From the first day he entered my junior-high classroom,Willard P. Franklin existed in his own world,shutting out his classmates and me,his teacher. My attempts at establishing a friendly relationship with him were met with complete indifference. Even a “Good Morning Willar” received only an inaudible grunt. I could see that his classmates fared no better. Willard was strictly a loner who seemed to have no desire or need to break his barrier of silence.
Shortly after the Thanksgiving holiday, we received word of the annual Christmas collection of money for the less fortunate people in our school district.
“Christmas is a season of giving,” I told my students. “There are a few students in the school who might not have a happy holiday season. By contributing to our Christmas collection, you will help buy food, clothing and toys for these needy people. We start the collection tomorrow.”
When I called for the contributions the next day, I discovered that almost everyone had forgotten. Except for Willard P. Franklin.The boy dug deep into his pants pockets as he strolled up to my desk. Carefully, he dropped two quarters into the small container.
“I don’t need no milk for lunch,” he mumbled. For a moment, just a moment, he smiled. Then he turned and walked back to his desk.
That night, after school, I took our meager contributions to the school principal. I couldn’t help sharing the incident that had taken place.
“I may be wrong, but I believe Willard might be getting might be getting ready to become a part of the world around him,” I told the principal.
“Yes, I believe it sounds hopeful,” he nodded. And I have a hunch we might do well to have him share a bit of his world with us. I just received a list of the poor families in our school who most need help through the Christmas collection. Here, take a look at it.”
As I gazed down to read, I discovered Willard P. Franklin and his family were the top names on the list.
情况好像不可救药了。
自从威拉德·P·富兰克林进入我教的初中班的那天起，他就把自己封闭了起来，不与其他同学交往，也不与我——他的老师――打交道，完全生活在自己的世界里。我试图和他建立起一种友好的关系，但却遭遇冷漠。甚至你跟他说声“早上好，威拉德”，他的回答也只是一声几乎听不见的咕哝声。我明白他的同学受到的待遇也好不到哪儿去，而他完全是一个独行侠，好像不希望也不需要打破这种沉默似的。
感恩节后不久，我们得到一年一度圣诞节募捐的消息，这些钱将用来捐给我们学校所在社区里的穷人。
“圣诞节是个给予的季节，”我告诉学生们，“我们学校有些学生可能不能过一个快乐的节日。你们可以买些食物、衣服或玩具，通过圣诞节的募捐活动，去帮助那些贫困的人。我们明天开始募捐。”
第二天，当我要求募捐的时候，我发现除了威德拉之外，几乎所有的人都把这件事给忘了。他一边向我的桌子走来一边伸手从裤子口袋里掏东西，然后小心翼翼地把两枚25美分的硬币丢进小箱子里。
“我午餐不需要喝牛奶，”他小声说。在那一瞬间，就那一瞬间，他笑了。然后，他转身回到了自己的座位上。
那天晚上，放学后，我把募捐的这一点钱交给了校长，并且忍不住把当天发生的事告诉了他。
“也许我想错了，但我相信可能威德拉正在准备成为这个班集体的一份子，”我告诉校长。
“是的，我认为这听起来有希望，”他点头说道，“我有一种预感，我们或许可以做得好一点，让他与我们分享他的世界。我刚收到一份名单，上面是我们学校里最需要通过圣诞节募捐获得帮助的贫困人员名单。这个，你看一下。”
我低头仔细一看，发现威德拉·P·富兰克林和他的家庭排在名单的最前面。
Keep on Singing一直歌唱
Like any good mother, when Karen found out that another baby was on the way, she did what she could to help her 3-year-old son, Michael, prepare for a new sibling. They find out that the new baby is going to be a girl, and day after day, night after night, Michael sings to his sister in Mommy’s tummy.
The pregnancy progresses normally for Karen, an active member of the Panther Creek United Methodist Church in Morristown, Tennessee. Then the labor pains come. Every five minutes … every minute. But Complications arise during delivery. Hours of labor. Would a C-section be required? Finally, Michael’s little sister is born. But she is in serious condition. With siren howling in the night, the ambulance rushes the infant to the neonatal intensive care unit at St. Mary’s Hospital in Knoxville, Tennessee.
The days inch by. The little girl gets worse. The pediatric specialist tells the parents,” There is very little hope. Be prepared for the worst.” Karen and her husband contact a local cemetery about a burial plot. They have fixed up a special room in their home for the new baby—now they plan a funeral.
Michael, keeps begging his parents to let him see his sister, “I want to sing to her,” he says. Week two in intensive care. It looks as if a funeral will come before the week is over. Michael keeps nagging about singing to his sister, but kids are never allowed in Intensive Care. But Karen makes up her mind. She will take Michael whether they like it or not.
If he doesn’t see his sister now, he may never see her alive. She dresses him in an oversized scrub suit and marches him into ICU. He looks like a walking laundry basket, but the head nurse recognizes him as a child and bellows,” Get that kid out of here now! No children are allowed.” The mother rises up strong in Karen, and the usually mild mannered lady glares steel-eyed into the head nurse’s face, her lips a firm line. “He is not leaving until he sings to his sister!” Karen tows Michael to his sister’s bedside. He gazes at the tiny infant losing the battle to live. And he begins to sing. In the pure hearted voice of a 3-year-old, Michael sings:
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray…”
Instantly the baby girl responds. The pulse rate becomes calm and steady.
Keep on singing, Michael. “You never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away… ” The ragged, strained breathing becomes as smooth as a kitten’s purr.
Keep on singing, Michael. “The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms…” Michael’s little sister relaxes as rest, healing rest, seems to sweep over her.
Keep on singing, Michael. Tears conquer the face of the bossy head nurse. Karen glows. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. Please don’t, take my sunshine away.”
Funeral plans are scrapped.