by Aaron Polhamus

Being named a 1）Rhodes Scholar is perhaps the highest honor an American college student can receive. Which is why， as I began filling out my Rhodes application last year， I half wondered if I was crazy. I spent the better part of my early teens hanging out on the streets of 2）Bellingham， Washington， where it never seemed to stop raining. And I topped the year off by getting arrested for 3）vandalism. Technically， when I began filling out the Rhodes application， I had a criminal record. But like I said before， I only half believed I was crazy. Want to know why？ Stay with me…

My parents fought a lot， and the more they did the more trouble I got into at school. We were a 4）churchgoing family， but that didnt stop Mom and Dads marriage from 5）fraying. The only place I got the kind of attention I wanted was at school. But I got it by 6）mouthing off to teachers and joking around in class. I gravitated to a group of guys like me. Wed spend all day wandering the streets， scoring beer， and smoking cigarettes.

获得罗氏奖学金或许是美国大学生能够取得的最大殊荣。这就是为什么去年我在填写罗氏奖学金申请表之始，怀疑自己是否疯了。我青少年的大半时间都是在华盛顿贝灵翰姆的街头上度过的，这里常年下雨。毕业那年我因为故意破坏公物而被拘留。理论上讲，在填写罗氏奖学金申请时我是有案底的人。但是，就像我之前说的，我对自己是否疯了半信半疑。想知道为何吗？和我一起去看看吧……

我父母亲经常吵架，他们吵得越多，我在学校的表现就越差。我们家是信教的，但父母亲的婚姻还是照样矛盾不断。学校是我唯一能够得到自己想要的关注的地方。但是，我是通过和老师顶嘴以及在班上嬉闹玩耍而得到的。我渐渐地向一群跟我类似的人靠拢。我们会整天在街上游荡，赊酒豪饮，抽烟。

By eighth grade my crowd had graduated to vandalism. One night in May I 7）snuck out with a friend and used a red permanent marker to write the names of teachers I hated on the school gym walls. The next day I was called into the principals office. My mom was there. “Aaron Polhamus，” the officer said levelly， “Im placing you under arrest for 8）malicious mischief and vandalism.” Mom burst into tears. We stayed long enough to hear the principal say I was being expelled. Then we were walking out to the car.“Oh， Aaron，” Mom sobbed， “what am I going to do？” As we drove home， I stared out the window， feeling ashamed.

I was immediately grounded. Mom and Dad fought even more. I decided to lay low， mowing lawns for money and holing up in my room. For some reason—maybe the attention I got there， or the youth pastor？—I started attending youth group meetings at my parents church （they had long ago stopped battling me to go on Sundays）. The meetings didnt really turn me around. But I kept going.

That fall I enrolled in Options High School， a local alternative education program for at-risk youth in downtown Bellingham. On my first day， I saw five 9）squat portable buildings slick with Northwest rain. Students milled around， body piercings and gang colors. These are my kind of people， I thought， trying to convince myself that this was the life I wanted. My first class was science. The teacher was Robert LaRiviere. The dozen students before him were a 10）motley bunch.

But he acted like we were the most mature scholars he had ever taught. He smiled and cracked a few jokes， then immediately drew us into an intense discussion. “If theres one thing I want you to learn in this class，” he said， “its how to use your brains. Youre smart kids.” The class ended and I realized that I hadnt once thought about mouthing off. Every day I rode the bus to Options， 11）hunched in my seat. One morning I happened to look out the window. As usual， it was raining. I looked closer. How come Id never noticed how pretty the world was in the rain？ Drops streaked across the window. I took my headphones off and heard a whole different kind of music； the soft patter of rain on the roof， the sigh of brakes， murmuring conversations， laughter…The world is a fascinating place. Mr. LaRiviere sure was right about that. But was he right about me being a smart kid？ What else had I been closing myself off from？ I thought about Mom sobbing the day of my arrest， Dad storming around. Had I ever tried to get to know them beyond that？ Was my main goal in life really to get attention and get high？ Usually， whenever the youth group prayed， I 12）zoned out. That morning I looked out at the rain coming down and tried an awkward prayer of my own： God， if you really exist， help me figure out who I am. Who was I？ At first the answers were painful—I was a kid on the wrong path， digging myself deeper and deeper.

The following fall， by eleventh grade I was attending Bellingham High part-time while simultaneously completing an associates degree at a community college. After graduation I enrolled at Western Washington University in Bellingham. One evening， coming home from class， I found Dad sitting by himself. Dad and I smalltalked for a minute. “Aaron，” he said， “Your transformation these past couple years—well， it seems like a miracle to me. But I know its your hard work. And I want you to know that Im really proud of you.” For a minute those words hung in the air between us. And then it was like they pushed open a door. We talked for hours， saying all the things we had kept back.

After two years at Western Washington， I transferred to Stanford University in California. It was there that I heard about the Rhodes scholarship. At first I assumed something so prestigious was out of my reach. But then a passage from the application caught my eye：“Proven intellectual and academic achievement is the first quality required of applicants， but they will also be required to show integrity of character and interest in and respect for their fellow beings.” Integrity. Interest. Respect. Did that include improbable comebacks？

A few months later I sat before an interview panel of former Rhodes scholars. “Were fascinated by your background，” they said. “But were wondering， do you ever feel like youre fooling everyone and youre still that kid from Options？” I took a deep breath and told them the truth. “Actually， ever since I left Options， Ive felt like I had to prove myself. But just being here taking questions from you is a huge affirmation. I can honestly say I know who I am. And Ill know it no matter what happens with this scholarship.” I guess that was the right answer. This fall Im studying at Worcester College， Oxford， one of the most beautiful and historic places to learn in the world. Of course， it rains a lot over here too. But by now， you know， I dont mind that at all.

