全新版大学英语 课文全.docx

全新版大学英语 课文全.docx

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全新版大学英语课文全

11AWritingforMyself

RussellBaker

TheideaofbecomingawriterhadcometomeoffandonsincemychildhoodinBelleville,butitwasn'tuntilmythirdyearinhighschoolthatthepossibilitytookhold.UntilthenI'dbeenboredbyeverythingassociatedwithEnglishcourses.IfoundEnglishgrammardullanddifficult.Ihatedtheassignmentstoturnoutlong,lifelessparagraphsthatwereagonyforteacherstoreadandformetowrite.

WhenourclasswasassignedtoMr.Fleagleforthird-yearEnglishIanticipatedanothercheerlessyearinthatmosttediousofsubjects.Mr.Fleaglehadareputationamongstudentsfordullnessandinabilitytoinspire.Hewassaidtobeveryformal,rigidandhopelesslyoutofdate.Tomehelookedtobesixtyorseventyandexcessivelyprim.Heworeprimlysevereeyeglasses,hiswavyhairwasprimlycutandprimlycombed.Heworeprimsuitswithnecktiessetprimlyagainstthecollarbuttonsofhiswhiteshirts.Hehadaprimlypointedjaw,aprimlystraightnose,andaprimmannerofspeakingthatwassocorrect,sogentlemanly,thatheseemedacomicantique.

IpreparedforanunfruitfulyearwithMr.Fleagleandforalongtimewasnotdisappointed.Lateintheyearwetackledtheinformalessay.Mr.Fleagledistributedahomeworksheetofferingusachoiceoftopics.Nonewasquitesosimple-mindedas“WhatIDidonMySummerVacation,”butmostseemedtobealmostasdull.Itookthelisthomeanddidnothinguntilthenightbeforetheessaywasdue.Lyingonthesofa,Ifinallyfaceduptotheunwelcometask,tookthelistoutofmynotebook,andscannedit.Thetopiconwhichmyeyestoppedwas“TheArtofEatingSpaghetti.”

Thistitleproducedanextraordinarysequenceofmentalimages.VividmemoriescamefloodingbackofanightinBellevillewhenallofuswereseatedaroundthesuppertable—UncleAllen,mymother,UncleCharlie,Doris,UncleHal—andAuntPatservedspaghettiforsupper.Spaghettiwasstillalittleknownforeigndishinthosedays.NeitherDorisnorIhadevereatenspaghetti,andnoneoftheadultshadenoughexperiencetobegoodatit.AllthegoodhumorofUncleAllen'shousereawokeinmymindasIrecalledthelaughingargumentswehadthatnightaboutthesociallyrespectablemethodformovingspaghettifromplatetomouth.

SuddenlyIwantedtowriteaboutthat,aboutthewarmthandgoodfeelingofit,butIwantedtoputitdownsimplyformyownjoy,notforMr.Fleagle.ItwasamomentIwantedtorecaptureandholdformyself.Iwantedtorelivethepleasureofthatevening.TowriteitasIwanted,however,wouldviolatealltherulesofformalcompositionI'dlearnedinschool,andMr.Fleaglewouldsurelygiveitafailinggrade.Nevermind.IwouldwritesomethingelseforMr.FleagleafterIhadwrittenthisthingformyself.

WhenIfinisheditthenightwashalfgoneandtherewasnotimelefttocomposeaproper,respectableessayforMr.Fleagle.TherewasnochoicenextmorningbuttoturninmytaleoftheBellevillesupper.TwodayspassedbeforeMr.Fleaglereturnedthegradedpapers,andhereturnedeveryone'sbutmine.IwaspreparingmyselfforacommandtoreporttoMr.FleagleimmediatelyafterschoolfordisciplinewhenIsawhimliftmypaperfromhisdeskandknockfortheclass'sattention.

“Now,boys,”hesaid.“Iwanttoreadyouanessay.Thisistitled,'TheArtofEatingSpaghetti.'”

Andhestartedtoread.Mywords!

Hewasreadingmywordsoutloudtotheentireclass.What'smore,theentireclasswaslistening.Listeningattentively.Thensomebodylaughed,thentheentireclasswaslaughing,andnotincontemptandridicule,butwithopen-heartedenjoyment.EvenMr.Fleaglestoppedtwoorthreetimestoholdbackasmallprimsmile.

   Ididmybesttoavoidshowingpleasure,butwhatIwasfeelingwaspuredelightatthisdemonstrationthatmywordshadthepowertomakepeoplelaugh.Intheeleventhgrade,attheeleventhhourasitwere,Ihaddiscoveredacalling.Itwasthehappiestmomentofmyentireschoolcareer.WhenMr.Fleaglefinishedheputthefinalsealonmyhappinessbysaying,“Nowthat,boys,isanessay,don'tyousee.It's—don'tyousee—it'softheveryessenceoftheessay,don'tyousee.Congratulations,Mr.Baker.”

11BTheScholarshipJacket

MarthaSalinas

ThesmallTexasschoolthatIattendedcarriedoutatraditioneveryyearduringtheeighthgradegraduation;abeautifulgoldandgreenjacket,theschoolcolors,wasawardedtotheclassvaledictorian,thestudentwhohadmaintainedthehighestgradeforeightyears.ThescholarshipjackethadabiggoldSontheleftfrontsideandthewinner’snamewaswritteningoldlettersonthepocket.

