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人生并非總是風和日麗，時常也會“冰雪交加”……友誼凈化心靈，逆境鍛煉意志……
By Kimberly Ann Shope 方華文 譯
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I have an important friend named Trey, who is exactly 10 years older than I am, yet he lives his life as if he were 10 years younger. He is mentally handicapped. Our day together is Saturday. We go to the library, pet stores or for walks in the park. I mainly work with him on socialization. I met Trey 10 years ago when we attended the same Sunday school class. This 200-pound man likes to shake people’s hands. He can be a fairly daunting sight as he gallops up to someone, with an ear-to-ear grin, and sticks his large hand in the person’s face. I try to teach him this is inappropriate. “Stand next to me and don’t go up to people,” I say. “No one likes it.” “Ochay,” he says obediently. I taught Trey to ride a bike, but not before running off curbs and toppling over about a dozen times first. “Dust off and try again.” I told him every time he fell. I assumed I was the one doing all the teaching. Things changed, however. I play in the city softball league. During a game, while sliding into third base my cleat caught and pulled my foot to the right and backward as my body fell forward. My parents, who sat in the stands, heard two pops. I was rushed to the hospital by ambulance. X-rays revealed a broken leg and a foot that was totally twisted from the ankle. Emergency surgery followed. A pin was put in place to hold my foot to my ankle and screws were inserted in the broken leg. In the early morning, with groggy eyes, I awoke to see my father, my mother and, of course, Trey, at my bedside. “Hi!” He grinned as he shoved his hand in my face. “Hi, Trey.” I weakly shook his hand. “Dust off. Try again,” he told me. “I can’t right now.” “Ochay,” he sweetly said, and galloped out of my hospital room in search of a hand to shake. “Trey, don’t shake hands. No one likes it,” I whispered after him. Before I left the hospital the orthopedic surgeon said I would never have the same mobility. Not allowed to put weight on my leg for eight weeks, I wobbled about on crutches. Trey soon became impatient with me, for he wanted to go places that I couldn’t manage. He sat with his arms crossed on his large belly, with a pouty face. We read a lot of children’s books and drew pictures, but it was plain to see he was bored. He wanted to go to the pet store to see the mice and birds. He wanted to go to the library to count all the books. He wanted to go to the park to have me push him on the swing. I couldn’t do any of this for a while. Meanwhile, I was plagued with questions. Would I be finished with my physical therapy in time to run track? Would I run at my capacity again? Would I do well in the 300-meter hurdles, the race I had lettered in the previous season? Would it still be my event? Or would the doctor’s prediction be correct? I worked hard at my physical therapy. Afterward I packed my foot in ice. Sometimes Trey came along to watch me work out and he laughed and laughed when he discovered the stationary bike didn’t move. “No dusting off!” he’d say. How simple life was for him. How complicated it had become for me. I tried not to cry in front of him. When I finally got off my crutches, I pushed myself to regain my former mobility. Trey ran laps with me around the black tar track at my high school. He ran slightly askew. Sometimes he’d trip over his own feet and fall down hard. “Dust off!” he’d tell himself with confidence. After many months I felt ready for track. I qualified for the 300-meter hurdles. Mom, Dad and Trey sat in the stands to cheer me on the day of the race. “Stay focused,” I told myself as I mentally prepared to run well. The starting-gun shot split the air. As I ran I could feel the tautness in my legs. My feet hit the hard track one after the other, quickly, in rhythm. My breathing was even. I could feel the other runners around me, next to me, passing me, then in front of me. I ignored the rising pain in my foot and ankle. On the other side of the track I ran into a wall of cheers. No time to react, no time to think, just time to run and run hard. A runner passed me, then another and another. Over the hurdles they flew. “Look at that new girl Tiffany move!” I heard someone shout. Last year it was my name they called. Once, I had sailed over the hurdles. Now it was as if I were pulling myself up and over. Finally I came across the finish line, dead last in an event in which I had set the record. I finished the season. I did improve, but never placed first, nor set another school record. I continue to play softball and run track. I am no longer the fastest, but I play. “Dust off and try again” is an important lesson. I wasn’t great or brave when I was the top player. It was easy then. Courage comes when it’s hard to go on, when others pass you regardless of how hard you work. Trey knows that. I think of his courage in going up to shake the hands of complete strangers, risking laughter from scornful faces. Now when someone stares at us I pull on Trey’s sleeve. “Go shake his hand, Trey,” I encourage him. “Ochay,” he happily says. The person is always caught off guard when Trey offers his hand in friendship. But who can resist this person who brims with confidence and personality? My crutches gather cobwebs in a musty corner of the garage while Trey’s handicap remains as fresh as the day he was born. Proudly I say he is the friend of my springtime. I no longer look at what I am teaching Trey; instead, I search for what he is teaching me.
