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[NPR] 【整理】2008npr-10-06&10-09 人性因关爱他人而美

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[NPR] 【整理】2008npr-10-06&10-09 人性因关爱他人而美

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Caring Makes Us Human


When a scruffy cat wandered into the prison yard at a Michigan correctional facility, Troy Chapman says the little orange stray disrupted the tough code of prison culture. Chapman, who was convicted of murder in 1985, says the cat reminded him that everyone wants to be needed.


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【整理】---By Sasha

 

This I Believe is independently produced by Jay Allison and Dan Gediman with John Gregory and Viki Merrick. Our new book This I Believe volume II collecting 75 essays from the series is now available from the NPR Shop and from npr.org/thisibelieve.

 

From NPR News, this is weekend edition. I'm Liane Hansen.

 

I believe in mystery.

I believe in family.

I believe in being who I am.

I believe in the power of failure.

And I believe normal life is extraordinary.

This I Believe.

 

Our This I Believe essay today was sent to us by an inmate at Kinross Correctional Facility on Michigan's Upper peninsula. Troy Chapman is serving a sentence of 60 to 90 years for second-degree murder. So far, he has served just under 24 of those years. Here's our series curator, independent producer, Jay Allison.

 

For our series, we've received quite a few essays from prisoners. Some write of their belief in their own innocence. Troy Chapman does not deny that he killed a man in a bar fight when he was 20 years old. His belief is centered on what he's learned since then. No recording equipment is allowed in the prison, so here is Troy Chapman, recorded by telephone with his essay for This I Believe.

 

When the scruffy(肮脏的) orange cat showed up in the prison yard, I was one of the first to go out there and pet it. I hadn't touched a cat or a dog in over 20 years. I spent at least 20 minutes, crouched down by the Dumpster(大垃圾箱) behind the kitchen as the cat rolled around and luxuriated beneath my attention. What he was expressing outwardly I was feeling inwardly.

 

It was an amazing bit of grace to feel him under my hand and note that I was enriching the life of another creature with something as simple as my care.I believe that caring for something or someone in need is what makes us human.

 

Over the next few days, I watched other prisoners responding to the cat. Every yard period, a group of prisoners gathered there. They stood around talking and taking turns petting the cat. These were guys you wouldn't usually find talking to each other. Several times, I saw an officer in the group, not chasing people away, but just watching and seeming to enjoy it along with the prisoners.

 

Bowls of milk and water appeared, along with bread, wisely placed under the edge of the Dumpster to keep the sea gulls from getting it. The cat was obviously a stray and in pretty bad shape. One prisoner brought out his small blunt-tipped scissors and trimmed burrs and matted fur from its coat.

 

People said "That cat came to the right place. He's getting treated like a king." This was true, but as I watched, I was also thinking about what the cat was doing for us.

 

There's a lot of talk about what's wrong with prisons in America. We need more programs. We need more psychologists or treatment of various kinds. Some may even talk about making prisons more kind. But I think what we really need is a chance to practise kindness ourselves. Not receive it, but give it.

 

After more than two decades here, I know the kindness is not a value that's encouraged. It's often seen as weakness. Instead, the culture encourages keeping your head down, minding your own business, and never letting yourself be vulnerable.

 

For a few days, the raggedy cat disrupted this code of prison culture, they've taken him away now, hopefully to a decent home. But it did my heart good(使我高兴) to see the effect he had on me and the man here. He didn't have a Ph.D. He wasn't a criminologist or psychologist, but by simply saying, "I need some help here", he did something important for us. He needed us. And we need to be needed. I believe we all do.

 

Troy Chapman with his essay for This I Believe, recorded by telephone from Michigan's Kinross Correctional Facility. A group is formed in support of Chapman. They contend, because of the changes he's made in the almost 24 years since he committed his crime, his sentence should be commuted.

 

You can visit npr.org/thisibelieve to find out more or just submit an essay of your own to our series. For This I Believe, I'm Jay Allison.

 

Jay Allison is coeditor with Dan Gediman, John Gregory and Viki Merrick of the new book This I Believe Volume II, more personal philosophies of remarkable men and women.

