Xu Song - Treat Scars as Dimples

"Turning Scars into Dimples" \ An article written by Xu Song in his second year of high school. \ This article was inspired when Xu Song saw the title of Yu Qiuyu's article 'Turning Scars into Dimples' during his second year of high school. Combining it with his own personal experiences, he wrote it out of feeling. 'At that time, it was just out of personal interest, so I posted it on my personal homepage.'
【Main Text】
I stretched lazily and looked out at the gloomy sky. It was about to rain, and it was already near dusk.
I felt pretty good. Yes, I had moved house.
On the desk lay a book, and one chapter's title boldly read 'Turning Scars into Dimples.' Just as I was about to see what was behind this title, my father called me: Go find a scrap collector; we have a pile of useless old things at home.
I went downstairs and walked along a very ordinary street. All kinds of people, looked down upon by refined society as vulgar, were gathered together on this street: first five large food stalls, then a row of snack stalls, and further on a farmers' market. Sometimes these people were indeed coarse, for example, when their tricycle hit you, they wouldn't say sorry but just gave a strange smile; or when bargaining with them over goods, they might abruptly say, 'I won't sell it.'
Later, I gradually understood: the former is because they haven't yet learned the complicated manners of the city, so they can only offer an apologetic smile. But this smile meets the curled lips and arrogant eyes of city folk, so it immediately changes in meaning; the latter is easier to understand, because the price city people bargained to already surpassed what they could accept.
An old man slowly walked past me, holding a dog in one hand and a fitness ball in the other, his back stubbornly straight, with a humorous smile at the corner of his eye.
The meaning of this smile was quietly explained by this ordinary street.
I finally found the scrap collector here. The old man's hair was completely white; I rarely saw such pure whiteness. A sense of kindness radiated from his face. Behind him lazily followed a child, his grandson.
The sky grew darker, and some raindrops began to fall on our faces. The three of us walked on in silence, no longer speaking.
At home, the old man told the child to wait, then came upstairs with me. Upon entering, I noticed the old man's shoes were dirty, and I didn't want him to bring mud into my new home. He seemed to understand, took off his shoes, and came in barefoot."Although it was already the beginning of autumn and the weather had turned cool, my father asked him to sit for a while and went into the room to sort out the scrap items, leaving only me and him sitting alone in the living room. Suddenly, I remembered that I had a class in the evening, so I left the elderly man and went to the room to get dressed.

Then I prepared to leave. I felt I should put on my watch. Time for a middle school student, if not cherished, can easily slip away from one's fingertips.

By then the old man had finished with his things, paid, and was ready to leave. My father saw that it was raining heavily outside and asked him to rest for a while. He didn't refuse and casually chatted with my father.

His grandson's parents had died. The grandson was eight years old and hadn't started school yet. At this moment, they hadn't eaten.

Tolstoy said that happy families are all alike, but unhappy families are each unhappy in their own way. I think it's exactly the opposite. Wealthy families can create different environments, thus are diverse; unfortunate families are always similar because they are uniform.

While they were talking, I was looking for my watch. I was very reluctant to think this way, but the old man had taken my watch. There were two pieces of evidence: first, I remembered my watch was placed next to the chair where the old man sat; second, a glint of silver was showing from the old man's pants pocket, which I thought was the strap of my watch!

I don't despise poor people, but if they don't know how to respect themselves, there's no need for our pity. Besides, I didn't have time to wait. Thinking of this, I politely said, “Sir, please return my watch.”

I think this was the most tactful sentence I have ever spoken, minimizing the hurt to him as much as possible. I did it because I thought he might have only been confused for a moment, just taking it casually, and we didn't need to make a fuss.

The old man looked at me, silently sad. I thought he must have felt ashamed that his wrongdoing was exposed.

However, my father didn't understand my meaning and actually asked, “What are you talking about?” I calmly repeated it.

My father ordered me to be quiet and then asked me to get his bag, and I realized that there might be a subtle change in the situation.

I opened the bag and found my watch. It turned out that when my father went to work today, he saw that my watch had stopped, so he took it to the watch shop to replace the battery.

Why had I been so hasty in thinking the old man took the watch? I said I didn't despise them, but deep down I still didn't fully trust them. Yes, I measured the noble with the mind of a petty person.

Just as I was about to apologize, the old man smiled. This kind of humorous smile seemed strangely familiar.I don't know why he was laughing; the meaning behind this laugh was silently explained by his hand reaching into his pants pocket. He took out, not what I thought was a 'watch strap,' but just a stainless steel spoon!
I don't know how much my words hurt him. For a poor person, the greatest insult is to suggest that they use improper means to get out of poverty.
However, the hurt I caused him was transformed by him into a smile.
I haven't read the article 'Treating Scars as Dimples,' but I have already found the best explanation.
The rain got heavier, and the grandfather and grandson jogged along pushing the cart. A prematurely bright star rose in the sky, and the night quietly watched everything from behind the thick curtains, unwilling to come forward.