偷樹莓

Stealing? Well， yes—I guess we WERE stealing， if you want to get all 2)technical about it. But in our 13-year-old brains we were just using the raspberries as God intended them to be used.

The matter of ownership never occurred to us. We just knew that the Jordans had the best raspberries in the neighborhood， and that their bushes were always heavy with fruit. And suddenly that summer Friday night， a handful of freshly picked raspberries sounded good. Maybe TWO handfuls.

So we snuck into the Jordans’ backyard—which， come to think of it， should have been our first clue that we were doing something wrong: we “snuck.” Anytime sneaking is involved， it means you don’t want to get caught， which usually means you shouldn’t be doing it. But we snuck into their backyard and positioned ourselves carefully around the bushes and started harvesting their sweet， juicy berries.

Now， I’ve got to tell you， there isn’t anything that tastes better than vine-ripened raspberries， fresh off the bush. I probably shouldn’t admit it， but they seem to taste even better if there is a little3)subterfuge involved. And we were savoring every bite of 4)ill-gotten berry when all of a sudden the Jordans’ backyard lights 5)flicked on， and Mr. Jordan came 6)charging outside.

“What you boys doing out here?” he shouted as my friends scrambled off in all directions， uneaten raspberries flying 7)every which way.

He made a 8)valiant attempt to grab one or two as they dashed past him， but they were too quick for the older gentleman to catch， and within seconds the boys disappeared into the dark of the summer evening.

All except one. Uh， that would be me.

Speed was never my strength. I was tall. I was strong. But I wasn’t very fast. Fast was for the little quick guys. I was all about size and power， neither of which 9)comes into play when you’re trapped in a backyard， your lips red with juice from a neighbor’s precious raspberries.

So I stood there， 10)deer-in-the-headlights style， and quickly considered my options. I could run， but I knew perfectly well that even as old as Mr. Jordan was， he could probably 11)outrun me. I could lie， but I couldn’t come up with a believable story that would explain why I was in their backyard wearing a T-shirt 12)stained with fresh raspberry juice. Or I could just stand there and accept whatever punishment would surely 13)come my way from the Jordans and my parents.

To be honest， I didn’t like that last option， but I didn’t really have a choice. I took the 14)tongue-lashing that Mr. Jordan gave me as he 15)marched me down the block to my house， where my mother took over and 16)escalated the 17)harangue to new levels of 18)righteous scolding. My friends said they could hear every 19)colorful word she uttered from the darkness of our backyard， where they had gathered to celebrate their escape —and to observe my capture.

They teased me about it for days afterwards， while all I could do was complain about how unfair it was that I had to pay the full price for doing the exact same thing all of them had done without any noticeable consequences.

After about a week of this， I complained to my father about the inequity of the situation (and in case any of the boys are reading this: no， I didn’t 20)rat you out. I think the 21)statute of limitations on raspberry rustling had already 22)elapsed).

“I don’t think it’s unfair at all，” Dad said. “You took raspberries without asking， and you got exactly the punishment you deserved.”

“But what about the other guys?” I asked. “They didn’t get punished at all!”

“That’s not my concern， nor should it be yours，” Dad said. “You can’t control what happens to other people. You can only deal with what happens to you. You made a bad choice that night， and you were punished for it. To me， that is completely fair.”

Back then I thought Dad just didn’t 23)get it. But through the years I have come to realize that， as usual， he knew what he was talking about.

We didn’t come to earth with a guarantee that life would treat us fairly. And it doesn’t. That’s why we can’t 24)get bogged down comparing the various 25)vicissitudes of our lives with the lives of others. Like Dad said， that isn’t our concern.

The only thing we can actually deal with is what happens to us. How we choose to respond to what happens to us is truly the standard by which the quality of our lives will be measured. Whether or not we think it happens fairly.

偷？呃，是的——如果你要用法律術語來形容的話，那我想當時我們是在偷東西了。但是我們這些13歲小孩的腦子里想的是，我們只是在按上帝本來的旨意享用這些樹莓罷了。

我們壓根兒就沒想過所有權的問題。我們只知道喬丹一家種有附近最好的樹莓，他們家的樹莓灌木叢總是碩果累累。在那個夏天的一個星期五晚上，我們突然覺得去摘上一大把新鮮樹莓的主意不錯。或者是兩大把。

于是，我們潛入喬丹家的后院——現在回想起來，這應該就是我們做了錯事的第一條罪證：我們“潛入”。任何時候，如果用到“潛入”，就意味著你不想被逮住，這通常也意味著你不應該這么做。但是，我們還是潛入了他們家的后院，并在灌木叢四周謹慎地找好藏身之處，開始享用他們家那甜美而多汁的樹莓。

現在，我得告訴你，沒有任何味道能比從灌木上新摘下來那自然熟的樹莓的味道更好的了。我不得不承認，如果是用了“詭計”才得手的話，味道甚至會更好。當我們正在盡情享用偷來的樹莓時，喬丹家后院的燈突然間亮了，只見喬丹先生徑直沖了出來。

“你們這些男孩在這里干嗎？”他大喊道。我的朋友們隨即四處亂竄，地上到處散落著吃剩的樹莓。

男孩們從他身旁跑過時，他拼命想抓住一兩個，但他們跑得太快了，老先生實在追不上。幾秒鐘的功夫，男孩們就消失在仲夏的夜色中了。

全部都跑了，除了一個。嗯，那就是我。

速度從來不是我的優勢。我長得高大強壯，但是跑不快。……