 

Support for This I Believe comes from Prudential Retirement.

[ 本帖最后由 sasha_lu 于 2009-3-3 22:57 编辑 ]

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支持普特英语听力就多多发帖吧!您们的参与是对斑竹工作最大的肯定与支持!如果您觉得还不错,推荐给周围的朋友吧~

Homework

 

This I Believe is independently produced by Jay Alison and Dan Gateman with John Gregory and Vicky Merrick. Our new book This I Believe II collecting 75 essays from the series is now available from the NPR Shop and from npr.org/thisibelieve.

 

From NPR News, this is weekend edition. I'm Leanne Hansen.

 

I believe in mystery.

I believe in family.

I believe in being who I am.

I believe in the power of failure.

And I believe normal life is extraordinary.

This I Believe.

 

Our This I Believe essay today was sent to us by an inmate at Kinross Correctional Facility on Michigan upper peninsula. Troy Chapman is serving a sentence of 60 to 90 years for second degree murder. So far, he has served just under 25 of those years. Here's our series curator, independent producer, Jay Alison.

 

For our series, we've received quite a few essays from prisons. Some of them would believe in their own innocence. Troy Chapman does not deny that he killed a man in a bar fight when he was 20 years old. His belief is centered on what he's learned since then. No recording equipment is allowed in the prison, so here is Troy Chapman, recorded by telephone with his essay for This I Believe.

 

When the scruffy orange cat showed up in the prison yard, I was one of the first to go out there and pet it. I hadn't touched a cat or a dog in over 20 years. I spent at least 20 minutes, crouched down by the Dumpster behind the kitchen as the cat rolled around and luxuriated beneath my attention. What he was expressing outwardly, I was feeling inwardly. It was an amazing bit of grace to feel him under my hand and note that I wasn't reaching a life or another creature with something as simple as my care.

 

I believe that caring for something or someone in need is what makes us human. Over the next few days, there was other prisoners responding to the cat. Every yard period, a group of prisoners gathered there. They stood around talking and taking turns petting the cat. These were guys you wouldn't usually find talking to each other. Several times I saw an officer in the group, not chasing people away, but just watching and seeming to enjoy along with the prisoners. Bowls of milk, water appeared along with bread, wisely placed under the edge of the Dumpster to keep the seagulls from getting it.

 

The cat was obviously a stray and in pretty bad shape. One prisoner brought out his small blunt-tip scissors and trimmed burrs and matted fur from his coat. People said that cat came to the right place. He's getting treated like a king. This was true, but as I watched I was also thinking about what the cat was doing for us. There was a lot of talk about what's wrong with prisons in America. We need more programs. We need more psychologists or treatment of various kinds. Some may even talk about making prisons more kind. But I think what we really need is a chance to practise the kindness of ourselves. No receive it, but give it. After more than two decades here, I know the kindness is not a value that's encouraged. It's often seen as weakness. Instead, the culture encourages keeping your head down, minding your own business, and never letting yourself be vulnerable.

 

For a few days, the raggedy cat disrupted this code of prison culture, they've taken him away now, hopefully to a decent home. But it did my heart good to see the effect he had on me and the man here. He didn't have a Ph.D. He wasn't a criminologist or psychologist, but by simply saying, "I need some help here", he did something important for us. He needed us. And we needed to be needed. I believe we all do.

 

Troy Chapman with his essay for This I Believe, recorded by telephone from Michigan's Kinross Correctional Facility. A group is formed in support of Chapman. They contend, because of the changes he's made in the almost 24 years since he committed his crime, his sentence to be commuted. You can visit npr.org/thisibelieve to find out more or / an essay of your own to our series. For This I Believe, I'm Jay Alison.

 

Jay Alison is coeditor with Dan Gateman, John Gregory and Vicky Merrick of the new book This I Believe II, more personal philosophies of remarkable men and women.

 

Support for This I Believe comes from Prudential Retirement.

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This I Believe is independently produced by Jay Alison and Dan Gateman with John Gregory and Vicky Merrick. Our new book This I Believe II collecting 75 essays from the series is now available from the NPR Shop and from npr.org/thisibelieve.