八年级时，我们一群人都渐渐开始故意破坏公物。五月的一个晚上，我和一个朋友一起溜出去，用红色的马克笔把自己讨厌的老师的名字写在学校体育馆的墙上。第二天，我被叫到校长的办公室。我母亲也在那儿。“亚伦·博汉姆斯，”警官冷静地说道，“我要以恶意行为和毁坏公物的罪名逮捕你。”母亲哭了起来。我们一直待着，最终校长决定说要开除我。然后我们走向车子，准备离开。“噢，亚伦，”母亲啜泣着说，“我该怎么办？”在驱车回家的路上，我盯着窗外看，感觉很羞愧。

我马上就被禁足了。父亲和母亲的争吵愈加厉害。我决定保持低调，给别人割草坪赚点钱，并且几乎不出门。出于一些原因——也许是我在那儿得到的关注、或是那位年轻的牧师——我开始参加父母亲教堂的青少年小组会议（他们在很久之前就放弃了让我每周日去参加）。会议并没有真正地改变我。但我还是一直会去教堂。

那年秋天，我报读了“选择中学”，当地一个选择性教育项目，主要针对贝灵翰姆的问题青少年。开学第一天，我看见五座矮小的活动板房，湿漉漉挂着西北的雨水。学生们到处晃悠，戴着身体穿刺装饰的、带有帮派色彩的学生尽收眼底。这些才是我喜欢的人，我以为，所以尝试说服自己这就是我想要的生活。我的第一节课是自然科学。老师是罗伯特·利维耶尔。他面前的十二个学生是混杂的一群人。

但是他待我们如对待成熟学者一般。他微笑，时不时讲一两个笑话，随即将我们引入激烈的讨论中。“我想要你们学习的一件事，”他说道，“就是怎么动脑子。你们都是聪明的孩子。”这节课结束的时候，我意识到自己没有一次想要顶嘴。我每天乘坐公交车去选择中学，团身缩坐在座位上。一天早上，我碰巧往窗外看了看。像往常一样，天下着雨。我凑近窗户前看。为什么我从未发现雨中的世界是这般美好？雨滴在窗玻璃上滑落下来。我把耳机摘下，听见一种截然不同的音乐；屋顶上雨滴轻快的淅沥声、刹车声、喃喃的对话声和笑声。这是多么迷人的世界。利维耶尔先生说得对。但是他说我是聪明的孩子，这也是对的吗？我还有什么方面是在给自己设限的呢？我想起我被捕那天，母亲哭了，父亲大发雷霆。除此之外，我有努力去了解他们吗？我生命的目标难道就是哗众取宠、抽大麻过瘾吗？通常，当青少年小组祈祷时，我会开小差。那天早上，我看着窗外的雨，我尝试以自己笨拙的方式祈祷：上帝，如果你真的存在，请帮我认清楚自我。我到底是谁？最初的答案是残酷的——我是一个迷途的小孩，越陷越深。

在第二年秋天，十一年级时，我就在贝灵翰姆中学上一些业余的课程，同时也在一所社区大学获得了大专学位。毕业后，我入读贝灵翰姆的西华盛顿大学。有一天傍晚放学回家，我看见父亲独坐一隅。我和父亲闲谈了片刻。“亚伦，”他说道，“这几年你的进步——嗯，对我来说就像是奇迹。但是我知道这是你自己的努力。我想让你知道我很为你感到骄傲。”好一会儿，那些话萦绕在我们之间的空气中，接着就像是打开了一扇门。我们交谈了几个小时之久，毫无保留地将自己未曾和对方诉说的事情一一道出。

在西华盛顿大学上了两年之后，我转到了加利福尼亚州的斯坦福大学。就是在那儿，我听说了罗氏奖学金。起初，我认为罗氏奖学金声望很高，并不在我力所能及的范围内。但是，申请表的一段文字吸引了我：“智力和学业方面的成绩是申请者必备的首要品质，同时，正直、关心和尊重同伴同样必不可少。”正直。关心。尊重。这是否包括浪子回头、迷途知返呢？

几个月后，我坐在前罗氏奖学金获得者组成的面试小组面前。“我们对你的背景很感兴趣，”他们说。“但是我们很好奇，你是否觉得自己欺骗了所有人，你仍旧是选择中学的那个自己？”我深呼吸一口气，然后告诉他们真相。“实际上，自从我离开选择中学后，我觉得自己有必要证明自己。但是能够坐在这里接受你们的提问，这已经是对我莫大的肯定。我可以坦白地说，我知道自己是谁。无论我是否能够获得这个奖学金，以后我也将明白这一点。”我猜那是正确的答案。这年秋天，我在牛津大学的伍斯特学院学习，这里是世界上最美丽、最著名的校园之一。当然，这里也常下雨。不过，现在，你知道，我已丝毫不介意。