Kaws. It was the time of Ta-Na-E-Ka, the “fl owering of adulthood.” It was the age, my grandfather informed us hundreds of times, “when a boy could prove himself to be a warrior and a girl took the fi rst steps to womanhood.”
“I don’t want to be a warrior,” my cousin Roger Deer Leg, confi ded to me. “I’m going to become an accountant.”
“None of the other tribes make girls go through the endurance ritual,” I complained to my mother.
“It won’t be as bad as you think, Mary,” my mother said, ignoring my protests.
“Once you’ve gone through it, you’ll certainly never forget it. You’ll be proud.”
I even complained to my teacher, Mrs. Richardson, feeling that, as a white woman, she would side with me.
She didn’t. “All of us have rituals of one kind or another,” Mrs. Richardson said. “And look at it this way: How many girls have the opportunity to compete on equal terms with boys? Don’t look down on your heritage.”
Heritage, indeed! I had no intention of living on a reservation for the rest of my life. I was a good student. I loved school. My fantasies were about knights in armor and fair ladies in fl owing gowns, being saved from dragons. It never once occurred to me that being an Indian was exciting.
But I’ve always thought that the Kaw were the originators of the women’s
liberation movement. No other Indian tribe—and I’ve spent half a lifetime researching the subject—treated women more “equally” than the Kaw. Unlike most of the sub-tribes of the Sioux Nation, the Kaw allowed men and women to eat together. And hundreds of years before we were “acculturated,”2 a Kaw woman had the right to refuse a prospective husband even if her father arranged the match culture, in this case the culture of the European Americans.
2. A group that is acculturated is forced to adopt another people’s

The wisest women (generally wisdom was equated with age) often sat in tribal councils. Furthermore, most Kaw legends revolve around “Good Woman,” a kind of supersquaw, a Joan of Arc3 of the high plains. Good Woman led Kaw warriors into battle after battle, from which they always seemed to emerge victorious.
3. Joan of Arc was a French heroine in the early 1400s.

And girls as well as boys were required to undergo Ta-Na-E-Ka. The actual
ceremony varied from tribe to tribe, but since the Indians’ life on the plains was
dedicated to survival, Ta-Na-E-Ka was a test of survival.
“Endurance is the loftiest virtue4 of the Indian,” my grandfather explained. “To
survive, we must endure. When I was a boy, Ta-Na-E-Ka was more than the mere
symbol it is now. We were painted white with the juice of a sacred herb and sent
naked into the wilderness without so much as a knife. We couldn’t return until the
white had worn off. It wouldn’t wash off. It took almost 18 days, and during that time we had to stay alive, trapping food, eating insects and roots and berries, and watching out for enemies. And we did have enemies—both the white soldiers and the
Omaha warriors, who were always trying to capture Kaw boys and girls undergoing their endurance test. It was an exciting time.”
4. The loftiest virtue is the most noble quality.

“What happened if you couldn’t make it?” Roger asked. He was born only three
days after I was, and we were being trained for Ta-Na-E-Ka together. I was happy to know he was frightened, too.
“Many didn’t return,” Grandfather said. “Only the strongest and shrewdest. Mothers were not allowed to weep over those who didn’t return. If a Kaw couldn’t survive, he or she wasn’t worth weeping over. It was our way.”
“What a lot of hooey,” Roger whispered. “I’d give anything to get out of it.”
“I don’t see how we have any choice,” I replied.
Roger gave my arm a little squeeze. “Well, it’s only five days.”
Five days! Maybe it was better than being painted white and sent out naked for
eighteen days. But not much better.
We were to be sent, barefoot and in bathing suits, into the woods. Even our very traditional parents put their foot down when Grandfather suggested we go naked. For five days we’d have to live off the land, keeping warm as best we could, getting food where we could. It was May, but on the northernmost reaches of the Missouri River the days were still chilly and the nights were fi ercely cold.
Grandfather was in charge of the month’s training for Ta-Na-E-Ka. One day he caught a grasshopper and demonstrated how to pull its legs and wings off in one fl ick of the fingers and how to swallow it.
I felt sick, and Roger turned green. “It’s a darn good thing it’s 1947,” I told Roger teasingly. “You’d make a terrible warrior.” Roger just grimaced.
I knew one thing. This particular Kaw Indian girl wasn’t going to swallow a grasshopper no matter how hungry she got. And then I had an idea. Why hadn’t I thought of it before? It would have saved nights of bad dreams about squooshy grasshoppers.
I headed straight for my teacher’s house. “Mrs. Richardson,” I said, “would you lend
me five dollars?”
“Five dollars!” she exclaimed. “What for?”
“You remember the ceremony I talked about?”
“Ta-Na-E-Ka. Of course. Your parents have written me and asked me to excuse you from school so you can participate in it.”
“Well, I need some things for the ceremony,” I replied, in a half-truth. “I don’t want to ask my parents for the money.”
“It’s not a crime to borrow money, Mary. But how can you pay it back?”
“I’ll baby-sit for you ten times.”
“That’s more than fair,” she said, going to her purse and handing me a crisp, new five-dollar bill. I’d never had that much money at once.
“I’m happy to know the money’s going to be put to a good use,” Mrs. Richardson said.