 

From NPR News, this is weekend edition. I'm Leanne Hansen.

 

I believe in mystery.

I believe in family.

I believe in being who I am.

I believe in the power of failure.

And I believe normal life is extraordinary.

This I Believe.

 

Our This I Believe essay today was sent to us by an inmate at Kinross Correctional Facility on Michigan upper peninsula. Troy Chapman is serving a sentence of 60 to 90 years for second degree murder. So far, he has served just under 25 of those years. Here's our series curator, independent producer, Jay Alison.

 

For our series, we've received quite a few essays from prisoners. Some of them would believe in their own innocence. Troy Chapman does not deny that he killed a man in a bar fight when he was 20 years old. His belief is centered on what he's learned since then. No recording equipment is allowed in the prison, so here is Troy Chapman, recorded by telephone with his essay for This I Believe.

 

When the scruffy orange cat showed up in the prison yard, I was one of the first to go out there and pet it. I hadn't touched a cat or a dog in over 20 years. I spent at least 20 minutes, crouched down by the Dumpster behind the kitchen as the cat rolled around and legeritied beneath my attention. What he was expressing outwardly, I was feeling inwardly. It was an amazing bit of grace to feel him under my hand and note that I wasn't reaching a life or another creature with something as simple as my care.

 

I believe that caring for something or someone in need is what makes us human. Over the next few days, there was other prisoners responding to the cat. Every yard period, a group of prisoners gathered there. They stood around talking and taking turns petting the cat. These were guys you wouldn't usually find talking to each other. Several times I saw an officer in the group, not chasing people away, but just watching and seeming to enjoy along with the prisoners. Bowls of milk, water appeared along with bread, wisely placed under the edge of the Dumpster to keep the seagulls from getting it.

 

The cat was obviously a stray and in pretty bad shape. One prisoner brought out his small blunt-tip scissors and trimmed burrs and matted fur from his coat. People said that cat came to the right place. He's getting treated like a king. This was true, but as I watched I was also thinking about what the cat was doing for us. There was a lot of talk about what's wrong with prisons in America. We need more programs. We need more psychologists or treatment of various kinds. Some may even talk about making prisons more kind. But I think what we really need is a chance to practise the kindness of ourselves. Not receive it, but give it. After more than two decades here, I know the kindness is not a value that's encouraged. It's often seen as weakness. Instead, the culture encourages keeping your head down, minding your own business, and never letting yourself be vulnerable.

 

For a few days, the raggedy cat disrupted this code of prison culture, they've taken him away now, hopefully to a decent home. But it did my heart good to see the effect he had on me and the man here. He didn't have a Ph.D. He wasn't a criminologist or psychologist, but by simply saying, "I need some help here", he did something important for us. He needed us. And we needed to be needed. I believe we all do.

 

Troy Chapman with his essay for This I Believe, recorded by telephone from Michigan's Kinross Correctional Facility. A group is formed in support of Chapman. They contend, because of the changes he's made in the almost 24 years since he committed his crime, his sentence to be commuted. You can visit npr.org/thisibelieve to find out more or summit an essay of your own to our series. For This I Believe, I'm Jay Alison.

 

Jay Alison is coeditor with Dan Gateman, John Gregory and Vicky Merrick of the new book This I Believe II, more personal philosophies of remarkable men and women.

 

Support for This I Believe comes from Prudential Retirement.

实现无障碍英语沟通

on gujiang1986

 This I Believe is independently produced by Jay Alison and Dan Gateman with John Gregory and Vicky Merrick. Our new book This I Believe II collecting 75 essays from the series is now available from the NPR Shop and from npr.org/thisibelieve.

 

From NPR News, this is weekend edition. I'm Leanne Hansen.

 

I believe in mystery.

I believe in family.

I believe in being who I am.

I believe in the power of failure.

And I believe normal life is extraordinary.

This I Believe.

 

Our This I Believe essay today was sent to us by an inmate at Kinross Correctional Facility on Michigan upper peninsula. Troy Chapman is serving a sentence of 60 to 90 years for second degree murder. So far, he has served just under 24 of those years. Here's our series curator, independent producer, Jay Alison.

