You Can't Judge a William by..
You Can"t Judge a William by Its Cover
My preschoolers arrived for the first day of school. Six bouncing, bubbling four-year-olds parading a wardrobe of new, primary-colored clothing. Each head of hair was neatly combed or secured with a fancy bow. Number seven arrived a bit late and came with his own personal style. His name was William.
A thin, gray T-shirt stretched across his chest. It looked washed but never bleached, dried but never folded. The faded words from a faraway theme park emblazoned the front, positioned neatly between the stains of what appeared to be a red drink and mustard. William wore the shirt proudly, like a soldier displaying his stripes. His jeans, worn and discolored at the knees, showed the personality of an industrious little boy. Batman beamed heroically below the Velcro fasteners of his mud-caked shoes.
The children continued to sheepishly enter while William carelessly checked out the art center. Two little girls came through the door with hooded topcoats, while a dark-haired boy carried a new corduroy jacket. Only a thin red parka, unzipped and untied, warmed William.
Weeks passed and William continued to appear each morning amidst scrubbed faces and everybody else"s mommy. He came and went escorted by an anonymous day-care person in a schoolhouse-marked van.
I longed to sneak a brush across his ruffled blond hair or even straighten the half-on, half-off jacket he refused to remove. I daydreamed of escaping for an hour with his shirt, dousing it quickly in water and bleach, then returning it to him, still warm from the dryer. Worst of all, I imagined William"s parents, uncaring, uninvolved, never attending to their son"s needs. I wished for him a day that was special with a shirt that still had creases from the plastic bag or a pair of shoes that squeaked new rubber across the linoleum. I wondered for what William"s parents wished.
One day I met William and his mom and dad at the neighborhood market. He sat comfortably in the shopping cart, positioned between the frozen waffles and the gallon of milk.
"There"s Miss Mary!" he proudly announced and marveled that his teacher bought groceries at a store. I exchanged handshakes with William"s parents and our conversation began. Suddenly, I saw much more than what William had been wearing. I saw the love in his family.
William"s mom spoke a quiet hello, adjusting her uniformed blouse as her son continued to resound my name. Shuffling her coupons, she seemed to struggle for conversation. Occasionally, she reached to straighten the scraggly locks of William"s hair or brush away the crumbs of his afternoon snack.
I discovered that William"s dad worked as a maintenance man for a nearby industrial shop. His days were long, tiring and often unpredictable. He told me how he"d never finished school but was "real glad" William was getting to learn a lot. Dad had arranged to take the next Friday off, one of his three vacation days, to come sit in the classroom and see, as he put it, "how my son is doing." When his boss told him that might not be possible, he proudly "stood tall and insisted it was important, real important." He looked sad when he said his wife wouldn"t be able to come with him.
"Her boss won"t let her. She wanted to, but there"s no one to take her shift - and besides, there"s been lots of layoffs, we couldn"t take a chance."
"My mom got off early today!" William said. I rejoiced in his pleasure, sensing it was a luxury seldom enjoyed by the tired woman standing before me.
On Friday, William"s dad came as promised. He towered over the four-year-olds when he sat in the tiny chair and colored diligently with the markers. He smiled as he surveyed the room. Then his face became serious and he turned toward me and asked, "Miss Mary, is William listening to you?" I assured him of William"s attentiveness.
"Is he being polite and saying "yes, ma"am" and "no, ma"am"? Because that"s real important to me and his mom."
With a weathered hand on his son"s shoulder, William"s dad continued to speak of a love stronger than the weave of any cloth.
"We want him to learn a bunch of things, but most importantly that"s why we"re sending him to this school. We want him to grow up and do what"s right "cause that"s the right thing to do. We want him to be fair to everyone and not just look at what somebody has or the color of his skin."
I stood there, embarrassed with my own prejudice. For months, I had judged this family by their son"s appearance. Before me stood a plain and simple father who didn"t need a woolen jacket with an embroidered logo or new denim jeans to show how he cared for his child. He had chosen for his son something not found in a store or reached from a shelf. He had chosen goodness and kindness and respect. He had given him the gift of love and today, the gift of time.
A few days after the visit, William came to me on the playground. Oddly, I didn"t notice his shirt or even if his hair was combed. It was a bit chilly, but he ran across the schoolyard as if it was a summer day, arms outstretched, catching each lift of the breeze. His radiant smile spread wide across his face.
"You know, Miss Mary," he said half out of breath. "My daddy and mommy love me a whole bunch!"
"I know, William, I know. I see that love every day when I look into your handsome face." I hugged him and off he ran into the wind.
(實習編輯：夏根建)