A few days later the ritual began with a long speech from my grandfather about how we had reached the age of decision, how we now had to fend for ourselves and prove that we could survive the most horrendous of ordeals.5 All the friends and relatives who had gathered at our house for dinner made jokes about their own Ta-Na-E-Ka experiences. They all advised us to fill up now, since for the next fi ve days we’d be gorging6 ourselves on crickets. Neither Roger nor I was very hungry. I’ll probably laugh about this when I’m an accountant,” Roger said, trembling.
5. An ordeal is a diffi cult or painful experience.
6. If you are gorging yourself, you are stuffi ng yourself with food.

“Are you trembling?” I asked.
“What do you think?”
“I’m happy to know boys tremble, too,” I said.
At six the next morning, we kissed our parents and went off to the woods. “Which side do you want?” Roger asked. According to the rules, Roger and I would stake out “territories” in separate areas of the woods, and we weren’t to communicate during the entire ordeal. “I’ll go toward the river, if it’s okay with you,” I said.
“Sure,” Roger answered. “What difference does it make?”
To me, it made a lot of difference. There was a marina a few miles up the river, and there were boats moored there. At least, I hoped so. I fi gured that a boat was a better place to sleep than under a pile of leaves.
“Why do you keep holding your head?” Roger asked.
“Oh, nothing. Just nervous,” I told him. Actually, I was afraid I’d lose the five-dollar bill, which I had tucked into my hair with a bobby pin.
As we came to a fork in the trail, Roger shook my hand. “Good luck, Mary.”
“N’ko-n’ta,” I said. It was the Kaw word for “courage.”
The sun was shining and it was warm, but my bare feet began to hurt immediately. I spied one of the berry bushes Grandfather had told us about. “You’re lucky,” he had said. “The berries are ripe in the spring, and they are delicious and nourishing.” They were orange and fat, and I popped one into my mouth. Argh! I spat it out. It was awful and bitter, and even grasshoppers were probably better tasting, although I never intended to find out.

I sat down to rest my feet. A rabbit hopped out from under the berry bush. He nuzzled the berry I’d spat out and ate it. He picked another one and ate that, too. He liked them. He looked at me, twitching his nose. I watched a red-headed woodpecker bore into an elm tree, and I caught a glimpse of a civet cat7 waddling through some twigs. All of a sudden I realized I was no longer frightened. Ta-Na-E-Ka might be more fun than I’d anticipated. I got up and headed toward the marina.
7. A civet cat is a spotted skunk.

“Not one boat,” I said to myself dejectedly.8 But the restaurant on the shore,
“Ernie’s Riverside,” was open. I walked in, feeling silly in my bathing suit. The man at the counter was big and tough-looking. He wore a sweatshirt with the words “Fort Sheridan, 1944,” and he had only three fingers on one of his hands. He asked me what I wanted.
8. To react dejectedly is to respond in a depressed manner.

“A hamburger and a milkshake,” I said, holding the five-dollar bill in my hand so he’d know I had money.
“That’s a pretty heavy breakfast, honey,” he murmured.
“That’s what I always have for breakfast,” I lied.
“Forty-five cents,” he said, bringing me the food. (Back in 1947, hamburgers were twenty-fi ve cents and milkshakes were twenty cents.) “Delicious,” I thought. “Better’n grasshoppers—and Grandfather never once mentioned that I couldn’t eat hamburgers.”
While I was eating, I had a grand idea. Why not sleep in the restaurant? I went to the ladies room and made sure the window was unlocked. Then I went back outside and played along the riverbank, watching the water birds and trying to identify each one. I planned to look for a beaver dam the next day.
A diner (DY nuhr) is a small restaurant built to look like the dining car of a train.
The restaurant closed at sunset, and I watched the three-fi ngered man drive away.
Then I climbed in the unlocked window. There was a night light on, so I didn’t turn on any lights. But there was a radio on the counter. I turned it on to a music program.
It was warm in the restaurant, and I was hungry. I helped myself to a glass of milk and a piece of pie, intending to keep a list of what I’d eaten so I could leave money. I also planned to get up early, sneak out through the window, and head for the woods before the three-fi ngered man returned. I turned off the radio, wrapped myself in the man’s apron, and in spite of the hardness of the fl oor, fell asleep.
“What the heck are you doing here, kid?”
It was the man’s voice.
It was morning. I’d overslept. I was scared.
“Hold it, kid. I just wanna know what you’re doing here. You lost? You must be from the reservation. Your folks must be worried sick about you. Do they have a phone?”
“Yes, yes,” I answered. “But don’t call them.”
I was shivering. The man, who told me his name was Ernie, made me a cup of hot chocolate while I explained about Ta-Na-E-Ka.
“Darnedest thing I ever heard,” he said, when I was through. “Lived next to the reservation all my life and this is the first I’ve heard of Ta-Na whatever-you-call-it.”
He looked at me, all goose bumps in my bathing suit. “Pretty silly thing to do to a kid,” he muttered.
That was just what I’d been thinking for months, but when Ernie said it, I became angry. “No, it isn’t silly. It’s a custom of the Kaw. We’ve been doing this for hundreds of years. My mother and my grandfather and everybody in my family went through this ceremony. It’s why the Kaw are great warriors.”
Analyzing the Photo Do you think this is the way Mary’s grandfather pictured her surviving Ta-Na-E-Ka? Explain.
“Okay, great warrior,” Ernie chuckled, “suit yourself. And, if you want to stick around, it’s okay with me.” Ernie went to the broom closet and tossed me a bundle. “That’s the lost-and-found closet,” he said. “Stuff people left on boats. Maybe there’s something to keep you warm.”
The sweater fitted loosely, but it felt good. I felt good. And I’d found a new friend. Most important, I was surviving Ta-Na-E-Ka.
My grandfather had said the experience would be filled with adventure, and I was having my fill. And Grandfather had never said we couldn’t accept hospitality.9
9. Hospitality is the kindness that people extend to their guests.