 

For our series, we've received quite a few essays from prisoners. Some of them would believe in their own innocence. Troy Chapman does not deny that he killed a man in a bar fight when he was 20 years old. His belief is centered on what he's learned since then. No recording equipment is allowed in the prison, so here is Troy Chapman, recorded by telephone with his essay for This I Believe.

 

When the scruffy orange cat showed up in the prison yard, I was one of the first to go out there and pet it. I hadn't touched a cat or a dog in over 20 years. I spent at least 20 minutes, crouched down by the Dumpster behind the kitchen as the cat rolled around and luxuriated beneath my attention. What he was expressing outwardly, I was feeling inwardly. It was an amazing bit of grace to feel him under my hand and note that I wasn't reaching a life of another creature with something as simple as my care.

 

I believe the caring for something or someone in need is what makes us human. Over the next few days, there was other prisoners responding to the cat. Every yard period, a group of prisoners gathered there. They stood around talking and taking turns petting the cat. These were guys you wouldn't usually find talking to each other. Several times I saw an officer in the group, not chasing people away, but just watching and seeming to enjoy along with the prisoners. Bowls of milk, water appeared along with bread, wisely placed under the edge of the Dumpster to keep the seagulls from getting it.

 

The cat was obviously stray and in pretty bad shape. One prisoner brought out his small blunt-tip scissors and trimmed burs and matted fur from its coat. People said that cat came to the right place. He's getting treated like a king. This was true, but as I watched I was also thinking about what the cat was doing for us. There was a lot of talk about what's wrong with prisons in America. We need more programs. We need more psychologists or treatment of various kinds. Some may even talk about making prisons more kind. But I think what we really need is a chance to practise the kindness of ourselves. Not receive it, but give it. After more than two decades here, I know the kindness is not a value that's encouraged. It's often seen as weakness. Instead, the culture encourages keeping your head down, minding your own business, and never letting yourself be vulnerable.

 

For a few days, the raggedy cat disrupted this code of prison culture, they've taken him away now, hopefully to a decent home. But it did my heart good to see the effect he had on me and the man here. He didn't have a Ph.D. He wasn't a criminologist or psychologist, but by simply saying, "I need some help here", he did something important for us. He needed us. And we needed to be needed. I believe we all do.

 

Troy Chapman with his essay for This I Believe, recorded by telephone from Michigan's Kinross Correctional Facility. A group is formed in support of Chapman. They contend, because of the changes he's made in the almost 24 years since he committed his crime, his sentence to be commuted. You can visit npr.org/thisibelieve to find out more or submit an essay of your own to our series. For This I Believe, I'm Jay Alison.

 

Jay Alison is coeditor with Dan Gateman, John Gregory and Vicky Merrick of the new book This I Believe II, more personal philosophies of remarkable men and women.

 

Support for This I Believe comes from Prudential Retirement.

 

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on hotfreash

This I Believe is independently produced by Jay Alison and Dan Gateman with John Gregory and Vicky Merrick. Our new book This I Believe II(volume two) collecting 75 essays from the series is now available from the NPR Shop and from npr.org/thisibelieve.

 

From NPR News, this is weekend edition. I'm Leanne Hansen.

 

I believe in mystery.

I believe in family.

I believe in being who I am.

I believe in the power of failure.

And I believe normal life is extraordinary.

This I Believe.

 

Our This I Believe essay today was sent to us by an inmate at Kinross Correctional Facility on Michigan upper peninsula. Troy Chapman is serving a sentence of 60 to 90 years for second degree murder. So far, he has served just under 24 of those years. Here's our series curator, independent producer, Jay Alison.

 

For our series, we've received quite a few essays from prisoners. Some of them would believe in their own innocence. Troy Chapman does not deny that he killed a man in a bar fight when he was 20 years old. His belief is centered on what he's learned since then. No recording equipment is allowed in the prison, so here is Troy Chapman, recorded by telephone with his essay for This I Believe.

