樹下的男孩

高曉華等

In the summer recess between freshman and sophomore years in college， I was invited to be an instructor at a high-school leadership camp hosted by a college in Michigan. I was already highly involved in most campus activities， and I jumped at the opportunity.

About an hour into the first day of camp， amid the frenzy of ice-breakers and forced interaction， I first noticed the boy under the tree. He was small， and his obvious shyness and discomfort made him appear frail and fragile. Only fifty feet away， two hundred eager campers were bumping bodies， playing， joking and meeting each other， but the boy under the tree seemed to want to be anywhere other than where he was. The desperate loneliness he radiated almost stopped me from approaching him， but I remembered the instructions from the senior staff to stay alert for campers who might feel left out.

As I walked toward him， I said， “Hi， my name is Kevin， and Im one of the counselors. Its nice to meet you. How are you？” In a shaky， sheepish voice he reluctantly answered， “Okay， I guess.” I asked him if he wanted to join the activities and meet some new people. He quietly replied， “No， this is not really my thing.”

I could sense that he was in a new world， that this whole experience was foreign to him. But I somehow knew it wouldnt be right to push my first interaction with the boy under the tree. He didnt need a pep talk； he needed a friend. After several silent moments， my first interacion with the boy under the tree was over.

At lunch the next day， I found myself leading camp songs at the top of my lungs for two hundred of my new friends. The campers eagerly participated. My gaze wandered over the mass of noise and movement and was caught by the image of the boy from under the tree， sitting alone， staring out the window. I nearly forgot the words to the song I was supposed to be leading. At my first opportunity， I tried again， with the same questions as before， “How are you doing？ Are you okay？” To which he again replied， “Yeah， Im all right. I just dont really get into this stuff.” As I left the cafeteria， I realized this was going to take more time and effort than I had thought—if it was even possible to get through to him at all.

That evening at our nightly staff meeting， I made my concerns about him known. I explained to my fellow staff members my impression of him and asked them to pay special attention and spend time with him when they could.

The days I spend at camp each year fly by faster than any others I have known. Thus， before I knew it， midweek had dissolved into the final night of camp， and I was chaperoning the “last dance”. The students were doing all they could to savor every last moment with their new “best friends”—friends they would probably never see again.endprint

As I watched the campers share their parting moments， I suddenly saw what would be one of the most vivid memories of my life. The boy from under the tree， who had stared blankly out the kitchen window， was now a shirtless dancing wonder. He owned the dance floor as he and two girls proceeded to cut a rug. I watched as he shared meaningful， intimate time with people at whom he couldnt even look just days earlier. I couldnt believe it was the same person.

In October of my sophomore year， a late-night phone call pulled me away from my chemistry book. A soft-spoken， unfamiliar voice asked politely， “Is Kevin there？”

“Youre talking to him. Whos this？”

“This is Tom Johnsons mom. Do you remember Tommy from leadership camp？”

The boy under the tree. How could I not remember？

“Yes， I do，” I said. “Hes a very nice young man. How is he？”

An abnormally long pause followed， and then Mrs. Johnson said， “My Tommy was walking home from school this week when he was hit by a car and killed.” Shocked， I offered my condolences.

“I just wanted to call you，” she said， “because Tommy mentioned you so many times. I wanted you to know that he went back to school this fall with confidence， and he made new friends. His grades went up. And he even went out on a few dates. I just wanted to thank you for making a difference for Tom. The last few months were the best few months of his life.”

In that instant， I realized how easy it is to give a bit of yourself every day. You may never know how much each gesture may mean to someone else. I tell this story as often as I can， and when I do， I urge others to look out for their own “boy under the tree”.

在從大一步入大二的暑假，我應密歇根州一所大學的邀請，成為其主辦的高中領導力夏令營的一名教員。我熱衷參加校園活動，所以把握了這次機會。

夏令營第一天開始時，在打破尷尬場面、相互認識的過程中，我第一次注意到樹下的那個男孩。他十分瘦小，明顯有些害羞和不適應，這使得他看起來很柔弱。僅僅在50步之外，200個野營的孩子正在歡呼雀躍地玩耍著，相互交談著。但是那個樹下的男孩卻一直在那里，似乎不想去任何別的地方。他身上散發出的絕望的孤寂，幾乎使我無法靠近他，但是我記得老員工說，要特別關注可能感覺受到了冷落的營員。

我朝他走去，說：“你好！我是凱文，是這里的一名顧問。很高興可以認識你，你還好么？”他聲音顫抖、略帶羞怯，不情愿地回答道：“還行吧。”我問他是否想參加活動認識些新的朋友。他安靜地回答道：“不必了，那不是我會做的事情。”

我感覺得到他來到了一個新的世界，這里的所有事情對他來說都是陌生的。但是我也知道，第一次和這位樹下的男孩打交道，不能太心急。他需要的不是激勵的談話，而是一位朋友。一段沉默之后，我和樹下男孩的第一次互動也宣告結束。

第二天午飯時間，我扯著嗓子帶領著200個新朋友唱歌。野營的朋友們都渴望加入進來。我在嘈雜的人群中找到了樹下的那個男孩，他獨自坐在那里，望著窗外。我差點忘記了正在唱的歌詞。我抓住機會，走過去又嘗試著問了相同的問題：“你怎么樣？你還好么？”他回答：“是的，我很好。我只是不想加入這些活動而已。”當我離開食堂的時候，我意識到，如果我想了解他的話，要花費比預想的更多的時間和努力。

晚上的員工會議中，我把我對他的擔心告訴了大家。我和大家說明了我對他的印象，讓大家給予他特殊的關注，如果可以的話，花更多的時間和這個男孩相處。

每年，我在夏令營的日子總是比我所知道的任何時刻都要過得快。因此，不知不覺，星期三已經是夏令營的最后一夜，我們舉辦了最后一次晚會，我陪同大家跳了“最后一支舞”。同學們都在盡情地享受著與“新朋友們”的最后時光——這些可能永遠不會再相見的朋友們。

當我看著營員們享受他們離別前的最后時光時，我突然瞧見了一幅屬于我記憶中最美好的畫面。那個在樹下的男孩，那個毫無表情向廚房窗外看的男孩，此時脫去了襯衫，正在熱情狂舞。他和兩個女孩跳搖擺舞，技驚舞池。我看到他與人們分享有意義的、親密的時光，而幾天前他都不能直視這些人。我不敢相信這是同一個人。

在我大二那年的十月，一個深夜里打來的電話把我從化學書中拉了出來。一個溫柔卻不熟悉的聲音很禮貌地問：“是凱文么？”

“是的，您是哪位？”

“我是湯姆·杰森的母親。你還記得夏令營的湯姆么？”

那個在樹下的男孩，我怎么會忘記呢？

“是的，我記得。”我回答，“他是一個很不錯的男孩。他怎么樣？”

在一段反常的沉寂后，杰森女士說：“我的孩子湯姆在這周放學回家的路上被一輛汽車撞到后去世了。”這一消息讓我十分震驚，我表達了我的哀悼。

“我只是想告訴你。”她說，“因為湯姆提到了你很多次，我想讓你知道，今年秋天他滿懷信心地回到學校，結識了新朋友。他不僅成績提高了，甚至還外出約會了幾次。我想感謝你讓湯姆有了這樣的改變。最近這幾個月也是他生命中最美好的幾個月。”

這一刻，我意識到每天向他人播散一些善意是多么容易。你永遠不會知道，你的一個小舉動對他人來說意味著什么。我經常講述這個故事，每當我講起這個故事，都希望人們也能發現他們身邊那個“樹下的男孩”。endprint