English Original
At first glance, Ronny looked like every other kid in the first-grade classroom where I volunteered as the Reading Mom. Wind-blown hair, scuffed shoes, a little bit of dirt behind his ears, some kind of sandwich smear around his mouth.
On closer inspection, though, the layer of dirt on Ronny’s face, the crusty nose, and the packed grime under his fingernails told me he didn’t get dirty at school. He arrived that way. His clothes were ragged and mismatched, his sneakers had string for laces, and his backpack was no more than a plastic shopping bag.
Along with his outward appearance, Ronny stood apart from his classmates in other ways, too. He had a speech impediment, wasn’t reading or writing at grade-level, and had already been held back a year. His home life was a shambles with transient parents who uprooted him at their whim. He had yet to live a full year in any one place.
I quickly learned that beneath his grungy exterior, Ronny possessed a spark, a resilience I’d never seen in a child who faced such tremendous odds.
I worked with all the students one-on-one to improve their reading. Each day, Ronny’s head would twist around as I entered, his eyes imploring, “Pick me! Pick me!” Of course, I couldn’t pick him every day.
On his turn, I’d give a silent nod, and he’d fly out of his chair. He sat awfully close and opened the book as if unearthing a treasure. I watched his dirt-caked fingers move slowly under each letter as he struggled to sound out “Bud the Sub.” It sounded more like “Baw Daw Saw.”
Each word was both a challenge and a triumph. Regardless of the outcome, the biggest grin would spread across his face, and his eyes would overflow with pride. It broke my heart each time.
The year passed quickly. Ronny made some progress but hardly enough to reach grade level. He was the only one who didn’t know that.
A few weeks before school ended, I held an awards ceremony. It took me a while to figure out an award for Ronny. I finally decided on “Most Improved Reader.” I presented him with his certificate and a Little Golden Book that cost forty-nine cents.
Tears rolled down his cheeks, streaking the ever-present layer of dirt as he clutched the book to his chest. He never let go of it that day.
A few days later, I returned to visit. I saw Ronny on a bench near the playground, the book open in his lap, his lips moving as he read to himself.
His teacher appeared beside me. “He hasn’t put that book down since you gave it to him,” she said. “Did you know that’s the first book he’s ever actually owned?”
Fighting back tears, I approached Ronny. “Will you read me your book, Ronny?” I asked. He scooted over to make room for me.
For the next few minutes, he read to me with more expression, clarity, and ease than I’d ever thought possible. The pages were already dog-eared.
When he finished, Ronny closed his book, stroked the cover, and said with great satisfaction, “Good book.”
A quiet pride settled over us as we sat on that bench, Ronny’s hand now in mine. I at once wept and marveled. What a powerful contribution the author of that Little Golden Book had made.
At that moment, I knew I would get serious about my own writing career—to care enough to write a story that changes a child’s life.
I strive to be that author.
中文翻译
乍一看，罗尼看起来和我担任“阅读妈妈”志愿者的一年级教室里的其他孩子没什么两样。头发被风吹得乱糟糟的，鞋子磨损了，耳朵后面有点脏，嘴巴周围沾着三明治的污渍。
然而，仔细观察，罗尼脸上的污垢层、结痂的鼻子和指甲缝里嵌满的污垢告诉我，他不是在学校弄脏的。他来的时候就是这样。他的衣服破旧且不搭，运动鞋用绳子当鞋带，背包不过是一个塑料购物袋。
除了外表，罗尼在其他方面也与同学不同。他有语言障碍，阅读和写作水平不达标，而且已经留级一年。他的家庭生活一团糟，父母居无定所，随心所欲地让他搬家。他从未在任何一个地方住满一年。
但我很快发现，在他邋遢的外表下，罗尼拥有一种火花，一种我在面临如此巨大困境的孩子身上从未见过的韧性。
我以一对一的方式辅导所有学生提高阅读能力。每天我一进教室，罗尼就会扭过头来，眼睛恳求着：“选我！选我！”当然，我不能每天都选他。
轮到他时，我会默默点头，他就会飞快地离开座位。他坐得离我非常近，打开书的样子就像在发掘一件世界从未见过的宝藏。我看着他沾满污垢的手指在每个字母下缓慢移动，努力拼读“Bud the Sub”。由于语言障碍和对字母的困难，他读出来更像是“Baw Daw Saw”。
每个单词都是一次挑战和一次胜利的结合体。无论“ball”最终被读成“Bah-lah”还是“bow”，他脸上都会绽放出最灿烂的笑容，眼睛里闪烁着自豪的光芒。每一次都让我心碎。
一年很快过去了。罗尼取得了一些进步，但远未达到年级水平。不过，他是唯一不知道这一点的人。
学年结束前几周，我举办了一个颁奖典礼。我花了一些时间思考给罗尼颁什么奖。最终我决定颁给他“进步最大读者奖”。我向他颁发了证书和一本在杂货店结账处售价49美分的小金书。
当他将书紧紧抱在胸前飘回座位时，泪水顺着他的脸颊滚落，在那层似乎永远存在的污垢上划出痕迹。那天，他从未放开那本书。
几天后，我回学校探望。我看到罗尼在操场附近的长椅上，书摊开在膝上，嘴唇翕动，正自己读着书。
他的老师出现在我身边。“自从你给他那本书后，他就没放下过，”她说。“你知道吗，那是他真正拥有的第一本书？”
我强忍泪水，走近罗尼。“罗尼，你能给我读读你的书吗？”我问。他在长椅上挪了挪，给我腾出位置。
接下来的几分钟里，他为我朗读，其表现力、清晰度和流畅度超出了我的想象。书页已经卷角了，仿佛被读了几千遍。
读完后，罗尼合上书，用脏兮兮的手抚摸着封面，非常满意地说：“好书。”
当我们坐在那张长椅上，罗尼的手现在握在我手里时，一种安静的骄傲笼罩着我们。我既流泪又惊叹。那本小金书的作者做出了多么有力的贡献啊。
在那一刻，我知道我要认真对待自己的写作事业——用心去写一个能改变孩子生活的故事，用心去带来改变。
我努力成为那样的作者。