 

When the scruffy orange cat showed up in the prison yard, I was one of the first to go out there and pet it. I hadn't touched a cat or a dog in over 20 years. I spent at least 20 minutes, crouched down by the Dumpster behind the kitchen as the cat rolled around and luxuriated beneath my attention. What he was expressing outwardly, I was feeling inwardly. It was an amazing bit of grace to feel him under my hand and note that I was reaching a life of another creature with something as simple as my care.

 

I believe the caring for something or someone in need is what makes us human. Over the next few days, there was other prisoners responding to the cat. Every yard period, a group of prisoners gathered there. They stood around talking and taking turns petting the cat. These were guys you wouldn't usually find talking to each other. Several times I saw an officer in the group, not chasing people away, but just watching and seeming to enjoy along with the prisoners. Bowls of milk, water appeared along with bread, wisely placed under the edge of the Dumpster to keep the seagulls from getting it.

 

The cat was obviously  a stray and in pretty bad shape. One prisoner brought out his small blunt-tip scissors and trimmed burs and matted fur from its coat. People said that cat came to the right place. He's getting treated like a king. This was true, but as I watched I was also thinking about what the cat was doing for us. There was a lot of talk about what's wrong with prisons in America. We need more programs. We need more psychologists or treatment of various kinds. Some may even talk about making prisons more kind. But I think what we really need is a chance to practise the(/) kindness of ourselves. Not receive it, but give it. After more than two decades here, I know the kindness is not a value that's encouraged. It's often seen as weakness. Instead, the culture encourages keeping your head down, minding your own business, and never letting yourself be vulnerable.

 

For a few days, the raggedy cat disrupted this code of prison culture, they've taken him away now, hopefully to a decent home. But it did my heart good to see the effect he had on me and the man here. He didn't have a Ph.D. He wasn't a criminologist or psychologist, but by simply saying, "I need some help here", he did something important for us. He needed us. And we needed to be needed. I believe we all do.

 

Troy Chapman with his essay for This I Believe, recorded by telephone from Michigan's Kinross Correctional Facility. A group is formed in support of Chapman. They contend, because of the changes he's made in the almost 24 years since he committed his crime, his sentence to be commuted. You can visit npr.org/thisibelieve to find out more or just meet an essay of your own to our series. For This I Believe, I'm Jay Alison.

 

Jay Alison is coeditor with Dan Gateman, John Gregory and Vicky Merrick of the new book This I Believe II, more personal philosophies of remarkable men and women.

 

Support for This I Believe comes from Prudential Retirement.

为心爱的女孩练听力,学英语!
this belief our new book ,this i believe ,volume two collecting 75 essays from the series is now available from the npr shop and from npr.org/this i believe.from npr news ,this's the weekend edition .

I believe in mystery.I believe in family.I believe in being who I am.I believe in the power of failure.

And I believe normal life is extraordinary.This I Believe.

. our this believe essay was sent to us by an inmate at kinrex correctional facility on Michigan up penlysla.Troy chapman is serving the sentence of 60 to 90 years for second-degree murder.so far he has served just under 24of those years.here's our series curator , independent producer ,jane allason.for our series ,we've received quite a few of essays from prisoners.some of might believe in their inner innocence.troy chapman dose not deny that he killed the man in a bar fight when he was 20 years old.his belief is centered on what's learned since then.no recording equipment is allowed in the prison ,so here 's troy chapman ,recorded by telephone with his essay for this i believe .when a scruffy orange cat showed up in the prison yard ,i was one of the first to go out there and pet it .i hadn't touched a cat or a dog in over 20 years.i spent at least 20mins crouched down by the dumpster behind the kichen as the cat rolled around and looked exhilarated beneath my attention .when he was expressing outwardly ,i was feeling inwardly.it was an amazing bit of grace to feel him under my hand and know that i was enriching a life of another creature with something as simple as my care.i believe that caring for something or someone in need is what make us human .over the next few days ,i watched other prisoners responding to the cat .every yard period, a group of prisoners gathered there.they stood around talking and taking turns petting the cat .these were guys you won't ususally find talking to each other .several times ,i saw an officer in the group ,not chasing people away but just watching and seeming to enjoy along with the prisoners. bowls of milk ,water appeared along with bread ,wisely placed under the edge of dumpster to keep the seagull from getting at it .the cat was obviously strayed and in pretty bad shape.one prisoner brought out his small blunt tip scissors and trimed bone and matted fur from his coat.people said that cat came to the right place.he's getting treated like a king.this was true ,but as i wacthed ,i was also thinking about what the cat was doing for us .there's a lot of talk about what's wrong with prisons in amercia.i need more programs ,we need more phychologist or treatment of various kinds.some even talk about making prisoners more akind.but what i really need is a chance to practice kindness ourself.not receive it but give it .after more than 2 decades here ,i know that kindness is not value that's encouraged it's often seen as weakness instead the culture in periods is keeping your head down.midning you own business.never letting yourself be vulnerable.for a few days,the raggedly cat disrupted this code of prison culture.they have taken him away now ,hopefully to a decent home .but it did my heart good to see the effect he had on him and the men here .he didn't have a PHD .he wasn't criminologist or phychologist.but by simply saying i need some help here ,he did something important to us .he needed us and we need to be needed.i believe we're all needed.troy chapman

