A year after graduation, I was offered a position teaching a writing class. Teaching was a profession I had never seriously considered, though several of my stories had been published. I accepted the job without hesitation, as it would allow me to wear a tie and go by the name of Mr. Davis. My father went by the same name, and I liked to imagine people getting the two of us confused. “Wait a minute” someone might say, “are you talking about Mr. Davis the retired man, or Mr. Davis the respectable scholar?”
The position was offered at the last minute, and I was given two weeks to prepare, a period I spent searching for briefcase (公文包) and standing before my full-length mirror, repeating the words, “Hello, class. I’m Mr. Davis.” Sometimes I would give myself an aggressive voice. Sometimes I would sound experienced. But when the day eventually came, my nerves kicked in and the true Mr. Davis was there. I sounded not like a thoughtful professor, but rather a 12-year-old boy.
I arrived in the classroom with paper cards designed in the shape of maple leaves. I had cut them myself out of orange construction paper. I saw nine students along a long table. I handed out the cards, and the students wrote down their names and fastened them to their breast pockets as I required.
“All right then,” I said. “Okey, here we go.” Then I opened my briefcase and realized that I had never thought beyond this moment. I had been thinking that the students would be the first to talk, offering their thoughts and opinions on the events of the day. I had imagined that I would sit at the edge of the desk, overlooking a forest of hands. Every student would yell. “Calm down, you’ll all get your turn. Once at a time, once at a time!”
A terrible silence ruled the room, and seeing no other opinions, I inspected the students to pull out their notebooks and write a brief essay related to the theme of deep disappointment

1. 1.

   The author took the job to teach writing because ______

   1. A.
      he had written some stories
   2. B.
      he wanted to be expected
   3. C.
      he wanted to please his father
   4. D.
      he had dreamed of being a teacher
2. 2.

   Before he started his class, the author asked the students to ______

   1. A.
      write down their suggestions on the paper cards
   2. B.
      cut maple leaves out of the construction paper
   3. C.
      cut some cards out of the construction paper
   4. D.
      write down their names on the paper cards
3. 3.

   What did the students do when the author started his class?

   1. A.
      They began to talk
   2. B.
      They stayed silent
   3. C.
      They raised their hands
   4. D.
      They shouted to be heard
4. 4.

   The author chose the composition topic probably because ______

   1. A.
      he got disappointed with his first class
   2. B.
      he had prepared the topic before class
   3. C.
      he wanted to calm down the students
   4. D.
      he thought it was an easy topic

A year after graduation, I was offered a position teaching a writing class. Teaching was a profession I had never seriously considered, though several of my stories had been published. I accepted the job without hesitation, as it would allow me to wear a tie and go by the name of Mr. Davis. My father went by the same name, and I liked to imagine people getting the two of us confused. “Wait a minute,” someone might say, “are talking about Mr. Davis the retired man, or Mr. Davis the respectable scholar?”

The position was offered at the last minute, and I was given two week to prepare, a period I spent searching for a briefcase and standing before my full-length mirror, repeating the words, “Hello, class, I’m Mr. Davis.” Sometimes I would give myself an aggressive voice. Sometimes I would sound experienced. But when the day eventually came, my nerves kicked in and the true Mr. Davis was there. I sounded not like a thoughtful professor, but rather a 12-year-old boy.

I arrived in the classroom with paper cards designed in the shape of maple leaves. I had cut them myself out of orange construction paper. I saw nine students along a long table. I handed out the cards, and the students wrote down their names and fastened them to their breast pockets as I required.

“All right then,” I said. “Okay, here we go.” Then I opened my briefcase and realized that I had never thought beyond this moment. I had been thinking that the students would be the first to talk, offering their thoughts and opinions on the events of the day. I had imagined that I would sit on the edge of the desk, overlooking a forest of raised hands. Every student would shout to be heard, and I would knock on something in order to silence them. I would yell, “Calm down, you’ll all get your turn. One at a time, one at a time!”

A terrible silence ruled the room, and seeing no other opinions, I instructed the students to pull out their notebooks and write a brief essay related to the theme of deep disappointment.

1.The author took the job to teach writing because______________.

2.What can we learn about the author from Paragraph 2?

3.Before he started his class, the author asked the students to_______.

4. What did the students do when the author started his class?

5.The author chose the composition topic probably because________.

A year after graduation, I was offered a position teaching a writing class. Teaching was a profession I had never seriously considered, though several of my stories had been published. I accepted the job without hesitation, as it would allow me to wear a tie and go by the name of Mr. Davis. My father went by the same name, and I liked to imagine people getting the two of us confused. “Wait a minute,” someone might say, “are you talking about Mr. Davis the retired man, or Mr. Davis the respectable scholar?”
The position was offered at the last minute, and I was given two weeks to prepare, a period I spent searching for briefcase (公文包) and standing before my full-length mirror, repeating the words, “Hello, class. I’m Mr. Davis.” Sometimes I would give myself an aggressive voice. Sometimes I would sound experienced. But when the day eventually came, my nerves kicked in and the true Mr. Davis was there. I sounded not like a thoughtful professor, but rather a 12-year-old boy.
I arrived in the classroom with paper cards designed in the shape of maple leaves. I had cut them myself out of orange construction paper. I saw nine students along a long table. I handed out the cards, and the students wrote down their names and fastened them to their breast pockets as I required.
“All right then,” I said. “Okay, here we go.” Then I opened my briefcase and realized that I had never thought beyond this moment. I had been thinking that the students would be the first to talk, offering their thoughts and opinions on the events of the day. I had imagined that I would sit at the edge of the desk, overlooking a forests of hands. Every student would yell. “Calm down, you’ll all get your turn. One at a time, one at a time!”
A terrible silence ruled the room, and seeing no other opinions, I inspected the students to pull out their notebooks and write a brief essay related to the theme of deep disappointment.
【小题1】The author took the job to teach writing because ______.

E
A year after graduation, I was offered a position teaching a writing class. Teaching was a profession I had never seriously considered, though several of my stories had been published. I accepted the job without hesitation, as it would allow me to wear a tie and go by the name of Mr. Davis. My father went by the same name, and I liked to imagine people getting the two of us confused. “Wait a minute” someone might say, “are you talking about Mr. Davis the retired man, or Mr. Davis the respectable scholar?”
The position was offered at the last minute, and I was given two weeks to prepare, a period I spent searching for briefcase (公文包) and standing before my full-length mirror, repeating the words, “Hello, class. I’m Mr. Davis.” Sometimes I would give myself an aggressive voice. Sometimes I would sound experienced. But when the day eventually came, my nerves kicked in and the true Mr. Davis was there. I sounded not like a thoughtful professor, but rather a 12-year-old boy.
I arrived in the classroom with paper cards designed in the shape of maple leaves. I had cut them myself out of orange construction paper. I saw nine students along a long table. I handed out the cards, and the students wrote down their names and fastened them to their breast pockets as I required.
“All right then,” I said. “Okey, here we go.” Then I opened my briefcase and realized that I had never thought beyond this moment. I had been thinking that the students would be the first to talk, offering their thoughts and opinions on the events of the day. I had imagined that I would sit at the edge of the desk, overlooking a forest of hands. Every student would yell. “Calm down, you’ll all get your turn. Once at a time, once at a time!”
A terrible silence ruled the room, and seeing no other opinions, I inspected the students to pull out their notebooks and write a brief essay related to the theme of deep disappointment.
【小题1】The author took the job to teach writing because ______.