I stayed at Ernie’s Riverside for the entire period. In the mornings I went into the woods and watched the animals and picked flowers for each of the tables in Ernie’s. I had never felt better. I was up early enough to watch the sun rise on the Missouri, and I went to bed after it set. I ate everything I wanted—insisting that Ernie take all my money for the food. “I’ll keep this in trust for you, Mary,” Ernie promised, “in case you are ever desperate for five dollars.” (He did, too, but that’s another story.)

I was sorry when the fi ve days were over. I’d enjoyed every minute with Ernie. He taught me how to make Western omelets and to make Chili Ernie Style (still one of my favorite dishes). And I told Ernie all about the legends of the Kaw. I hadn’t realized I knew so much about my people.
But Ta-Na-E-Ka was over, and as I approached my house, at about nine-thirty in the evening, I became nervous all over again. What if Grandfather asked me about the berries and the grasshoppers? And my feet were hardly cut. I hadn’t lost a pound and my hair was combed.
“They’ll be so happy to see me,” I told myself hopefully, “that they won’t ask too many questions.”
I opened the door. My grandfather was in the front room. He was wearing the
ceremonial beaded deerskin shirt which had belonged to his grandfather.
“N’g’da’ma,” he said. “Welcome back.”
I embraced my parents warmly, letting go only when I saw my cousin Roger sprawled on the couch. His eyes were red and swollen. He’d lost weight. His feet were an unsightly mass of blood and blisters, and he was moaning: “I made it, see. I made it. I’m a warrior. A warrior.”
Analyzing the Photo Does this grasshopper look delicious to you?
My grandfather looked at me strangely. I was clean, obviously well-fed, and radiantly healthy. My parents got the message. My uncle and aunt gazed at me with hostility.
Finally my grandfather asked, “What did you eat to keep you so well?”
I sucked in my breath and blurted out the truth: “Hamburgers and milkshakes.”
“Hamburgers!” my grandfather growled.
“Milkshakes!” Roger moaned.
“You didn’t say we had to eat grasshoppers,” I said sheepishly.
“Tell us all about your Ta-Na-E-Ka,” my grandfather commanded.
I told them everything, from borrowing the five dollars, to Ernie’s kindness, to observing the beaver.
“That’s not what I trained you for,” my grandfather said sadly.

I stood up. “Grandfather, I learned that Ta-Na-E-Ka is important. I didn’t think so during training. I was scared stiff of it. I handled it my way. And I learned I had nothing to be afraid of. There’s no reason in 1947 to eat grasshoppers when you can eat a hamburger.”
I was inwardly shocked at my own audacity.10 But I liked it. “Grandfather, I’ll bet you never ate one of those rotten berries yourself.”
10. Audacity is the act of being bold.

Grandfather laughed! He laughed aloud! My mother and father and aunt and uncle were all dumbfounded. Grandfather never laughed. Never.
“Those berries—they are terrible,”
Grandfather admitted. “I could never swallow them. I found a dead deer on the first day of my Ta-Na-E-Ka—shot by a soldier, probably—and he kept my belly full for the entire period of the test!”
Grandfather stopped laughing. “We should send you out again,” he said.
I looked at Roger. “You’re pretty smart, Mary,” Roger groaned. “I’d never have thought of what you did.”
“Accountants just have to be good at arithmetic,” I said comfortingly. “I’m terrible at arithmetic.”
Roger tried to smile but couldn’t. My grandfather called me to him. “You should
have done what your cousin did. But I think you are more alert to what is happening to our people today than we are. I think you would have passed the test under any circumstances, in any time. Somehow, you know how to exist in a world that wasn’t made for Indians. I don’t think you’re going to have any trouble surviving.”
Grandfather wasn’t entirely right. But I’ll tell about that another time.

说得对，心动不如行动，行动不如同做。

本帖最后由 charlenedavid 于 2012-7-13 22:40 编辑

上面这篇课文跟儿子化了3天时间看完了，相对来说，英文的理解部分不是太难。

以我理解文章的最后一句“Life went on, but with Matt going angel on us, our gang couldn’t hold together. We were finished. Busted.
So I’m here to tell you, when a guy turns good, hey, it’s rough.”综合整篇课文，我想当然地以为作者想表达的是：让一个不好的人，变成一个好的人，是挺不容易的。

我儿子的理解是：Matt 变好了，我们这个gang 也解散了，这真是件难过的事情。

呵！我想还是儿子的理解更直接，而我想得多了，我们成人，总想把一些东西上升一下，结果却不是那意思了。

本帖最后由 charlenedavid 于 2012-7-10 15:42 编辑

P280 The Goodness of Matt Kaizer by Avi 红字部分，是我儿子的理解。

People are always saying, “Nothing’s worse than when a kid goes bad.” Well, let me tell you, going good isn’t all that great either. 那些对我们来说是好玩的事情（比如说一些恶作剧），其实并不是好事。Tell you what I mean.
Back in sixth grade there was a bunch of us who liked nothing better than doing bad stuff. I don’t know why. We just liked doing it. And the baddest of the bad was Matt Kaizer. 1
1. Character Create a Character Chart for Matt like the one you made for Paul. As you read, fill in clues to Matt’s character. Then write a note for each clue that explains what you learned about Matt from that clue.