On  weiyanhai111

 

This I Believe is independently produced by Jay Alison and Dan Gateman with John Gregory and Vicky Merrick. Our new book This I Believe II(volume two) collecting 75 essays from the series is now available from the NPR Shop and from npr.org/thisibelieve.

 

From NPR News, this is weekend edition. I'm Leanne Hansen.

 

I believe in mystery.

I believe in family.

I believe in being who I am.

I believe in the power of failure.

And I believe normal life is extraordinary.

This I Believe.

 

Our This I Believe essay today was sent to us by an inmate at Kinross Correctional Facility on Michigan upper peninsula. Troy Chapman is serving a sentence of 60 to 90 years for second degree murder. So far, he has served just under 24 of those years. Here's our series curator, independent producer, Jay Alison.

 

For our series, we've received quite a few essays from prisoners. Some of them would believe in their own innocence. Troy Chapman does not deny that he killed a man in a bar fight when he was 20 years old. His belief is centered on what he's learned since then. No recording equipment is allowed in the prison, so here is Troy Chapman, recorded by telephone with his essay for This I Believe.

 

When the scruffy orange cat showed up in the prison yard, I was one of the first to go out there and pet it. I hadn't touched a cat or a dog in over 20 years. I spent at least 20 minutes, crouched down by the Dumpster behind the kitchen as the cat rolled around and luxuriated beneath my attention. What he was expressing outwardly, I was feeling inwardly. It was an amazing bit of grace to feel him under my hand and note that I was reaching a life of another creature with something as simple as my care.

 

I believe the caring for something or someone in need is what makes us human. Over the next few days, I watched other prisoners responding to the cat. Every yard period, a group of prisoners gathered there. They stood around talking and taking turns petting the cat. These were guys you wouldn't usually find talking to each other. Several times I saw an officer in the group, not chasing people away, but just watching and seeming to enjoy along with the prisoners. Bowls of milk, water appeared along with bread, wisely placed under the edge of the Dumpster to keep the seagulls from getting it.

 

The cat was obviously  a stray and in pretty bad shape. One prisoner brought out his small blunt-tip scissors and trimmed burs and matted fur from its coat. People said that cat came to the right place. He's getting treated like a king. This was true, but as I watched I was also thinking about what the cat was doing for us. There was a lot of talk about what's wrong with prisons in America. We need more programs. We need more psychologists or treatment of various kinds. Some may even talk about making prisons more kind. But I think what we really need is a chance to practise the(/) kindness of ourselves. Not receive it, but give it. After more than two decades here, I know the kindness is not a value that's encouraged. It's often seen as weakness. Instead, the culture encourages keeping your head down, minding your own business, and never letting yourself be vulnerable.

 

For a few days, the raggedy cat disrupted this code of prison culture, they've taken him away now, hopefully to a decent home. But it did my heart good to see the effect he had on me and the man here. He didn't have a Ph.D. He wasn't a criminologist or psychologist, but by simply saying, "I need some help here", he did something important for us. He needed us. And we needed to be needed. I believe we all do.

