Don’t compromise yourself. You are all you’ve got.
——Janis Joplin
千万不要与自己妥协。世界上只有你才能成为你自己。
——詹妮斯•乔普林
On Monday morning I wore my green platform boots to school for the first time since I had started at Edison Middle School.
It was the day of the poetry festival, and I was excited. At my old school, I had won the poetry ribbon every year. I’m horrible at sports, too shy to be popular and I’m not cute—but I do write good poetry.
The poem I wrote for the Edison Roetry Festival was about my dad. I had a good feeling about sharing how special he was to me, even if it was just with the fifth grade and Mrs. Baker.
English class was not until after lunch period on Mondays, so by the time we started poetry, I was so nervous my mouth was dry as toast. When Mrs. Baker called on me, I had to clear my throat, take a breath and swallow about ten times before I could speak. I didn’t even bother to look at my paper. I’d spent so much time perfecting the rhymes, and counting the beats, that I knew the poem by heart.
I had just started the third verse when I noticed Mrs. Baker was glaring furiously at me. I stopped in the middle of a word and waited for her to say something.
“Linda, you are supposed to be reading an original work, a poem you made up yourself, not reciting something you learned. That is called plagiarism!”
“Oh, but it’s not. I mean... I did make it up, it’s about my dad.” I heard a “Yeah, right!” from somewhere behind me, and someone else giggled.
I felt as if I’d somersaulted off the high dive and then, in midair, realized that there was no water in the pool. I opened my mouth to explain, but no words came out.
“You will leave the room and will not return until you are ready to apologize,” said Mrs. Baker. “Now. Go!”
My last thought was a flash of understanding as to why the kids had nicknamed her “Battle-Ax Baker”—then my brain just fizzled out, and I turned and left the room.
I’d been standing outside for about half an hour when Joseph, the school janitor, came over to ask me what heinous crime I’d committed to be banished for so long. He loved using unusual words.
We’d made friends one morning before school, when he saw me sitting alone, pretending to do homework. He invited me to help open up the classrooms, and after that, it sort of became my job. He always talked to me as we wiped down the chalkboards and turned on the heat. Just that morning he’d been telling me that Mark Twain once said that the difference between the right word and the almost right word is like the difference between lightning and a lightning bug. I liked that. My dad would have liked it, too.
Now as Joseph waited for me to answer, he looked so kind and sympathetic that I poured out the whole story, trying not to cry. A tightness flashed over his face, and he jerked an enormous yellow duster out of the pocket of his gray overalls. “So what are you going to do?” he asked, rolling up the duster into a tight ball.
I shrugged, feeling helpless and sad.“I don’t know.”
“Well, you are not going to stand here all day, are you?”
I sighed. “I suppose I’ll do what she said. You know... say I’m sorry.”
“You’ll apologize?”
I nodded. “What else can I do? It’s no big deal. I’ll just never write anything good in her class again.”
He looked disappointed with my response, so I shrugged once more and turned away from him.
“Linda.” The tone of his voice forced me to look back. “Accepting defeat, when you should stand up for yourself, can become a very dangerous habit.” He twisted the duster around his fingers. “Believe me. I know!”
He was staring right into my eyes. I blinked and looked down. His eyes followed mine, and we both noticed my green boots at the same time. Suddenly his face relaxed and creased into a huge smile. He chuckled and said, “You’re going to be just fine. I don’t have to worry about you. When you put on those boots this morning, you knew you were the only Linda Brown in the whole world.” As if he didn’t need it anymore, he cheerfully dropped the duster back into his pocket and folded his arms across his chest. “Those are the boots of someone who can take care of herself and knows when something is worth fighting for.”
His eyes, smiling into mine, woke up a part of me that had been asleep since I’d come to this school, and I knew that he was right about me. I’d just lost direction for a while. I took a deep breath and knocked on the classroom door, ready to face Mrs. Baker—ready to recite my poem.