Matt was a tall, thin kid with long, light blond hair that reached his shoulders. He was twelve years old—like I was. His eyes were pale blue and his skin was a vanilla cream that never—no matter the season—seemed to darken, except with dirt. What with the way he looked—so pale and all—plus the fact that he was into wearing extra large blank white T-shirts that reached his knees, we called him “Spirit.”
Now, there are two important things you need to know about Matt Kaizer. The first was that as far as he was concerned there was nothing good about him at all. 第一件事就是他从来不做好事。Nothing.
The second thing was that his father was a minister.
Our gang—I’m Marley, and then there was Chuck, Todd, and Nick—loved the fact that Matt was so bad and his father a minister. You know, we were always daring him to do bad things. “Hey, minister’s kid!” we’d taunt. “Dare you to . . .” and we’d challenge him to do something, you know, really gross 很恶心. Thing is, we could always count on Matt—who wanted to show he wasn’t good—to take a dare.
taunt (tawnt) v. to try to anger someone by teasing him or her

For instance: Say there was some dead animal out on the road. We’d all run to Matt and say, “Dare you to pick it up.”
Matt would look at it—up close and personal—or more than likely poke it with a stick, then pick it up and fling it at one of us.
Disgusting stories? Someone would tell one and then say, “Dare you to tell it to Mary Beth Bataky”—the class slug—and Matt would tell it to her—better than anyone else, too. 你敢把这恶心的事告诉班里最胆小的Mary Beth Bataky么？
TV and movies? The more blood and gore there was, the more Matt ate it up 越是血腥，他越是爱看—if you know what I mean. MTV, cop shows, all that bad stuff, nothing was too gross for him.
And it didn’t take just dares to get Matt going. No, Matt would do stuff on his own. If anyone blew a toot 放屁—even in class—he would bellow, “Who cut the cheese?” 屁的味道跟cheese很像，放屁就跟切cheese，切下去时，味道（也就是屁的味道）就出来了。He could belch whenever he wanted to, and did, a lot. Spitballs, booger flicking, wedgie yanking, 他可以随意在班里打嗝，他还可以在班里用吸管吹球、弹鼻屎、或者把别人的短裤突然拉起来（拉到头上）。。。都是恶作剧的事情。it was all wicked fun for Matt. No way was he going to be good! Not in front of us. 2
2. Character These paragraphs give you several clues about Matt’s character. For example, they tell you how Matt acted around other people, and how Matt wanted to act. In your Character Chart, write at least two clues you found to Matt’s character in these paragraphs. Then write notes about what you learned from these clues.
Analyzing the Photo In what ways does the boy in this photo fi t the description of Matt Kaizer?
7月10日看到以上部分。

Now, his father, the minister, “Rev. Kaizer” we called him, wasn’t bad. In fact just the opposite. The guy was easygoing, always dressed decently, and as far as I knew, never raised his voice or acted any way than what he was, a nice man, a good man.
Sure, he talked a little funny, like he was reading from a book, but that was all.
Did Matt and his father get along? In a way. For example, once I was with Matt after he did something bad—I think he blew his nose on someone’s lunch. Rev. Kaizer had
learned about it. Instead of getting mad he just gazed at Matt, shook his head, and said, “Matt, I do believe there’s goodness in everyone. That goes for you too. Someday you’ll find your own goodness. And when you do you’ll be free.”
“I’m not good,” Matt insisted.
“Well, I think you are,” his father said, patiently.
Matt grinned. “Long as my friends dare me to do bad things, I’ll do ’em.”
“Never refuse a dare?” his father asked, sadly.
“Never,” Matt said with pride.
Rev. Kaizer sighed, pressed his hands together, and looked toward heaven.
So there we were, a bunch of us who knew we were bad and that it was doing bad things that held us together. And the baddest of the bad, like I said, was Matt—the Spirit—Kaizer. But then . . . oh, man, I’ll tell you what happened.
One day after school we were hanging out in the playground. The five of us were just sitting around telling disgusting stories, when suddenly Chuck said, “Hey, hear about Mary Beth Bataky?”
“What about her?” Matt asked.
“Her old man’s dying.”
Right away Matt was interested. “Really?”
“It’s true, man,” Chuck insisted. “He’s just about had it.”
“How come?” I asked.
“Don’t know,” said Chuck. “He’s sick. So sick they sent him home from the hospital. That’s why Mary Beth is out. She’s waiting for him to die.”
“Cool,” said Matt. 3
3. Character Think about how Matt reacts when he learns that the father of one of the kids in his class is dying. Write down how he reacts in the clues column of your Character Chart. Is Matt just being cool? Or is he being cruel? Write down what this clue tells you in your chart.

