特殊的皮肤
（美国）詹森·费尔德斯
陈荣生 译
（图片欣赏——区怡摄/湛江）
我从小就没有父亲，基本上是母亲养大了我。我倒是有一位叔叔，他就像是我父亲一样。他名叫格雷格·黑格。格雷格叔叔让我懂得了一些与我有关的事情。
那是在1981年，是辛辛那提又一个阴冷严寒的冬季。
我叫詹森，那时才5岁。即使在今天，记忆依然非常清晰。我当时是站在辛辛那提的凯马特商场里，渴望地盯着那件我见到过的最美的东西，即赫菲公司的一辆深黑色“黑豹”BMX山地自行车。
镀铬的辐条，魔幻般的手把，“豹爪”式抓爪！一想到骑上这匹强壮的骏马，我的心就砰砰地跳了起来。
但随之而来的是恐惧——这辆车没有训练辅助轮。
我朋友盖茨比已经可以离开训练辅助轮骑行了。此前一周，他重重地摔了一跤，摔破了膝盖，胫骨血淋淋的，痛得他泪流满面。
这不是给我的！但是，一想到角落里疯狂的尖叫声，我就被吞噬了。一辆黑豹过圣诞节！它会是我的。
随着这个大日子的临近，恐惧让我不堪承受。我对一个月前向圣诞老人的强烈请求感到后悔了。我需要一种逃脱！对，得赶快给圣诞老人写信。请将我今年要的礼物改成乐高玩具。是的，就是乐高玩具。要玩得安全。
那年，格雷格叔叔从凤凰城飞回来过圣诞节。我想是母亲出卖了我。
“嘿，詹森，我听说你要乐高玩具，不要黑豹了？”
我不能表现出恐惧，不能在格雷格叔叔面前表现出来。“哦，我已经有一辆自行车了，格雷格叔叔。但我真的需要有多些乐高玩具。”想得还是够快的，我心想。
格雷格扬了扬眉头，笑着说：“嗯，希望圣诞老人能解决。”甩开他了，干得好，我自言自语地说。
圣诞节早上的情形是怎样的呢？我恨死我自己了。我真是个懦夫。盖茨比已经可以骑着车到处走，而我却仍然在“训练”中，一路爬行。
一如既往的早餐。一年中这一天的百利甜酒和咖啡。然后是礼物时间。是的，就在那里。乐高玩具，包装在一个盒子里。我对自己感到很失望，于是拖着沉重的步伐走上楼去。盖茨比很快就会打电话来叫我去骑行了。我头埋到枕头里，哭了起来。
“詹森，下来吧，”格雷格叔叔在楼下喊道。“我车库里需要帮手。”
我慢吞吞地从楼上走下来，哇，就在壁炉的前面，面对着楼梯，斜着停在那里的，是一辆黑漆闪闪发光的山地自行车——黑豹。
我惊讶得目瞪口呆，四周看了一遍。我看到哪里，看到的都是大大的喜气洋洋的笑脸，然后，我崩溃了。
“不！”我说，“我会摔倒的。我刮破皮肤的。我会浑身是血的。”
大家的脸都僵直了。我跑上楼去。我的枕头很温暖，但很快就湿透了。我哭得很厉害，肋骨都哭痛了。
这时，响起了敲门声。那是格雷格叔叔。“我可以进来吗？”他问。
“随你便，”我抽着鼻涕说。
“詹森，是时候该告诉你一个家族秘密了。”
我的好奇心被触发了。我转过身来，抬头看着格雷格。
“我们有一种东西，就是特殊的皮肤。你知道吗？”
我摇摇头说：“不知道。”
“我们家族有一种特殊的皮肤。我们受伤的时候，受到的损伤只有别人的一半，而且伤愈比别人的快两倍。”
这有可能吗？是个家族秘密？为什么以前没人告诉过我？
“詹森，你可能会摔倒。你摔倒时一定要记住，你有特殊的皮肤，不会痛得那么厉害。”
没多久，格雷格叔叔就在看着我骑在那辆黑豹上面走8字了。我摔倒过吗？当然。
但痛得不是很厉害。
我们并非天生就是勇敢的。勇气是学来的。恐惧是一个说谎者。担心是一种浪费。
要我说，所有的小孩子都有特殊的皮肤。我有，你也有。
原文：
Special Skin
August 7, 2018
by Jason Fields
I didn’t have a dad growing up. Mom raised me, for the most part. I did have an uncle who was like my father. His name is Greg Hague. Uncle Greg taught me something special about me.
It was 1981, another bleak, freezing Cincinnati winter.
My name is Jason. I was five at the time. The memory is vivid, even today. Standing in the Cincinnati Kmart. Longingly gazing at the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, a jet black Huffy “Panther” BMX bicycle.
Chrome spokes, trick handlebars, and “panther claw” grips! My heart pounded at the thought of riding this powerful steed.
But then came the fear — no training wheels.
My friend Gatsby was already riding without 'em. He’d taken a nasty spill the week before. Scraped knee. Bloody shin. Tears.
Not for me! But the thought of furiously screaming around corners consumed me. A Panther for Christmas! It would be mine.
As the big day approached, fear overwhelmed. I regretted my passionate plea to Santa just a month before. I needed an escape! Quick, write Santa. Change my order to Legos this year. Yep, Legos. Safe play.
Uncle Greg flew back from Phoenix for Christmas that year. I think Mom ratted me out.
“So, Jason, I hear you want Legos instead of the Panther?”
I couldn’t show fear, not with Uncle Greg. “Oh, I already have a bike, Uncle Greg. But I really need more Legos.” Quick thinking, I thought.
Greg raised an eyebrow, smiled, and said, “Well, I hope Santa comes through.” Threw him off. Good job, I told myself.
Christmas morning. The truth? I hated myself. Coward was me. Gatsby would be zipping around. I’d still be “in training,” creeping along.
Breakfast casserole. Baileys & coffee this one day of the year. Time for presents. Yep, there they were. Legos, wrapped in a box. Disappointed with myself, I trudged up the stairs. Soon, Gatsby would call, wanting to ride. My head in my pillow, I started to cry.
“Jason, come down here,” Uncle Greg yelled from below. “I need help in the barn.”
I slowly walked down the stairs, and there, in front of the fire, angled just so, leaning on its stand, black paint glistening — The Panther.
Dumbfounded, I looked around. Big, beaming smiles everywhere, and then I broke down.
“No!” I said, “I’ll crash. I’ll rip off my skin. I’ll be covered with blood.”
All faces went straight. I raced up the stairs. My pillow was warm and wet from before. I sobbed so hard my ribs ached.
Then, a knock at the door. It was Uncle Greg. “Can I come in?” he asked.
“I don’t care,” I sniffed.
“Jason, it’s time to tell you a family secret.”
I was intrigued. I turned and peeked up at Greg.
“We have something called special skin. Did you know?”
I shook my head, “No.”
“Our family has a special type of skin. When we’re injured, it only hurts half as bad. And, it heals twice as fast.”
Could this be? A family secret? Why hadn’t someone told me? “Jason, you will probably fall. When you do, remember, you have special skin. It won’t hurt that bad.”
Soon, Uncle Greg was watching me do figure eights on that Panther. Did I fall? Yes.
But it only hurt half as bad.
We aren’t born brave. Courage is learned. Fear is a liar. Worry is waste.
All kids have special skin. So do I. So do you.
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