星期一早晨，我穿上了那双绿色的厚底坡跟靴去上学。自从到爱迪生中学上学以来，今天还是我第一次穿这双靴子。
那天正好是诗歌节，我非常兴奋。在我原来的学校，我每年都能获得学校的诗歌奖。我害怕体育，也怯于参加集体活动，还不漂亮可爱，但是——我却能写得一手好诗。
这次，我为爱迪生诗歌节写的诗是关于我爸爸的。我很高兴能让别人知道爸爸对我是多么特别，尽管只有我所在的五年级的全体同学和我的老师贝克太太分享我的感觉。
星期一的英语课总是在午餐过后才开始上。那天我们开始研究诗歌的时候，我感到很紧张，嘴巴里干得就像吃的烤面包干一样。当贝克太太叫到我的时候，我不得不清了清嗓子，深深地吸一口气，并咽了大约十口唾沫，才开始朗诵。我甚至不必费神看我的诗稿，因为这首诗我花了很多时间完善韵律、对齐音步，所以我对这首诗了熟于胸。
当我正准备朗诵第三节的时候，我突然注意到贝克太太正愤怒地瞪着我。我一个词说到一半就停了下来，等待她说些什么。
“琳达，你应该为我们朗诵原创的作品，你自己写的诗，而不是去背诵你学到的诗。这叫剽窃！”
“哦，这不是的。我的意思是……这首诗就是我自己写的，是我写我爸爸的。”我听到身后有人起哄道：“是的，没错！”其他人则都“咯咯”地笑了起来。
顿时，我感觉自己像是从高台翻腾而下跳水，却在半空中发现水池没有水。我张着嘴想解释，但却一个词儿也说不出来。
“现在请你离开教室，在你准备道歉之前不许回来，”贝克太太厉声说，“现在，出去！”
就在那一刻，一闪念间我突然明白了为什么孩子们私下里给她起了个绰号“贝克战斧”——接着，我的大脑好像就停止了运转，我转过身走出了教室。
就这样，我站在教室外面，大约半小时后，学校的大楼管理员约瑟夫看到了我，就问我究竟犯了什么弥天大罪要被驱逐出教室这么长时间。他说话的时候总喜欢用些不同寻常的词。
我和他成为朋友是在一天早晨上课之前。那天，我一个人坐在教室里装模作样地做作业，约瑟夫看到了，就邀请我帮他去打开其他教室的门。从那之后，这好像就成了我的一项工作。每次当我们一起擦黑板开暖气的时候，他总是滔滔不绝地跟我说个没完。就在那天早晨，他还对我谈起马克•吐温曾经说过的一句话：正确的话和差不多正确的话之间的差别就像是闪电和萤火虫之间的差别一样。我很喜欢这句话，我相信我爸爸也会喜欢这句话的。
现在约瑟夫正在等待我回答他的问题，他和蔼地注视着我，目光中充满了同情。于是，我忍住泪水，把整件事的来龙去脉一股脑儿地全告诉了他。他听着我的讲述，眉头皱了一下，然后，从他那件灰色工作服的口袋里拽出一块巨大的黄色抹布，问道：“那你打算怎么办？”一边把抹布紧紧地卷成—个圆球。
“我不知道，”我耸了耸肩，感到好无助，好难过。
“那你难道打算一整天都站在这儿，是不是？”
我叹了口气说，“我想我只能照她说的去做了。你知道的……说对不起。”
“你要去向她道歉？”
我点了点头，说：“我还能怎么样呢？这没什么大不了的。今后，上她的课我只有再也不写这么好的诗了。”
听了我的回答，他失望地注视着我。我再次耸了耸肩，转过身去。
“琳达，”他的语气迫使我不得不又转过头来。“当你应该勇敢地站出来为自己辩护的时候，你却接受失败，这会成为一个非常危险的习惯，”那块抹布在他手指上缠绕着，他说，“相信我。我知道的！”
看着他那逼人的目光，我眨了眨眼，然后低下了头。他的目光也跟着我看向地面。几乎就在同一时刻，我们都注意到了我脚上穿的那双绿靴子。突然，他那原本严肃的神情一下子放松下来，脸上也绽开了笑容。“你一定会很快好起来的，我根本就不需要为你担心的，其实，当你今天早上穿上这双靴子的时候，你就知道，世界上只有你才是唯一的琳达•布朗。”说到这，他兴冲冲地收起那块抹布，把它放回口袋里，就好像不再需要它似的。然后，双手交叉抱在胸前，微笑地注视着我说：“穿这双靴子的人一定是能照顾好自己，并知道什么时候什么事情是值得为之去奋斗的人！”
他的眼睛微笑地看着我，唤醒了我心灵深处的一种东西，自从我来到这所学校以后这些东西就一直沉睡不醒。我知道，约瑟夫对我的看法是正确的，我差一点儿就迷失了方向。然后，我深深地吸了一口气，敲响了教室的门，我要面对贝克太太——继续背诵我自己写的诗。
一双绿色的靴子
【回到顶部】