树下的男孩

高晓华等

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”.

在从大一步入大二的暑假，我应密歇根州一所大学的邀请，成为其主办的高中领导力夏令营的一名教员。我热衷参加校园活动，所以把握了这次机会。

夏令营第一天开始时，在打破尴尬场面、相互认识的过程中，我第一次注意到树下的那个男孩。他十分瘦小，明显有些害羞和不适应，这使得他看起来很柔弱。仅仅在50步之外，200个野营的孩子正在欢呼雀跃地玩耍着，相互交谈着。但是那个树下的男孩却一直在那里，似乎不想去任何别的地方。他身上散发出的绝望的孤寂，几乎使我无法靠近他，但是我记得老员工说，要特别关注可能感觉受到了冷落的营员。

我朝他走去，说：“你好！我是凯文，是这里的一名顾问。很高兴可以认识你，你还好么？”他声音颤抖、略带羞怯，不情愿地回答道：“还行吧。”我问他是否想参加活动认识些新的朋友。他安静地回答道：“不必了，那不是我会做的事情。”

我感觉得到他来到了一个新的世界，这里的所有事情对他来说都是陌生的。但是我也知道，第一次和这位树下的男孩打交道，不能太心急。他需要的不是激励的谈话，而是一位朋友。一段沉默之后，我和树下男孩的第一次互动也宣告结束。

第二天午饭时间，我扯着嗓子带领着200个新朋友唱歌。野营的朋友们都渴望加入进来。我在嘈杂的人群中找到了树下的那个男孩，他独自坐在那里，望着窗外。我差点忘记了正在唱的歌词。我抓住机会，走过去又尝试着问了相同的问题：“你怎么样？你还好么？”他回答：“是的，我很好。我只是不想加入这些活动而已。”当我离开食堂的时候，我意识到，如果我想了解他的话，要花费比预想的更多的时间和努力。

晚上的员工会议中，我把我对他的担心告诉了大家。我和大家说明了我对他的印象，让大家给予他特殊的关注，如果可以的话，花更多的时间和这个男孩相处。

每年，我在夏令营的日子总是比我所知道的任何时刻都要过得快。因此，不知不觉，星期三已经是夏令营的最后一夜，我们举办了最后一次晚会，我陪同大家跳了“最后一支舞”。同学们都在尽情地享受着与“新朋友们”的最后时光——这些可能永远不会再相见的朋友们。

当我看着营员们享受他们离别前的最后时光时，我突然瞧见了一幅属于我记忆中最美好的画面。那个在树下的男孩，那个毫无表情向厨房窗外看的男孩，此时脱去了衬衫，正在热情狂舞。他和两个女孩跳摇摆舞，技惊舞池。我看到他与人们分享有意义的、亲密的时光，而几天前他都不能直视这些人。我不敢相信这是同一个人。

在我大二那年的十月，一个深夜里打来的电话把我从化学书中拉了出来。一个温柔却不熟悉的声音很礼貌地问：“是凯文么？”

“是的，您是哪位？”

“我是汤姆·杰森的母亲。你还记得夏令营的汤姆么？”

那个在树下的男孩，我怎么会忘记呢？

“是的，我记得。”我回答，“他是一个很不错的男孩。他怎么样？”

在一段反常的沉寂后，杰森女士说：“我的孩子汤姆在这周放学回家的路上被一辆汽车撞到后去世了。”这一消息让我十分震惊，我表达了我的哀悼。

“我只是想告诉你。”她说，“因为汤姆提到了你很多次，我想让你知道，今年秋天他满怀信心地回到学校，结识了新朋友。他不仅成绩提高了，甚至还外出约会了几次。我想感谢你让汤姆有了这样的改变。最近这几个月也是他生命中最美好的几个月。”

这一刻，我意识到每天向他人播散一些善意是多么容易。你永远不会知道，你的一个小举动对他人来说意味着什么。我经常讲述这个故事，每当我讲起这个故事，都希望人们也能发现他们身边那个“树下的男孩”。endprint