 

Troy Chapman with his essay for This I Believe, recorded by telephone from Michigan's Kinross Correctional Facility. A group is formed in support of Chapman. They contend, because of the changes he's made in the almost 24 years since he committed his crime, his sentence to be commuted. You can visit npr.org/thisibelieve to find out more or just meet an essay of your own to our series. For This I Believe, I'm Jay Alison.

 

Jay Alison is coeditor with Dan Gateman, John Gregory and Vicky Merrick of the new book This I Believe II, more personal philosophies of remarkable men and women.

 

Support for This I Believe comes from Prudential Retirement.

[ 本帖最后由 backkfire 于 2008-10-21 00:09 编辑 ]
实现无障碍英语沟通

i believe

Homework This I Believe is independently produced by Jay Alison and Dan Gateman with John Gregory and Vicky Merrick. Our new book This I Believe II collecting 75 essays from the series is now available from the NPR Shop and from npr.org/thisibelieve. From NPR News, this is weekend edition. I'm Leanne Hansen. I believe in mystery. I believe in family. I believe in being who I am. I believe in the power of failure. And I believe normal life is extraordinary. This I Believe. Our This I Believe essay today was sent to us by an inmate at Kinross Correctional Facility on Michigan upper peninsula. Troy Chapman is serving a sentence of 60 to 90 years for second degree murder. So far, he has served just under 25 of those years. Here's our series curator, independent producer, Jay Alison. For our series, we've received quite a few essays from prisons. Some of them would believe in their own innocence. Troy Chapman does not deny that he killed a man in a bar fight when he was 20 years old. His belief is centered on what he's learned since then. No recording equipment is allowed in the prison, so here is Troy Chapman, recorded by telephone with his essay for This I Believe. When the scruffy orange cat showed up in the prison yard, I was one of the first to go out there and pet it. I hadn't touched a cat or a dog in over 20 years. I spent at least 20 minutes, crouched down by the Dumpster behind the kitchen as the cat rolled around and luxuriated beneath my attention. What he was expressing outwardly, I was feeling inwardly. It was an amazing bit of grace to feel him under my hand and note that I wasn't reaching a life or another creature with something as simple as my care. I believe that caring for something or someone in need is what makes us human. Over the next few days, there was other prisoners responding to the cat. Every yard period, a group of prisoners gathered there. They stood around talking and taking turns petting the cat. These were guys you wouldn't usually find talking to each other. Several times I saw an officer in the group, not chasing people away, but just watching and seeming to enjoy along with the prisoners. Bowls of milk, water appeared along with bread, wisely placed under the edge of the Dumpster to keep the seagulls from getting it. The cat was obviously a stray and in pretty bad shape. One prisoner brought out his small blunt-tip scissors and trimmed burrs and matted fur from his coat. People said that cat came to the right place. He's getting treated like a king. This was true, but as I watched I was also thinking about what the cat was doing for us. There was a lot of talk about what's wrong with prisons in America. We need more programs. We need more psychologists or treatment of various kinds. Some may even talk about making prisons more kind. But I think what we really need is a chance to practise the kindness of ourselves. No receive it, but give it. After more than two decades here, I know the kindness is not a value that's encouraged. It's often seen as weakness. Instead, the culture encourages keeping your head down, minding your own business, and never letting yourself be vulnerable. For a few days, the raggedy cat disrupted this code of prison culture, they've taken him away now, hopefully to a decent home. But it did my heart good to see the effect he had on me and the man here. He didn't have a Ph.D. He wasn't a criminologist or psychologist, but by simply saying, "I need some help here", he did something important for us. He needed us. And we needed to be needed. I believe we all do. Troy Chapman with his essay for This I Believe, recorded by telephone from Michigan's Kinross Correctional Facility. A group is formed in support of Chapman. They contend, because of the changes he's made in the almost 24 years since he committed his crime, his sentence to be commuted. You can visit npr.org/thisibelieve to find out more or / an essay of your own to our series. For This I Believe, I'm Jay Alison. Jay Alison is coeditor with Dan Gateman, John Gregory and Vicky Merrick of the new book This I Believe II, more personal philosophies of remarkable men and women. Support for This I Believe comes from Prudential Retirement.
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HOMEWORK

When a scruffy cat wandered into the prison yard at a Michigan correctional facility, Troy Chapman says the little orange stray disrupted the tough code of prison culture. Chapman, who was convicted of murder in 1985, says the cat reminded him that everyone wants to be needed.

