It was Christmas 1961. I was teaching in a small town in Ohiowhere my twenty-seven third graders eagerly anticipated the great day of gifts giving.
媽媽與孩子
那是1961年的圣誕節(jié)。我在俄亥俄州的一個小鎮(zhèn)上教小學(xué)三年級。班上27個孩子都在積極參加"禮物贈送日"的活動。
A tree covered with tinsel and gaudy paper chains graced one corner. In another rested a manger scene produced from cardboard and poster paints by chubby, and sometimes grubby, hands. Someone had brought a doll and placed it on the straw in the cardboard box that served as the manger. It didn’t matter that you could pull a string and hear the blue-eyed, golden-haired dolly say, "My name is Susie." "But Jesus was a boy baby!" one of the boys proclaimed. Nonetheless, Susie stayed.
教室的一角被一棵樹裝點得熠熠生輝，樹上綴滿了金銀絲帛和華麗的彩紙。教室的另一角是一個涂著海報油彩由紙板制成的馬槽，這出自孩子們那胖乎乎、臟兮兮的小手。有人帶來了一個娃娃，把它放在紙板槽里的稻草上(假裝小耶穌)。只要拉拉它身上的一條細繩，這個藍眼睛、金發(fā)的娃娃就會說道，"我叫蘇西"，不過這都沒有關(guān)系。一個男孩提出："耶穌可是個小男孩呀!"不過蘇西還是留了下來。
Each day the children produced some new wonder -- strings of popcorn, hand-made trinkets, and German bells made from wallpaper samples, which we hung from the ceiling. Through it all she remained aloof, watching from afar, seemingly miles away. I wondered what would happen to this quiet child, once so happy, now so suddenly withdrawn. I hoped the festivities would appeal to her. But nothing did. We made cards and gifts for mothers and dads, for sisters and brothers, for grandparents, and for each other. At home the students made the popular fried marbles and vied with one another to bring in the prettiest ones. " You put them in a hot frying pan, Teacher. And you let them get real hot, and then you watch what happens inside. But you don’t fry them too long or they break."So, as my gift to them, I made each of my students a little pouch for carrying their fried marbles. And I knew they had each made something for me: bookmarks carefully cut, colored, and sometimes pasted together; cards and special drawings; liquid embroidery doilies, hand-fringed, of course.
每天孩子們都會做點兒新玩意--爆米花串成的細鏈子、手工做的小裝飾品和墻紙樣做的德國式風(fēng)鈴，我們把這些風(fēng)鈴掛在了天花板上。但自始至終，她都是孤零零地遠遠觀望，仿佛是隔了一道幾里長的障礙。我猜想著這個沉默的孩子發(fā)生了什么事，原來那個快樂的孩子怎么突然變得沉默寡言起來。我希望節(jié)日的活動能吸引她，可還是無濟于事。我們制作了許多卡片和禮物，準(zhǔn)備把它們送給爸爸媽媽、兄弟姐妹、祖父母和身邊的同學(xué)。學(xué)生們在家里做了當(dāng)時很流行“油炸"玻璃彈子，并且相互比著，要把最好看的拿來。"老師，把玻璃彈子放在熱油鍋里，讓它們燒熱，然后看看里面的變化。但不要炸得時間過長否則會破裂。"所以，我給每個學(xué)生做了一個裝"油炸彈子"的小袋作為禮物送給他們。我知道他們每個人也都為我做了禮物：仔細剪裁、著色，或已粘集成串的書簽；賀卡和特別繪制的圖片；透明的鑲邊碗碟墊布，當(dāng)然是手工編制的流蘇。
The day of gift-giving finally came. We oohed and aahed over our handiwork as the presents were exchanged. Through it all, she sat quietly watching. I had made a special pouch for her, red and green with white lace. I wanted very much to see her smile. She opened the package so slowly and carefully. I waited but she turned away. I had not penetrated the wall of isolation she had built around herself.
