（中译文在下面）
“The annual Noble Elementary winner of best self-portrait in the second grade is…Casey Tang!” I wasn’t even paying attention to what Principal Moley was saying. “Casey, you did it! You won!” my friend hollered. “Go on up there, Casey!” Dazed, I feebly walked over to Principal Moley, shook his hand, and received my drawing back while the whole school watched. What a small achievement it was, and yet an important one. The principal went on. “And moving on to the winner of most creative ocean-themed drawing for the third graders…” My second grade teacher, Ms. McClelland, hugged me as I trotted offstage. “Casey, I’m so proud of you! That portrait you drew was fantastic! Have you ever considered taking up art as a career?” I looked at her, puzzled. All I did was draw my head differently than the others: two eyes that don’t look like giant raisins, a nose that doesn’t resemble a chimney, lips that don’t have crooked teeth peeking out of it, and two ears that weren’t each completely different sizes, I thought. I didn’t actually have the intention of thinking of art as a career, mostly because I thought I didn’t even have the chance to make it in the art world. Still, I thanked and assured her that maybe I would take her suggestion into consideration. I sure am glad that I did.
One year passed. In the city of San Jose, California, I had decided to attend an art class about thirty minutes away from home. The teacher of that class was Mr. Duan, a short, chubby man who wore one of those old-fashioned rectangular glasses, in his late forties, quite well-known among the traditional Chinese painters in California. He was a strict and unreasonable teacher; the kind that kisses up to the newcomers, the kind that yells at his students whenever he is in a bad mood and lightens up when he is happy, and the kind that wouldn’t know the first thing that comes to opening a student’s eyes to the amazing world of art. I wouldn’t say going to his classes were a complete waste of money and time, despite all the times he yelled at me and told me to get out of his class because of my “lack of talent.” His ferocity enabled me to put up with so much criticism for my art, and allowed me to somewhat develop serious feelings for drawing, no matter how small. I knew that tiny ember glowing in my heart would develop into a wild bonfire.
After another two years of blood, sweat, and tears(literally) drawing for Mr. Duan, I moved to a different city in California, Palo Alto. I transferred into a new art class very close to where I lived. I walked into the classroom with very low self esteem as to how I draw. I imagined jumping into yet another hole filled with harsh comments and put-downs. Instead, a teacher by the name of Mr. Chen was standing in front of me, greeting me with a smile. This man was the complete opposite of Mr. Duan. He was a tall, thin man, also wearing glasses, and showered me with love and compassion. He treated me like his own daughter, and never scolded me or told me I lacked the talent, the ability, or the passion to create true art. Mr. Chen put me through a breakthrough, using his natural abilities to make a student create a very strong bond of friendship with him. He was not only good to me in that way, he was also a very skilled and experienced artist, and, unlike Mr. Duan, knew all the things there is to know about guiding a student through the difficult steps of learning. There, in that very small room of art supplies and talented students, I awakened my own talent, which was quite a large one that even my teacher was surprised to discover. In a brief year and a half, Mr. Chen left me with everything he knew about drawing and love, things that I would remember forever.
Moving to New Jersey was a devastation for me. I was not just upset because I was leaving all of my childhood friends and memories behind; in a way, I felt like I was also kind of getting a third parent taken away from me. After unpacking things in my newer and larger house of the east coast, my dad immediately tried to cheer me up by searching for another art class. I felt like none of them were ever going to be good enough. Each one he mentioned, I rejected. My mother introduced me to Sharon Art Center, the supposedly famous and successful art school for the best of the best. I rejected at first, but I decided to at least try it out, for the sake of my career. I met a bunch of teachers, all very skilled. I liked a teacher named Emily very much, the director of the school. She was a very kind and warm person. Apparently she decided I was “too good” for her class of kids who were my age, and recommended me to the older class, of the woman who owned the entire school, Sharon. Getting into her class was a difficult task, and you had to be very skilled and experienced to make it. I was extremely frightened of her at first, as I heard she was a very strict teacher and also yelled at her students sometimes. The image that kept popping up was ,“Oh no, she’s going to be like Mr. Duan. She’s going to put me down like Mr. Duan.” Actually, I was wrong. Sharon was a mysterious woman, someone I would say to be right smack dab in the middle of Mr. Duan and Mr. Chen. She disciplined her students like Mr. Duan, but was also very caring for her students and whose teaching skills were just as amazing as her drawing skills. She has molded me into the artist I am today.
All of my teachers played important roles in this story, giving me many things to remember and cherish. Mr. Duan forced my way into the world of art, using his discipline, opening the door just a crack. Mr. Chen pushed that door wide open, with his loving ways of teaching. Sharon encouraged me to move forward and take baby steps toward professionalism, fine-tuning my talents. Now, I wish I could’ve teleported straight back to six years ago and slapped the second grade me in the face and say, “Stop hesitating! You do have a chance in the art world!” I still am grateful for how things turned out, though. The world ahead of me still lies unknown, and a mystery. But my three role models taught me to never look back, and I know I would never have a chance unless I take one.
