My parents moved to Vermont when I was still a baby. A soft-spoken man, my father settled quietly into his medical practice. Soon the local people accepted him as one of their own. Around town the neighbors greeted my father as “Doc Eppley”. And I would always be known as “Doctor Eppley’s son”. “If you’re anything like your father, you’ll be a smart boy,” my first-grade teacher said. I couldn’t stop beaming.

Initially, I was never tired of letting others know that my father was one of the town’s most respected people. Somewhere in my teenage years, however, something changed. I was sixteen years old and I grew impatient whenever I heard my neighbors still calling me “Doctor Eppley’s son”. My father’s name now seemed like an ugly shadow that followed me wherever I went. And so when strangers asked me if I was Doctor Eppley’s son, I would reply loudly, “My name is Harold.” As an act of rebellion (叛逆), I began to call my father by his first name, Sam. “Why are you acting so rude lately?” my father questioned me one day. “Well, Sam,” I replied, “I suppose that bothers you. You know it hurts me when you call me Sam,” my father shouted.” Well, it hurts me when everybody expects me to be just like you. I want to be myself. Let me take it out for a drive, “I said, pointing to my father’s new car. My father agreed, but not without his usual warning,” Be careful. Keys are in the kitchen. “I glared at him,” Sam, I’m sick of being treated like a child. I’m in college now. “I jumped into the car and headed down the road, enjoying the beauty of the countryside. My mind was wandering when I hit the car right in front of mine before I knew it. The woman in the car jumped out screaming: “You idiot! What were you looking at?” I surveyed the damage. Both cars had suffered serious dents (凹痕).

I sat there like a guilty child as the woman continued swearing.

An hour later, I drove my father’s broken new car back home.

Karen, Judy and I were the last ones back in the classroom after lunch. Our classmates were playing outside.

“Look at what I found in Ms. Lee’s office.” Karen held up a small box filled with pieces of chalk in every color of the rainbow.

“Wow! What fun it would be to write on the chalkboard while everyone is outside,” Judy’s eyes shone with joy. “But Ms. Lee doesn’t let us do so,” I responded, already feeling guilty, although we had not yet done anything. “Don’t be a chicken, Janet. No one will ever know,” said Karen, reaching into the box and drawing out some chalk. Judy also began drawing.

I unwillingly joined my friends in the artwork, afraid of being caught. However, I found it was very funny. Then something struck Judy. She said excitedly, “We’re all right-handed. Let’s see who can write their name best using their left hand.”

Picking up their chalk, Judy and Karen started. I chose a white piece from the box and began to write. The handwriting was a bit shaky, but no one would doubt that it said “Janet”.

“We’d better get this board cleaned off now,” said Judy, eyeing the clock. She picked up an eraser and began erasing our handwork from the board. Everything came off... but my name! In disbelief, I looked at the chalk I held in my sweaty hand. On closer examination, I found that it wasn’t chalk at all, but a piece of white crayon (蜡笔). I was sweating and my knees felt weak. My mother had a saying: “Fools’ names and faces always appear in public places.” I never understood fully what it meant before. Now I did! I was a fool, and there was my name in crayon to prove it. And the teacher would be returning soon.

“Quick! Let’s get some wet cloth,” said Judy, springing into action.

Ms. Lee never asked about the abrasion (磨损处) and maybe never noticed it.

Shrieking Toad (尖叫的蛤蟆) and Dancing Ant

Kids got nicknames at a summer camp, and mine is Shrieking Toad. I guess it was my fault that I couldn’t get a cool one.

A bunch of us campers were on our first nature walk. When we broke for lunch, we sat down on logs. I was on my third handful of trail mix (混合干果) when a tree frog dropped onto my shirt from the branches above. I shrieked. It was totally unconscious and I didn’t even know I could make a sound like that. Most kids forgot about it except Stan. Whenever I walked by, he’d shout, “Shrieking Toad, show us how you can hop (跳)!” I corrected him that it had been an eastern gray tree frog, not a toad, but that just made things worse.

Three days later, Counselor Matt announced we would be paired for a treasure hunt. Excited whispers spread through the camp. But when he read “Jay and Stan” as a team, my nerves got completely fried. Stan shouted, “Great! Shrieking Toad!” Then he called to the group, and I went red at what came out of his mouth. “Guys, if mosquitoes are bothering you, ask Shrieking Toad to eat them. Toads love bugs (虫子)!” Kids roared with laughter.

After all the teams wandered off, Stan and I were alone. Then I had a great idea, surprising myself that I hadn’t thought of it earlier. I suggested we split up so as to have a better chance of finding treasures. ”Yeah, I’d better do what I’m toad (told),“ Stan laughed and set off.

Ten minutes later, I heard something that reminded me of myself a few days ago. I ran toward the sound. I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. Stan was jumping around near a mud pool like a monkey, shrieking and yelling something that sounded like ”Dance! Dance!“ Seeing him scratching (抓挠) at his body and hitting at his clothes made me realize what he was really saying: ”Ants! Ants!“

I rushed towards Stan and tried to help him. I dragged him into the nearby mud pool. He was surprised at first, but then he realized why I was doing it. The sting was going away and so were the ants. Both covered in mud, we decided to head back. Obviously, Stan felt embarrassed and ashamed. ”I guess you’re going to have a good story for everyone,“ he said quietly. ”You’ll probably be known as Dancing Ant,“ joked I.

That night, we all routinely sat around the campfire and I saw Stan’s worry as clear as daylight.