I lost my parents when I was 9 years old. I had to live1in the little house and made a living by2So I began to deliver newspapers.
To get to the newspaper office on time, I had to3before 5 a. m. and walked 5 kilometers to the newspaper office. By 6 o'clock, I must collect 50 copies of newspapers, which4over 5 kilograms. After handing them out, I would rush home—another 55quickly eat breakfast and be off to school.
On a cold morning in 2000, I was about to leave after delivering the newspaper to the Wilsons. To my6, they stopped me and invited me into their house. They7me hot milk and gently asked me about my8routine.
Later, I wanted to leave after9them. Mr. Wilson asked me to10A moment later, Mr Wilson wheeled a new bicycle. "Young man, this is11you!" he said, "Your newspaper editor is a friend of mine and he told me much about you. I think you are really a good boy and you need this12."
It felt13, like home, as if my mother was there for me. My tears rolled down my face before I14it. I bowed gratefully and left. This time I did not have to15-I had the bicycle.
The bicycle brought me warmth and taught me a lifelong lesson: Help should always be need-based. Never try to feed a person who is dying of thirst.
