On a train to Smithville, a man happened to sit down next to a young man no more than 17 years old. Because the boy was tense, the man wondered what could be worrying him. Whatever it was, the boy’s tension was clear.

The boy kept staring out of the window, paying no attention to anyone else on the train. The man opened up a book and started reading. Now and then, he would look up and see the boy’s face pressed against the window. He sensed that the boy was fighting to keep from crying.

Finally, the boy asked the man, “Do you know what time it is? And do you know when we are to arrive at Smithville?” The man gave the boy the time. Then the boy told the man the whole story of his life. “Four years ago,” he said, “I did something bad hurting my dad, so bad that I had to run away from home. I couldn’t face my father. So I left without even saying goodbye to him. Since then, I have worked here and there. I never stayed very long in one place. I’ve been pretty lonely. Until finally, I decided that I want to go back to my father and apologized to him.”

The man went on to ask, “Does your father know you’re coming?” And the boy responded, “He knows I’m coming, but I don’t know if he will be there. I sent him a letter. I didn’t know if he would still want me back. I wasn’t sure if he would forgive me. So in my letter, I told him that if he wanted me to come home, he could put a sign on a tree which is a few hundred yards before the railroad station in Smithville. I told him that I would look for a yellow ribbon(丝带)on one of the branches of that tree as the train passes. If there is a yellow ribbon on the tree, then I’ll get off. If not, then I’ll just keep on riding to wherever this train goes.” The two of them were now waiting for Smithville.

Jonathan’s mother died when he was very young and his father brought him up. Both of them shared a very special relationship. Football was not just a game for Jonathan; it was a bond between him and his father. Every match, regardless of whether he played or not, his father would be there, a constant source of firm support.

Though his size prevented him from joining the main team, Jonathan’s determination burned brighter than ever. With each practice, he improved his skills, fueled by the belief that someday his perseverance would pay off. Despite the doubts cast upon him, he pushed forward, never allowing anything to make his passion disappear.

One day, as the sun cast long shadows on the field, the coach approached Jonathan with a telegram (电报) in hand. The weight of the message pressed heavily on the young man’s heart as he read the words that forever changed his world. He swallowed hard and his voice shook as he turned to the coach.

“My father... he died this morning,” Jonathan uttered, his voice filled with sorrow. His body trembled with the weight of his sadness, threatening to consume him. Tears flooded his eyes, rolling down his cheeks.

The coach, understanding Jonathan’s loss, enveloped him in a comforting embrace. The warmth of his arm around Jonathan’s shoulder provided a temporary comfort. Softly, the coach spoke words of relief and understanding, giving Jonathan the time and space he needed to process his overwhelming sorrow.

“Take the rest of the week off, son,” the coach said gently, his voice filled with sympathy. “And don’t even plan to come to the game on Saturday. Your well-being matters more than anything.”

On the day of the game, Jonathan’s college team was losing badly to the opponent team. The coach and the players had all lost hope when they saw Jonathan coming towards them. Jonathan ran up to the coach and begged him to allow him to play this match.

At first, the coach wouldn’t allow him to play.

After the match, the coach found Jonathan in the corner of the locker room.

“I hate you!” I shouted, as I ran up the stairs to my room. Throwing open my dresser drawers, I pulled out a clean T-shirt and jeans, threw them in my backpack and ran back down the steps. Mom and Dad stood there, looking like they were in shock.

“Where are you going?” Mom asked.

“Anywhere but here,” I shouted as I ran out the door. They weren’t fast enough to hold me, and I disappeared into the night. It was cold, but my hot temper(脾气) warmed me, and I didn’t feel it.

I hit the streets with my thumb(拇指) out. A free ride wasn’t safe, but I didn’t care. Deep down inside, I knew my parents loved me, but it wasn’t enough. I slept on a park bench the first night I took off. It was hard as a rock, and I was surprised to find that I wasn’t alone. Pecking through half-closed eyes, I could see other homeless people just like me, only they looked like they’d been there a long, long time.

By the end of the second day, I’d made my way to another city sixty-five miles away where I found a halfway house for runaways. I was tired, cold and hungry. By the time I got there, the kitchen was closed. All that was left on the table was a cold potato. I lifted it to my lips and bit into the skin. It was dry and stuck in my throat when I tried to eat it up. That night I slept on a small bed in a room with four other runaways. It wasn’t a whole lot better than the park.

Three days later, my dad showed up at the front door of the halfway house. I don’t know how he found out I was there, but part of me was glad he did, though I wouldn’t admit it out loud. After gathering my few things, we drove home in silence. I could see by the look on his face that he felt responsible for all my anger and sadness. I regretted shouting at my parents the night I ran away.