Now, Mary Beth was one small straw of a sad slug. She had this bitsy face with pale eyes and two gray lines for lips all framed in a pair of frizzy braids. Her arms were thin and always crossed over her chest, which was usually bundled in a brown sweater. The only bits of color on her were her fingernails, which, though chewed, were spotted with bright red nail polish—chipped.
So when we heard what was going on with Mary Beth and her father, we guys eyed one another, almost knowing what was going to happen next. But, I admit, it was me who said, “Hey, Spirit, I dare you to go and see him.”
Matt pushed the blond hair out of his face and looked at us with those pale blue, cool-as-ice eyes of his.
“Or maybe,” Todd said, “you’re too chicken, being as you’re a minister’s kid and all.”
That did it. Course it did. No way Matt could resist a dare. He got up, casual like. “I’ll do it,” he said. “Who’s coming with me?” 4
4．Character Think about why people take dares. Is it for the adventure? Are they proving something to themselves or to others? In your chart, write that Matt took the dare to see Mary Beth’s father. Then write down what this tells you about Matt.

To my disgust the other guys backed off. But I accepted. Well, actually, I really didn’t think he’d do it.
But then, soon as we started off, I began to feel a little nervous. “Matt,” I warned. “I think Mary Beth is very religious.”
“Don’t worry. I know about all that stuff.”
“Yeah, but what would your father say?”
“I don’t care,” he bragged. “Anyway, I’m not going to do anything except look. It’ll be neat. Like a horror movie. Maybe I can even touch the guy. A dying body is supposed to be colder than ice.”
That was Matt. Always taking up the dare and going you one worse.
The more he talked the sorrier I was we had dared him to go. Made me really uncomfortable. Which I think he noticed, because he said, “What’s the matter, Marley? You scared or something?” 5
5. Character How does the narrator, Marley, feel now that he has to go with Matt to see Mary Beth’s father? Does this tell you anything about the character of the narrator? Why do you think he agrees to go?

“Just seems . . .”
“I know,” he taunted, “you’re too good!” He belched loudly to make his point that he wasn’t. “See you later, dude.” He started off.
I ran after him. “Do you know where she lives?”
“Follow me.”
“They might not let you see him,” I warned.
He pulled out some coins. “I’m going to buy some fl owers and bring them to him. That’s what my mother did when my aunt was sick.” He stuffed his mouth full of bubble gum and began blowing and popping.
Mary Beth’s house was a wooden three-decker with a front porch. Next to the front door were three bell buttons with plastic name labels. The Batakys lived on the first floor.
A three-decker house is a house with three floors, or levels.

By the time Matt and I got there he had two wilted carnations in his hand. One was dyed blue, the other green. The fl ower store guy had sold them for ten cents each.
“You know,” I said in a whisper, as we stood before the door, “her father might already be dead.”
“Cool,” Matt replied, blowing another bubble, while cleaning out an ear with a pinky and inspecting the earwax carefully before smearing it on his shirt. “Did you know your fingernails still grow when you’re dead? Same for your hair. I mean, how many really dead people can you get to see?” he said and rang the Bataky’s bell.
From far off inside there was a buzzing sound.
I was trying to get the nerve to leave when the door opened a crack. Mary Beth—pale eyes rimmed with red—peeked out. There were tears on her cheeks and her lips were crusty. Her small hands—with their spots of red fi ngernail polish—were trembling.
“Oh, hi,” she said, her voice small and tense.
I felt tight with embarrassment.
Matt spoke out loudly. “Hi, Mary Beth. We heard your old man was dying.”
“Yes, he is,” Mary Beth murmured. With one hand on the doorknob it was pretty clear she wanted to retreat as fast as possible. “He’s delirious.”
retreat (rih TREET) v. to move backward, away from a situation
A delirious person is confused, has problems speaking, and sees things that aren’t there.

“Delirious?” Matt said. “What’s that?”
“Sort of . . . crazy.”
“Oh . . . wow, sweet!” he said, giving me a nudge of appreciation. Then he held up the blue and green carnations, popped his gum, and said, “I wanted to bring him these.” 6
6. Character When Matt learns that Mary Beth’s father is delirious, he says “Oh. . . wow, sweet!” Do you feel this is the right thing to say to Mary Beth? In your Character Chart, write down what Matt says and what this tells you about him.

Mary Beth stared at the fl owers, but didn’t move to take them. All she said was, “My mother’s at St. Mary’s, praying.”
Now I really wanted to get out of there. But Matt said, “How about if I gave these to your father?” He held up the flowers again. “Personally.”
“My mother said he may die any moment,” Mary Beth informed us.
“I know,” Matt said. “So I’d really like to see him before he does.”
Mary Beth gazed at him. “He’s so sick,” she said, “he’s not up to visiting.”
“Yeah,” Matt pressed, “but, you see, the whole class elected me to come and bring these flowers.”
His lie worked. ¡°Oh,¡± Mary Beth murmured, and she pulled the door open. “Well, I suppose . . .”7
7. Character Matt makes up a lie about why he came to see Mary Beth’s father. Why doesn’t he just tell her the truth? In your chart, write down this clue. Then write down what this tells you about Matt.