MyoldestsisterRosiehadwonthejacketafewyearsbackandIfullyexpectedtowinalso.Iwasfourteenandintheeightgrade.IhadbeenastraightAstudentsincethefirstgrade,andthelastyearIhadlookedforwardtoowingthatjacket.Myfatherwasafarmlaborerwhocouldn’tearnenoughmoneytofeedeightchildren,sowhenIwassixIwasgiventomygrandparentstoraise.Wecouldn’tparticipateinsportsinschoolbecausetherewereregistrationfees,uniformcosts,andtripsoutoftown;soeventhoughtwewerequiteagileandathletictherewouldneverbeasportsschooljacketforus.Thisone,thescholarshipjacket,wasouronlychance.

InMay,closetograduation,springfeverstruck,andnoonepaidanyattentioninclass;insteadwestaredoutthewindowsandateachother,wantingtospeedupthelastfewweeksofschool.IdespairedeverytimeIlookedinthemirror.Pencilthin,notacurveanywhere,Iwascalled“Beanpole”and“StringBean”andIknewthat’swhatIlookedlike.Aflatchest,nohips,andabrain,that’swhatIhad.Thatreallyisn’tmuchforafourteen-year-oldtoworkwith,Ithought,asIabsentmindedlywanderedfrommyhistoryclassinthegym.Anotherhourofsweatinginbasketballanddisplayingmytoothpicklegswascomingup.ThenIrememberedmyP.E.shortswerestillinabagundermydeskwhereI’dforgottenthem.Ihadtowalkallthewaybackandgetthem.CoachThompsonwasarealbearifanyonewasn’tdressedforP.E.ShehadsaidIwasagoodforwardandoncesheeventriedtotalkGrandmaintolettingmejointheteam.Grandma,ofcourse,saidno.

Iwasalmostbackatmyclassroom’sdoorwhenIheardangryvoicesandarguing.Istopped.Ididn’tmeantoeavesdrop;Ijusthesitated,notknowingwhattodo.IneededthoseshortsandIwasgoingtobelat,butIdidn’twanttointerruptanargumentbetweenmyteachers.Irecognizedthevoices;Mr.Schmidt,myhistoryteacher,andMr.Boone,mymathteacher.Theyseemedtobearguingaboutme.Icouldn’tbelieveit.IstillremembertheshockthatrootedmeflatagainstthewallasifIweretryingtoblendinwiththegraffitiwrittenthere.“Irefusetodoit!

Idon’tcarewhoherfatheris,hergradesdon’tevenbegintocomparetoMartha’s.Iwon’tlieorfalsifyrecords.MarthahasastraightAplusaverageandyouknowit”ThatwasMr.Schmidtandhesoundedveryangry.Mr.Boone’svoicesoundedcalmandquite.

“Look,Joann’sfatherisnotonlyontheBoard,heownstheonlystoreintown;wecouldsayitwasaclosetieand…”

Thepoundinginmyearsdrownedouttherestiftheword’sonlyawordhereandtherefilteredthrough.“…MarthaisMexican…resign…won’tdoit…”Mr.Schmidtcamerushingout,luckilyformewentdowntheoppositewastowardtheauditorium,sohedidn’tseeme.Shaking,Iwaitedafewminutesandthenwentinandgrabblemybagandfledfromtheroom.Mr.BoonelookedupwhenIcameinbutdidn’tsayanything.TothisdayIdon’trememberifIgotintroubleinP.E.forbeinglateorhowImadeitthroughtherestoftheafternoon.Iwenthomeverysadandcriedintomypillowthatnightsograndmotherwouldn’thearme.ItseemedacruelcoincidencethatIhadoverheardthatconversation.

Thenestdaywhentheprinciplecalledmeintotheoffice,Iknewwhatitwouldbeabout.Helookeduncomfortableandunhappy.IdecidedIwasn’tgoingtomakeiteasierforhimsoIlookedhimstraightintheeye.Helookedawayandfidgetedwiththepapersonhisdesk.

“Martha,”hesaid,“there’sbeenachangeinpolicythisyearregardingthescholarshipjacket.Asyouknow,ithasalwaysbeenfree.”Heclearedhisthroatandcontinued.“ThisyeartheBoarddecidedtochargefifteendollars—whichstillwon’tcoverthecompletecostofthejacket”.

Istaredathiminshockandasmallsoundofdismayescapedmythroat.Ihadn’texpectedthis.Hestillavoidedlookinginmyeye’s.

“Soifyouareunabletopaythefifteendollarsforthejacket,itwillbegiventothenextoneinline.”

StandingwithallthedignityIcouldmuster,Isaid,I’llspeaktomygrandfatheraboutit,sir,andletyouknowtomorrow.”Icriedonthewalkhomefromthebusstop.Thedirtroadwasaquarterofamilefromthehighway,sobythetimeIgothome,myeyeswereredandpuffy.

“Where’sGrandpa?

”IaskedGrandma,lookingdownatthefloorsoshewouldn’taskmewhyI’dbeencrying.Shewassewingonaquiltanddidn’tlookup.

“Ithinkhe’soutbackworkinginthebeanfield.”

Iwentoutsideandlookedoutatthefields.Therehewas,Icouldseehimwalkingbetweentherows,hisbodybentoverthelittleplants,hoeinhand.Iwalkedslowlyouttohim,tryingtothinkofhowIcouldbestaskhimforthemoney.Therewasacoolbreezeblowingandasweetsmellofmesquiteintheair,butIdidn’tappreciateit.Ikickedatadirtclot.Iwantedthatjacketsomuch.Itwasmorethatjustbeingavaledictorianandgivingalittlethankyouspeechforthejacketongraduationnight.Itrepresentseightyearsofhardworkandexpectation.IknewIhadtobehonest