人生并非总是风和日丽，时常也会“冰雪交加”……友谊净化心灵，逆境锻炼意志……
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.
我的莫逆之交名叫特雷。他整整比我大10岁，可他患有智障，言谈举止似乎小我10岁。每逢星期六，我们俩就形影不离，一起去图书馆，一起逛宠物店，或者到公园散步。我主要在社交方面帮助他。10年前上主日学校，我跟特雷同班，我们就是在那儿结识的。
这个体重200磅的汉子喜欢跟人握手。看他一个箭步冲到别人跟前，笑得嘴都合不拢，把大手伸到人家的脸前，样子怪吓人的。我想让他明白这样做不合适。
“你呆在我身旁，不要到别人跟前去。”我告诉他。”谁都不喜欢你这样子。”
“好吧。”他顺从地说。
我教特雷骑自行车，可他不是骑下马路沿就是摔倒在地，试了十几次都是如此。
“重新站起来，再试一次。”他每次摔倒，我都这样鼓励他。我一直认为我是那个教给他人生哲理的人。可后来情况发生了变化。
我参加了垒球联赛。一次打比赛，在进第三垒时，我的防滑钉被卡住了，身体朝前栽倒，脚腕却扭向右后方。我的父母坐在观众席上，听到了咔嚓咔嚓两声骨裂。
救护车风驰电掣把我送到了医院。照了X光，发现我的一条腿骨折，而一只脚完全与踝骨脱离。接下来作了急救手术。医生用钉子把我的脚和踝骨固定在了一起，又用螺丝加固了我的断腿。
第二天一大早醒来，我睡眼惺忪地看见父母守在病床前——当然，特雷也在跟前。 “嗨!”特雷咧嘴笑着跟我打招呼，一边把手伸至我的面前。
“嗨，特雷!”我有气无力地握了握他的手说。
“重新站起来，再试一次。”他对我说道。
“现在还不行。”
“那好吧。”他体贴地说道。随后，他便奔出病房，找人握手去了。
“特雷，不要跟别人握手!没人喜欢你这样。”我冲着他的背影低声吩咐他。
我出院之前，整形外科医生曾断言，说我的腿脚永远再也不会像从前那样灵便了。为了不让受伤的腿承重，我拄拐杖拄了8个星期。特雷很快就耐不住性子了，因为他想跟我一道出门，而我却举步维艰。他挺着大肚子，两只胳膊抱在一起，满脸的不高兴。我俩读了不少儿童书，还挥毫作画，但明显可以看出他提不起兴趣。他一心只想去宠物店看老鼠和鸟儿，想去图书馆数书，想到公园让我推他荡秋千。眼下，我却无法满足他的这些要求。
他的问题一个接一个，搅得我心烦。他问我疗养结束时，是否还来得及参加田径赛?问我是否还能跑得快?问在上一赛季，我曾经在300米跨栏比赛中独领风骚，现在是否还能同样出色?问医生的预言是否会应验?
在疗养方面，我用了很大的心劲。后来，我用冰块冰敷受伤的脚。有时，特雷跑来观看我完成全套的步骤;他见用来锻炼的自行车器械不转动了，就笑啊笑个不停。“哈哈，无法重新站起来了!”他会这样说。生活对他而言太简单了，而对我则无比复杂。我忍住眼泪，不愿在他面前露出狼狈相。
当我最终扔掉拐杖，重新振作起来，准备恢复以前的腿力时，特雷陪我到中学的沥青跑道上一圈一圈地跑。他的步子有些踉跄，有时会被自己的脚绊住，重重摔倒在地。
“重新站起来!”他会信心百倍地告诫自己。
数月之后，我觉得自己已经能够参赛了，于是便申请了300米跨栏的资格。比赛那天，爸爸妈妈以及特雷坐在观众席上为我加油。
“集中注意力!”我心里准备夺冠，暗暗告诫着自己。
起跑的枪声响了。跑步时，我可以感到腿部肌肉绷紧，双脚交替踏在坚硬的跑道上，飞快地一下又一下，节奏很强。我呼吸均匀，可以感到周围净是运动员，感到有人在我旁边，超过了我，跑到了前边。我的脚部以及踝骨那儿越来越疼，而我全然不顾。跑道的另一侧，加油声此起彼伏，我却无瑕顾及，也没有时间思考，只是一个劲儿跑啊跑。
运动员一个接一个超过我，如飞跨栏而去。
“瞧那个新出道的女运动员迪芬尼!”我听见有人大喊道。那是去年参赛时他们送我的称号。
我“漂”过了跨栏。就好像我在拽着自己朝前跑。末了，我总算迈过了终点线——这个项目我以前曾打破过纪录，而这次名列最后。
赛季结束了。中途我虽然成绩有所提高，但一直未夺冠，也没有再破学校的纪录。
以后我坚持打垒球和参加田径赛，虽然不能再当第一名，却坚持了下来。“重新站起来，再试一次”——是重要的人生之课。夺冠者并非伟人或勇士，因为夺冠并不难。当你竭尽全力，却被他人超越，使你难以继续的时候，最需要的是勇气。特雷深谙此理。想到他走上前和陌生人握手，冒着遭受别人嘲笑和蔑视的危险，那才需要勇气呢。
现在情况变了——遇到有人盯着我们瞧，我就扯扯特雷的袖子，鼓励他说：”去跟他握手，特雷。”
“好嘞!”他会高兴地满口答应。
当特雷友好地向那人伸出手时，十有八九会让那人感到意外。可有谁会拒绝这么一个充满自信及个性魅力的人呢!
我的拐杖丢在车库的一个散发出霉味的角落里，上边结了蜘蛛网……特雷仍是那么“弱智”，仍像很早以前一样。我自豪地说：他是我年轻时代的好友。
我不再仅仅乐于向特雷施教，而是甘于向他讨教。