 

This I believe is independently produced by Jay Alison and Dan Gateman with John Gregory and Vicky Merrick. Our new book, This I believe volume 2 collecting 75 essays from the series is now available from the NPR shop and from npr.org/thisibelieve.

 

From NPR News, this is weekend edition. I am Leanne Hansen.

 

I believe in mystery.

I believe in family.

I believe in being who I am.

I believe in the power of failure.

And I believe normal life is extraordinary.

 

This I believe.

 

Our This I believe  essay today was sent to us by an inmate at Kinross Correctional Facility on Michigan’s upper peninsula. Troy Chapman is serving a sentence of 60 to 90 years for second degree murder. So far, he’s served just under 24 of those years. Here is the series’ co-editor, independent producer Jay Alison.

 

For our series, we receive quite few essays from prisoners. Some of them would believe in their own innocence. Troy Chapman does not deny that he killed a man in a bar fight when he was 20 years old. His believe is centered on what he has learned since then. No recording equipment is allowed in the prisons, so here is Troy Chapman recorded by telephone with his essay for This I believe.

 

When the scruffy orange cat showed up in the prison yard, I was one of the first to go out there to pat it. I hadn’t touched a cat or dog in over 20 years. I spent at least 20 minutes crouching down by the Dumpster behind the kitchen as the cat rolled around and luxuriated beneath my attention. When he was expressing outwardly, I was feeling inwardly. It was an amazing bit of grace to feel him under my hand and know that I was enriching a life of another creature, with something as simple as my care. I believe that caring for something or someone in need is what makes us human. Over the next few days, I watched other prisoners responding to the cat. Every yard appeared a group of prisoners gathered there, they stood around talking, and take turns patting the cat. These were guys you would not usually find talking to each other. Several times, I saw an officer in the group, not chasing people away but just watching, and seeming to enjoy along with the prisoners. Bowls of milk and water appeared along with bread wisely placed under the edge of the Dumpster to keep the seagulls from getting it. The cat was obviously a stray and in pretty bad shape. One prisoner brought out his small blunt-tip scissors and trimmed burs and matted fur from his coat. People said that cat came to the right place, he is getting treated like a King. This was true. But as I watched I was also thinking about what the cat was doing for us. There has a lot talk about what is wrong with prisons in the America. We need more programs, we need more psychologists or treatment of various kinds. Some maybe talk about making prisons more kind. But I think what we really need is a chance to practice kindness ourselves, not receive it, but give it. After more than 2 decades here I know the kindness is not a value that’s encouraged. It was often seen as weakness. Instead the culture encourage us keeping you head down, minding you own business, and never letting yourself be vulnerable. For a few days the raggedy cat disrupted this code of prison culture. They have taken him away now, hopefully to a decent home. But did my heart good to see the effect he had on me and the man here. He didn’t have a Ph.D., he was not a criminologist or a psychologist, but by simply saying, I need some help here, he did something important for us, he needed us, and we need to be needed. I believe we all do.

 

Troy Chapman, with his essay for This I believe, recorded by telephone for Michigan’s Kinross Correctional Facility. A group is formed in support of Chapman, they contended because of the changes he has made in the almost 20 years since he committed this crime, his sentence should be commuted. You can visit npr.org/thisibelieve to find out more or to summit an essay of your own to our series. For this I believe, I am Jay Alison.

 

Jay Alison is co-editor with Dan Gateman, John Gregory and Vicky Merrick of the new book, This I believe, volume 2, more personal philosophies of remarkable men and women.

 

Support for This I believe, comes from Prudential Retirement.

 

幸福在理想中;幸福在汗水里~~
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