We stepped into a small entrance way. A low-watt bulb dangled over our heads from a wire. Shoes, boots, and broken umbrellas lay in a plastic milk crate.
Mary Beth shut the outside door then pushed open an inner one that led to her apartment. It was gloomy and stank of medicine.
gloomy (GLOO mee) adj. dull, dark, and depressing

Matt bopped me on the arm. ¡°Who cut the cheese!¡± he said with a grin. I looked around at him. He popped another bubble.
“Down this way,” Mary Beth whispered.
We walked down a long hallway. Two pictures were on the walls. They were painted on black velvet. One was a scene of a mountain with snow on it and the sun shining on a stag with antlers. The second picture was of a little girl praying by her bed. Fuzzy gold light streamed in on her from a window.
At the end of the hall was a closed door. Mary Beth halted. “He’s in here,” she whispered. “He’s really sick,” she warned again. “And he doesn’t notice anyone. You really sure you want to see him?”
“You bet,” Matt said with enthusiasm. 8
8. Synonyms and Antonyms What does the word enthusiasm mean in this sentence? Name a word that means about the same as enthusiasm. How would the tone of Matt’s voice change if he said “You bet” with the opposite of enthusiasm?

“I mean, he won’t say hello or anything,” Mary Beth said in her low voice. “He just lies there with his eyes open. I don’t even know if he sees anything.”
“Does he have running sores?” Matt asked.
I almost gagged.
“Running what?” Mary Beth asked.
“You know, wounds.”
“It’s his liver,” Mary Beth explained sadly, while turning the door handle and opening the door. “The doctor said it was all his bad life and drinking.”
Dark as the hall had been, her father’s room was darker. The air was heavy and really stank. A large bed took up most of the space. On one side of the bed was a small chest of drawers. On top of the chest was a lit candle and a glass of water into which a pair of false teeth had been dropped. On the other side of the bed was a wooden chair. Another burning candle was on that.
On the bed—beneath a brown blanket—lay Mr. Bataky. He was stretched out on his back perfectly straight, like a log. His head and narrow chest were propped up on a pile of four pillows with pictures of fl owers on them. At the base of the bed his toes poked up from under the blanket. He was clothed in pajamas dotted with different colored hearts. His hands—looking like a bunch of knuckles—were linked over his chest. His poorly shaven face—yellow in color—was thin. With his cheeks sunken, his nose seemed enormous. His thin hair was uncombed. His breathing was drawn out, almost whistling, and collapsed into throat gargles—as if he were choking.
Worst of all, his eyes were open but he was just staring up, like he was waiting for something to happen in heaven.
Mary Beth stepped to one side of the bed. Matt stood at the foot, with me peering over his shoulder. We stared at the dying man. He really looked bad. Awful.
“I don’t think he’ll live long,” Mary Beth murmured, her sad voice breaking, her tears dripping.
Matt lifted the blue and green carnations. “Mr. Bataky,” he shouted, “I brought you some fl owers to cheer you up.” 9
9. Character Why does Matt speak to Mr. Bataky? Is it just to keep up the lie that he told to Mary Beth? Does Matt’s comment tell you anything about how he feels at this point? If so, write down this clue and what it means in your Character Chart.

“His hearing isn’t good,” Mary Beth said apologetically.
Matt looked about for a place to put the fl owers, saw the glass with the teeth near Mr. Bataky’s head, and moved to put them into the water. In the flickering candlelight, Matt’s pale skin, his long blond hair, seemed to glow.
Now, just as Matt came up to the head of the bed, Mr. Bataky’s eyes shifted. They seemed to fasten on Matt. The old man gave a start, made a convulsive twitch as his eyes positively bulged. Matt, caught in the look, froze.
“It’s . . . it’s . . . an angel . . .” Mr. Bataky said in a low, rasping  voice. “An angel . . . from heaven has come to save me.”
When someone is convulsive, the person cannot control his or her muscle movements.
A rasping voice sounds like someone has almost lost his or her voice.
Matt lifted his hand—the one that held the carnations—and tried to place them in the glass of water. Before he could, Mr. Bataky made an unexpected jerk with one of his knobby hands and took hold of Matt’s arm. Matt was so surprised he dropped the flowers.
“Father!” Mary Beth cried.
“Thank . . . you . . . for coming, Angel,” Mr. Bataky rasped.
“No . . . really,” Matt stammered, “I’m not—”
“Yes, you’re an angel,” Mr. Bataky whispered. His eyes—full of tears—were hot with joy.
Matt turned red. “No, I’m not . . .”
“Please,” Mr. Bataky cried out with amazing energy. “I don’t want to die bad.” Tears gushed down his hollow cheeks. “You got to help me. Talk to me. Bless me.”
Matt, speechless for once, gawked at the man.
With considerable effort he managed to pry Mr. Bataky’s fingers from his arm. Soon as he did he bolted from the room.
“Don’t abandon me!” Mr. Bataky begged, somehow managing to lift himself up and extend his arms toward the doorway. “Don’t!”
Frightened, I hurried out after Matt.
My buddy was waiting outside, breathing hard. His normally pale face was paler than ever. As we walked away he didn’t say anything.
10. Character Why is Matt quiet as he walks away from the Batakys’ house? Write this clue in your character chart, then try to figure out what it tells you about Matt.

