我和我的那些十岁的小伙伴们整个夏天都跟着弗雷德。他是一个古怪的老头,穿着带有一股樟脑丸气味的老式西装,奇怪的发式露出了因左耳缺失而留下的疤痕。我们嘲笑他、讥讽他,就像乳臭未干的小孩对待异己那样,却从未注意和理解他那饱经沧桑的脸上痛苦和屈辱的表情。令我震惊的是,之后有一天,当我坐在布罗克五金店旁边的一棵大橡树的粗枝上哭时,我听到弗雷德那粗哑的声音喊道:“别哭,孩子。生 My teenage friends and I all followed Fred all summer long. He is a weird old man in a vintage suit with a mothball smell, a strange hairstyle showing the scar left by the missing left ear. We laughed at him and ridiculed him, just as malformed children treat dissidents as they have never noticed and understood the expression of pain and humiliation on his vicissitudes. To my surprise, one day when I was crying on the thick branches of a large oak tree next to Brock’s Hardware Store, I heard Fred’s raucous voice shout: ”Do not cry, Children. Health