1、翻了个译，MTI专业辅导A long time ago, there lived a Giant,a Selfish Giant, whose stunning garden was the most beautiful in all the land.One evening, this Giant came homeand found all these children playing in his garden,and he became enraged.My own garden is my own garden!the Giant said.And he built this hig
2、h wall around it.The author Oscar Wilde wrote the story of The Selfish Giant in 1888.Almost a hundred years later, that Giant moved into my Brooklyn childhoodand never left.I was raised in a religious family,and I grew up reading both the Bible and the Quran.The hours of reading, both religious and
3、recreational,far outnumbered the hours of television-watching.Now, on any given day, you could find my siblings and Icurled up in some part of our apartment reading,sometimes unhappily,because on summer days in New York City, the fire hydrant blasted,and to our immense jealousy, we could hear our fr
4、iends down thereplaying in the gushing water,their absolute joy making its way up through our open windows.But I learned that the deeper I went into my books,the more time I took with each sentence,the less I heard the noise of the outside world.And so, unlike my siblings, who were racing through bo
5、oks,I read slowly -very, very slowly.I was that child with her finger running beneath the words,until I was untaught to do this; told big kids dont use their fingers.In third grade, we were made to sit with our hands folded on our desk,unclasping them only to turn the pages, then returning them to that position.Our teacher wasnt being cruel.It was the 1970s,and her goal was to get us reading not just on grade levelbut far above it.And we were always being pushed to read faster.But in the quiet of my apartment, outside of my teachers gaze,I let my finger run beneath those words翻了个译，MTI专业辅导
