The Most Important Day in My Life

海伦·凯勒 / Helen Keller

海伦·凯勒（1880—1968），美国著名残疾人作家、教育家，生于美国亚拉巴马州。两岁时，一场疾病使她变成了盲、聋、哑人。后来，她的父母请来家庭教师莎莉文女士对她进行特殊教育。同时，凯勒通过自身顽强的努力，于1904年毕业于麻省波士顿的拉德克利夫学院。后来，凯勒专职于写作和残疾人教育事业。她一生共写了19本书，其中《我生活的故事》最为著名。

Practicing for Better Learning

Read the article quickly and answer the following questions.

1. What was the first word Helen learned?

2. Why did Helen feel angry and sad?

The most important day I remember in all my life is the one on which my teacher, Anne Mansfield Sullivan, came to me. I am filled with wonder when I consider the immeasurable contrasts between the two lives which it connects. It was the third of March, 1887, three months before I was seven years old.

On the afternoon of that eventful day, I stood on the porch, dumb, expectant. I guessed vaguely from my mother’ s signs and from the hurrying to and fro in the house that something unusual was about to happen, so I went to the door and waited on the steps. The afternoon sun penetrated the mass of honeysuckle that covered the porch, and fell on my upturned face. My fingers fingered almost unconsciously on the familiar leaves and blossoms which had just come forth to greet the sweet southern spring. I did not know what the future held of marvel or surprise for me. Anger and bitterness had preyed upon me continually and a deep languor had succeeded this passionate struggle.

Have you ever been at sea in a dense fog, when it seemed as if a tangible white darkness shut you in, and the great ship, tense and anxious, groped her way toward the shore with plummet and sounding-line, and you waited with beating heart for something to happen? I was like that ship before my education began, only I was without compass or sounding-line,  and had no way of knowing how near the harbour was. “ Light! Give me light!” was the wordless cry of my oil, and the light of love shone on me in that very tour.

I felt approaching footsteps, I stretched out my hand as I supposed to my mother. Some one took it,  and I was caught up and held close in the arms of her  who had come to reveal all things to me, and, more than all things else, to love me.

The morning after my teacher came she led me into her room and gave me a doll. The little blind children at the Perkins Institution had sent it and Laura Bridgman had dressed it; but I did not know this until afterward. When I had played with it a little while, Miss Sullivan slowly spelled into my hand the word “d-o-l-l.” I was at once interested in this finger play and tried to imitate it. When I finally succeeded in making the letters correctly I was flushed with childish pleasure and pride. Running downstairs to my mother I held up my hand and made the letters for doll. I did not know that I was spelling a word or even that words existed; I was simply making my fingers go in monkey-like imitation. In the days that followed I learned to spell in this uncomprehending way a great many words, among them pin, hat, cup and a few verbs like sit, stand and walk. But my teacher had been with me several weeks before I understood that everything has a name.