Children were enthusiastically rehearsing and decorating the rural school for their approaching concert. As I glanced up from my teacher's desk, Patty stood waiting to lodge her urgent request.

“Every year I-g-g-g-get to do quiet stuff. The other kids are always in a-p-p-p-play or something. Talking. This year, I w-w-want to do a p-p-p-poem, myself!”





As I looked into those eager eyes, all possible excuses fizzled. Patty's yearning drew from me a promise that she would have a “reciting” part. That promise proved to be very difficult to keep.



None of my resource books had any useful selections. In desperation, I stayed up most of the night writing a poem, carefully avoiding those letters that trick the tongue. It was not great literature, but it was customtailored to cope with Patty's speech problem.

Day after day, Patty and I plodded through recitals. She carefully matched her timing to my silent mouthing. She accepted the drudgery, eagerly anticipating her first speaking part.

Concert night found the children in a frenzy of excitement.

In a dither the master of ceremonies came to me, waving his printed program. “There has been a mistake! You have listed Patty for a recitation. That girl can't even say her own name without stuttering.” Because there was not time enough for explanations, I brushed his objection aside with, “We know what we are doing.”

The entertainment was moving well. As item after item was presented, parents and friends responded with encouraging applause.

When it was time for the questionable recitation, the MC again challenged me, insisting that Patty would embarrass everyone. Losing patience, I snapped, “Patty will do her part. You do yours. Just introduce her number.”

The curtain parted to show Patty, radiant, confident.

Those hours of rehearsing took possession of the moment. In perfect control, the little charmer synchronized her words to my silent mouthing below the footlights. She uttered each syllable with controlled clarity, and without a splutter or stammer. With eyes sparkling, she made her triumphant bow.

The curtain closed. A hushed silence held the audience. Gradually the stillness gave way to suppressed chuckles, and then to enthusiastic applause.

Utterly thrilled, I floated backstage. My little heroine threw her arms around me and, bubbling with joy, blurted out, “we d-d-d-did it!”

在这间乡村小学，为了即将来临的文艺晚会，孩子们正热火朝天地彩排、布置着。我坐在办公桌前，抬头看见帕蒂站在我跟前，正等着向我提出她迫切的请求。

“每年我的演……演……演出都没有台词。其他的孩子却总能够演戏……戏……戏剧什么的。可以说话。今年，我要……要……自己朗诵一首诗……诗……诗。”

我注视着那双渴望的眼睛，所有的托辞都到九霄云外去了。面对帕蒂的渴望，我承诺给她一个诗歌朗诵节目。诺言许出去了，实现起来却是困难重重。

翻遍手头所有的资料，没有找到任何合适的选文。绝望之下，我当晚熬了大半夜，写了一首诗，尽力避开那些拗口的音。算不上什么佳作，但却是为应付帕蒂口吃的毛病量身定做的。

一天又一天，帕蒂和我不厌其烦地朗诵一遍又一遍。她一丝不苟地模仿着我的口形。为了将要来临的首次可以开口的演出，她任劳任怨。

晚会的当晚，孩子们个个欣喜若狂。

晚会主持人手里扬着节目单，气急败坏地找到我：“有没有搞错!你让帕蒂朗诵？这女孩儿连自己名字都说不利索呢。”没有时间跟他解释了，我一句话把他呛了回去：“我们自己心中有数!”

晚会进展顺利，一个一个节目表演着，到场的家长朋友们都报以鼓励的掌声。

要轮到帕蒂有争议的朗诵节目了，主持人再度向我抗议，连称帕蒂会让大伙儿难堪的。我失去了耐心，发火道：“帕蒂会做好自己的事儿，也请你做好自己的本分，只管报幕就行了。”

帷幕拉开，帕蒂出来了，神采奕奕，充满自信。

那么长时间的辛苦排练此时发挥了作用。我坐在舞台脚灯下做着口形，可爱的小帕蒂跟着我的速度朗诵，配合得天衣无缝。每一个音节的衔接她都尽力做到清晰流畅，丝毫也没有吞音或结巴。最后，她以成功的姿态鞠躬谢幕，眼中欢乐流溢。

帷幕拉上了。观众席上鸦雀无声，渐渐地有了一些低抑的笑声，随之热烈的掌声响了起来。

我兴奋不已，连忙冲到后台。我的小英雄欢快地一把抱住我，脱口而出：“我们成……成……成功了!”