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我的莫逆之交名叫特雷。他整整比我大10歲，可他患有智障，言談舉止似乎小我10歲。每逢星期六，我們倆就形影不離，一起去圖書館，一起逛寵物店，或者到公園散步。我主要在社交方面幫助他。10年前上主日學校，我跟特雷同班，我們就是在那兒結識的。 這個體重200磅的漢子喜歡跟人握手。看他一個箭步沖到別人跟前，笑得嘴都合不攏，把大手伸到人家的臉前，樣子怪嚇人的。我想讓他明白這樣做不合適。 “你呆在我身旁，不要到別人跟前去?！蔽腋嬖V他?！闭l都不喜歡你這樣子。” “好吧?！彼槒牡卣f。 我教特雷騎自行車，可他不是騎下馬路沿就是摔倒在地，試了十幾次都是如此。 “重新站起來，再試一次?！彼看嗡さ?，我都這樣鼓勵他。我一直認為我是那個教給他人生哲理的人。可后來情況發生了變化。 我參加了壘球聯賽。一次打比賽，在進第三壘時，我的防滑釘被卡住了，身體朝前栽倒，腳腕卻扭向右后方。我的父母坐在觀眾席上，聽到了咔嚓咔嚓兩聲骨裂。 救護車風馳電掣把我送到了醫院。照了X光，發現我的一條腿骨折，而一只腳完全與踝骨脫離。接下來作了急救手術。醫生用釘子把我的腳和踝骨固定在了一起，又用螺絲加固了我的斷腿。 第二天一大早醒來，我睡眼惺忪地看見父母守在病床前——當然，特雷也在跟前。 “嗨！”特雷咧嘴笑著跟我打招呼，一邊把手伸至我的面前。 “嗨，特雷！”我有氣無力地握了握他的手說。 “重新站起來，再試一次?！彼麑ξ艺f道。 “現在還不行?！?/p> “那好吧?！彼w貼地說道。隨后，他便奔出病房，找人握手去了。 “特雷，不要跟別人握手！沒人喜歡你這樣。”我沖著他的背影低聲吩咐他。 我出院之前，整形外科醫生曾斷言，說我的腿腳永遠再也不會像從前那樣靈便了。為了不讓受傷的腿承重，我拄拐杖拄了8個星期。特雷很快就耐不住性子了，因為他想跟我一道出門，而我卻舉步維艱。他挺著大肚子，兩只胳膊抱在一起，滿臉的不高興。我倆讀了不少兒童書，還揮毫作畫，但明顯可以看出他提不起興趣。他一心只想去寵物店看老鼠和鳥兒，想去圖書館數書，想到公園讓我推他蕩秋千。眼下，我卻無法滿足他的這些要求。 他的問題一個接一個，攪得我心煩。他問我療養結束時，是否還來得及參加田徑賽？問我是否還能跑得快？問在上一賽季，我曾經在300米跨欄比賽中獨領風騷，現在是否還能同樣出色？問醫生的預言是否會應驗？ 在療養方面，我用了很大的心勁。后來，我用冰塊冰敷受傷的腳。有時，特雷跑來觀看我完成全套的步驟；他見用來鍛煉的自行車器械不轉動了，就笑啊笑個不停。“哈哈，無法重新站起來了！”他會這樣說。生活對他而言太簡單了，而對我則無比復雜。我忍住眼淚，不愿在他面前露出狼狽相。 當我最終扔掉拐杖，重新振作起來，準備恢復以前的腿力時，特雷陪我到中學的瀝青跑道上一圈一圈地跑。他的步子有些踉蹌，有時會被自己的腳絆住，重重摔倒在地。 “重新站起來！”他會信心百倍地告誡自己。 數月之后，我覺得自己已經能夠參賽了，于是便申請了300米跨欄的資格。比賽那天，爸爸媽媽以及特雷坐在觀眾席上為我加油。 “集中注意力！”我心里準備奪冠，暗暗告誡著自己。 起跑的槍聲響了。跑步時，我可以感到腿部肌肉繃緊，雙腳交替踏在堅硬的跑道上，飛快地一下又一下，節奏很強。我呼吸均勻，可以感到周圍凈是運動員，感到有人在我旁邊，超過了我，跑到了前邊。我的腳部以及踝骨那兒越來越疼，而我全然不顧。跑道的另一側，加油聲此起彼伏，我卻無瑕顧及，也沒有時間思考，只是一個勁兒跑啊跑。 運動員一個接一個超過我，如飛跨欄而去。 “瞧那個新出道的女運動員迪芬尼！”我聽見有人大喊道。那是去年參賽時他們送我的稱號。 我“漂”過了跨欄。就好像我在拽著自己朝前跑。末了，我總算邁過了終點線——這個項目我以前曾打破過紀錄，而這次名列最后。 賽季結束了。中途我雖然成績有所提高，但一直未奪冠，也沒有再破學校的紀錄。 以后我堅持打壘球和參加田徑賽，雖然不能再當第一名，卻堅持了下來?！爸匦抡酒饋?，再試一次”——是重要的人生之課。奪冠者并非偉人或勇士，因為奪冠并不難。當你竭盡全力，卻被他人超越，使你難以繼續的時候，最需要的是勇氣。特雷深諳此理。想到他走上前和陌生人握手，冒著遭受別人嘲笑和蔑視的危險，那才需要勇氣呢。 現在情況變了——遇到有人盯著我們瞧，我就扯扯特雷的袖子，鼓勵他說：”去跟他握手，特雷。” “好嘞！”他會高興地滿口答應。 當特雷友好地向那人伸出手時，十有八九會讓那人感到意外?？捎姓l會拒絕這么一個充滿自信及個性魅力的人呢！ 我的拐杖丟在車庫的一個散發出霉味的角落里，上邊結了蜘蛛網……特雷仍是那么“弱智”，仍像很早以前一樣。我自豪地說：他是我年輕時代的好友。 我不再僅僅樂于向特雷施教，而是甘于向他討教。 （來源：英語學習雜志） |
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