Now, according to Matt—he told us all this later—what happened was that night Rev. Kaizer called him into his study.
“Matt, please sit down.”
Matt, thinking he was going to get a lecture about visiting Mary Beth’s house, sat.
His father said, “Matt, I think it’s quite wonderful what you’ve done, going to the home of your classmate’s dying father to comfort him.”
“What do you mean?” Matt asked.
Rev. Kaizer smiled sweetly. “A woman by the name of Mrs. Bataky called me. She said her husband was very ill. Dying. She said you—I gather you go to school with her daughter—came to visit him today. Apparently her husband thought you were an . . . angel. It’s the fi rst real sign of life her poor husband has shown in three days. And now, Matt, he’s quite desperate to see the angel—you—again.”
“It’s not true,” Matt rapped out.
“Now, Matt,” his father said, “I found the woman’s story diffi cult to believe, too.
‘Madam,’ I said to her, ‘are you quite certain you’re talking about my son? And are you truly saying your husband really thought he was . . . an angel?’
“And she said, ‘Rev. Kaizer—you being a minister I can say it—my husband led a bad, sinful life. But there’s something about your son that’s making him want to talk about it. Sort of like a confession. Know what I’m saying? I mean, it would do him a lot of good. What I’m asking is, could you get your son to come again? I’m really scared my husband will get worse if he doesn’t.’
“Matt,” said Rev. Kaizer, “I’m proud of you. I think it would be a fi ne thing if you visited him again.”
“I’m not an angel,” Matt replied in a sulky voice.
In a confession, a person tells the things he or she has done wrong and asks for forgiveness.
A sulky voice sounds moody and unhappy.
Analyzing the Art Which two characters in the story might this picture show? How do you know?
“I never said you were an angel,” his father said. “But as I’ve told you many times, there is goodness inside you as there is in everyone. And now you are in the fortunate position of being able to help this sinful man.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Son, here is a sick man who needs to unburden himself of the unhappy things he’s done. I know your reputation. Are you fearful of hearing what Mr. Bataky has to say for himself?”
reputation (rep yuh TAY shun) n. character as judged by other people
“I don’t want to.”
Rev. Kaizer sat back in his chair, folded his hands over his stomach, smiled gently, and said, “I dare you to go back and listen to Mr. Bataky. I dare you to do goodness.”
Alarmed, Matt looked up. “But . . .”
“Or are you, being a minister’s son, afraid to?”
Matt shifted uncomfortably in his seat and tried to avoid his father’s steady gaze.
Rev. Kaizer offered up a faint smile. “Matt, I thought you never refused a dare.”
Matt squirmed. Then he said, “I’ll go.” 11
11. Character Matt doesn’t want to go back to see Mr. Bataky. But when his father dares him to go, he agrees to return. What does this tell you about Matt? In your Character Chart, write this clue and what it means.

Carnations and Clematis in a Crystal Vase, 1882. Edouard Manet. Oil on canvas, 56 x 35.5 cm. Musee d’Orsay, Paris.
Anyway, that’s the way Matt explained it all. And as he said to me sadly, “What choice did I have? He dared me.”
We all saw then that Matt was in a bad place.
So the next day when Matt went to visit Mr. Bataky, the bunch of us—me, Chuck, Todd, and Nick—tagged along. We all wanted to see what Matt would do. We fi gured it had to be gross.
Mary Beth opened the door. I think she was surprised to see all of us. But she looked at Matt with hope. “Thank you for coming,” she said in her tissue paper voice. “He’s waiting for you.”
Matt gave us an imploring look. There was nothing we could do. He disappeared inside. We waited outside.
Half an hour later, when he emerged, there was a ton of worry in his eyes. We waited him out, hoping he’d say something ghastly. Didn’t say a word.
If you give an imploring look, you are begging for something.
Two blocks from Mary Beth’s house I couldn’t hold back. “Okay, Matt,” I said. “What’s happening?”
Matt stopped walking. “He really thinks I’m a good angel.” 12
12. Character Matt is worried because Mr. Bataky thinks he is a “good angel.” Why do you think this worries Matt? Doesn’t it sound like a joke that Matt would usually enjoy? Write this clue and what it tells you about Matt in your Character Chart.

“How come?” Nick asked.
“I don’t know.” There was puzzlement in Matt’s voice. “He thinks I’m there to give him a second chance at living.”
“I don’t get it,” Todd said.
Matt said, “He thinks, you know, if he tells me all his bad stuff, he’ll get better.”
We walked on in silence. Then I said—easy like, “He tell you anything, you know . . . really bad?”
Matt nodded.
“Oooo, that’s so cool,” Nick crowed, fi guring Matt would—as he always did—pass it on. “Like what?”
Instead of answering, Matt remained silent. Finally, he said, “Not good.”
“Come on!” we cried. “Tell us!”
“He dared me to forgive him. To give him a second chance.”
“Forgive him for what?” I asked.
“All the stuff he’s done.”
“Like what?”
“He said he was talking to me . . . in confidence.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Angels can’t tell secrets.” 13
13. Character At the beginning of the story, Matt likes to say and do gross things. But after Mr. Bataky thinks that Matt is an angel, Matt won’t tell the boys any of the bad things Mr. Bataky has done. Why not? Write this clue and what you think it means in your Character Chart.

“You going to believe that?” Todd asked after a bit of silence.
Matt stopped walking again. “But . . . what,” he stammered. “What . . . if it’s true?”
“What if what’s true?” I asked.
“What if I’m really good inside?”
“No way,” we all assured him.
“But he thinks so,” Matt said with real trouble in his voice. “And my father is always saying that too.”
“Do you think so?” Chuck asked.
Matt got a fl ushed look in his eyes. Then he said, “If it is true, it’ll be the grossest thing ever.”
“Hey, maybe it’s just a phase,” I suggested, hopefully. “You know, something you’ll grow out of.”
Everyone goes through different phases, or stages, in life.
Matt gave a shake to his head that suggested he was really seriously confused. 14
14. Character At the beginning of the story, Matt believed he was bad. Now what does he believe? Write this clue and what it means in your Character Chart.