我的三位艺术老师 （翻译：海云）
“诺贝尔小学二年级的最佳画作的得主是……凯茜。”我根本没有注意到他们在叫我的名字直到莫利校长对我说：“凯茜，是你，你得奖了！”我的朋友们高喊：“上去啊！凯茜！”我有气无力地走过去，在全校师生注视下与莫利校长握手，并接过我的画。虽说是那很小的一个成就却是非常重要的。莫利校长还在说：“接下来是三年级最有创意的海洋绘画，是三年级的......”我二年级时的老师麦克莱兰小姐一把拥抱住快步下了舞台的我：“凯西，我为你感到骄傲！你画得真是太棒了！你有没有想过将来成为一名艺术家呢？” 我看着她，不解。我所做的只是把我的脑袋画得跟别人不一样：两只眼睛，看上去并不像巨大的葡萄干；鼻子，也并不像一个烟囱，没有龇牙咧嘴，两只耳朵差不多大。我并没有真正有意要做一名艺术家，主要是因为我想我在艺术的世界里可能没有什么机会。不过，我对她表示感谢，并告诉她说，也许我会考虑她的建议。我真的很高兴，我拿奖了。
一年过去了。住在加利福尼亚州的圣何西这个城市，我决定去一个开车有三十分钟的艺术学校学习绘画。这个绘画班的老师是D先生，他是一个个头不高，胖乎乎的男人，戴着老式的长方形眼镜，大概四十岁末了，在加州那一带他以传统的中国画 著称。他是一个严格的和不合理的老师，那种会讨好新来的学生，却常对老学生开骂，尤其是每当他心情不好的时候就会对学生大喊大叫，心情好的时候还算好。他是那种不知道如何在最初打开学生的眼睛，用艺术世界来使的学生惊艳。我不是说上他的课完全是在浪费金钱和时间，除去他对我的辱骂，叫我从他的课堂出去，因为我的“缺乏天份。”他的凶猛让我养成能忍受对我的绘画作品的过多的批评的能力，并让我在一定程度上开启了对绘画艺术的严肃性，无论多么小，我知道，在我的心里那微小的余烬将发展成为一个辽源的大火。
又经过两年多的血、汗和眼泪跟从D先生习画，我搬到一个不同的加州城市：帕洛阿托。我也因此转到一个新的绘画班，我住的地方离那里很近。走进教室，我那时对于如何画画很自卑。我想象着跳进另一个洞里，那里充满恶劣的意见和奚落。可相反，那个陈姓先生站在我的面前，面带微笑迎接我。这个男人与D先生有着天壤之别。他是一个高高瘦瘦的男人，也戴着眼镜，却让我沐浴在爱和同情心中。他把我当成自己的女儿一般，从来不骂我，从没责备我说我没有的天赋、能力和热情去创造真正的艺术。陈先生带着我突破，用他独特的自然的方式，使学生和他之间产生一个非常强大的依恋和友谊。他不仅对我好，他也是一个非常熟练和经验丰富的艺术家，与段先生完全两样，他知道如何引导学生一步步度过学习的难关。在那里，在那个不大却充满了有才华的学生和艺术用品的房间里，我的艺术天份觉醒了，不是一点点儿而是相当大的部分，即使我的老师也是如此惊讶地发现我的这个天赋。在短暂的一年半的时间里，陈先生教给我绘画和爱以及相关的一切，我会永远记住这些。
搬到新泽西州，对我来说是场灾难！不仅仅是因为离开我的童年的朋友和记忆难过，在某种程度上，我觉得我也被带离了我的三分之一的父母。在我的新的、更大的东海岸的房子里把搬过来装箱的东西打开，我爸爸立即寻找另一个艺术学校试图让我我振作起来。我觉得他找的每一个学校都没可能比我在加州的好。我全部拒绝了。我妈妈向我介绍莎伦艺术中心，据说很有名很成功，是最好的艺术学校。我开始也拒绝了，但后来我决定为了我将来的职业生涯至少尝试一下。我遇到一群教师，都有着熟练的艺术技巧。我喜欢上了一个叫艾米莉的老师，她是学校的资深教师。她是一个非常友好和热情的人。很显然，她感觉我太“好”了， 她班上的孩子几乎都是我这个年龄，她却建议我进入一个比我年龄大一些的学生的绘画班，教那个班的老师就是拥有整个学校的名叫莎伦的女人。进入她的班级是很不容易的事情，你必须非常熟练，经验丰富，我因此很紧张害怕，因为我听说她是一个非常严格的老师，有时也会对她的学生们喊叫。我头脑中不断出现的画面就是，“哦，不，不会像D先生那样吧。她会不会像D先生那样诋毁我。” 事实上，我错了。莎伦是一个神秘的女人，我想正确的说法应该是她是一个介于D先生和陈先生之间的人。她像D先生那样严罚学生，但也很关心她的学生并且她教学技能是出奇得好，因为她卓越的绘画技巧，她塑造了我，使我成为今天的小艺术家。
我的所有的老师在这个故事中都扮演了重要的角色，他们给了我很多难忘和珍贵的记忆。段先生以一种强迫的方式逼迫我进入到艺术的世界，用他的严律，把门打开了一条缝。陈先生用他的爱的教学方式帮我把这扇大门推敞开。莎伦鼓励我向前走，并且一小步一小步地带领我迈向专业和艺术的精髓，我的天赋和才华得以充分调动。我希望我能穿过时间隧道回到六年前，一巴掌打在读二年级我自己的脸上，并说，“别犹豫！你在艺术的世界里有的是机会！”我还是心存感激的，虽然，我前面的世界仍是未知的一个谜，但我的三个艺术上的榜样（老师）教导我永不回头，我知道我永远不会有机会，除非我采取行动。