Anyway, every afternoon that week, Matt went to see Mr. Bataky. Each time we went with him. For support. We felt we owed him that, though really, we were hoping we’d get to hear some of the bad stuff. But I think we were getting more and more upset, too. See, Matt was changing. Each time he came out of the sick man’s room, he looked more and more haggard And silent.
A thin, tired, and worried person looks haggard.
“What did he say this time?” someone would fi nally ask.
“Really bad,” he’d say.
“Worse than before?”
“Much worse.”
We’d go on for a bit, not saying anything. Then the pleading would erupt. “Come on! Tell us! What’d he say?”
“Can’t.”
“Why?”
“I told you: He thinks I’m an angel,” Matt said and visibly shuddered. “Angels can’t tell secrets.”
As the week progressed, Matt began to look different from before. He wasn’t so grubby. His clothes weren’t torn. Things went so fast that by Friday morning, when he came to school, he was actually wearing a tie! Even his hair was cut short and combed. It was awful.
“What’s the matter with Matt?” we kept asking one another.
“I think he’s beginning to think he really is an angel,” was the only explanation I could give.
Finally, on Friday afternoon, when Matt came out of Mary Beth’s house, he sat on the front steps, utterly beat. By that time he was dressed all in white: white shirt, pale tie, white pants, and even white sneakers. Not one smudge on him. I’m telling you, it was eerie. Nothing missing but wings.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“The doctor told Mr. Bataky he’s better.”
“You cured him!” cried Nick. “Cool! That mean you don’t have to visit him again?”
“Right.” But Matt just sat there looking as sad as Mary Beth ever did.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“I’ve been sitting and listening to that guy talk and talk about all the things he’s done. I mean, I used to think I was bad. But, you know what?”
“What?”
“I’m not bad. No way. Not compared to him. I even tried to tell him of some of the things I’ve done.”
“What did he say?”
“He laughed. Said I was only a young angel. Which was the reason I didn’t have wings.”
Matt stared down at the ground
for a long time. We waited patiently. Finally he looked up. There were tears trickling down his pale face.
“I have to face it,” he said, turning to look at us, his pals, with real grief in his eyes. “The more I heard that stuff Mr. Bataky did, the more I knew that deep down, inside, I’m just a good kid. I mean, what am I going to do? Don’t you see, I’m just like my father said. I’m good.”
Grief is deep sadness. answer the Unit Challenge later.
You can’t believe how miserable he looked. All we could do was sit there and pity him. I mean, just to look at him we knew there weren’t going to be any more wicked grins, belches, leers, sly winks, wedgies, or flying boogers.
When you give a leer, you give someone a nasty look as if you know something bad.
Life went on, but with Matt going angel on us, our gang couldn’t hold together. We were finished. Busted.
So I’m here to tell you, when a guy turns good, hey, it’s rough.
BIG QUESTION
What brings out the goodness in Matt Kaizer? What makes Mr. Bataky get better? Write your answers on the “Goodness of Matt Kaizer” part of the Comparing Literature Workshop Foldable. Your answer will help you answer the Unit Challenge later.

蓝字部分是课文注解（取自于教材），黑字部分是课文。

这篇课文是我接下来要看的。

这帖子已经这么长了，真不错。楼主坚持记下去，不要半途而废喔。

我不是让你泛读的时候拘泥语法，泛读的时候看的速度越快越好，但是光泛读是不够的，也要精读。当有了一定语感之后再学点语法就如虎添翼了。

如果要这样严格意义上的语法，对我儿子来说，绝对是要让人吐血的，他的理解，完全不按语法章法，有时候一大句，被他理解就是几个字的意思，但又是很地道的，所以，我现在，对于这样的教材阅读，只能泛泛。

http://www.ebama.net/thread-46914-1-1.html

这本教材里的英文真好，问一下哪买的，过个五六年我打算也让我娃学这个，现在当务之急是把英语培养成他的母语，跟骏爸学习

唉，啥时候我能看这样的长篇英文不头疼呢？555555555555

“It’s not fair, it’s not fair. I can’t go to school here. I don’t speak Spanish.” It was my final argument, and it failed miserably because I was shouting my defiance in the language I claimed not to speak. 我对抗妈妈，不愿意说西班牙语的抗议失败了。

这段话理解得不完整，意思应该是我的抗议很不幸被驳回了，因为我抗议说我不会说西语不能去那边上学，可我刚才的抗议确是用我声称不会的西语说的。

the language I claimed not to speak里包含一个是定语从句，法语里也叫形容词从句。

建议楼主还是找一本语法书学习一下，类似的理解错误太多了，我就不一一找了。

本帖最后由 charlenedavid 于 2012-7-8 10:01 编辑

我没有说要百分百理解啊，你看我找出来的句子，占课文的比例是很小很小的，我要的是大致理解的程度，而且我也不求逐字逐句对对应翻译，大概意思没错就可以了。

你别说一句就走人啊，化那么多功夫去争论，不如实实在在，看点英语，我这帖里，很多句子呢，这么多课文，你也不想看了吧，别去争了，看英文，理解理解。