你给的爱，一如当初：英汉对照(txt+pdf+epub+mobi电子书下载)

作者：常青藤语言教学中心

出版社：安徽教育出版社

格式: AZW3, DOCX, EPUB, MOBI, PDF, TXT

你给的爱，一如当初：英汉对照试读：

爸爸忘记了

Father Forgets

佚名 / Anonymous

Listen, son: I am saying this as you lie asleep, one little paw crumpled under your cheek and blond curls stickily wet on your damp forehead. I have stolen into your room alone. Just a few minutes ago, as I sat reading my paper in the library, a hot, stifling wave of remorse swept over me. Guiltily I came to your bedside.

These are the things I was thinking, son: I had been cross to you. I scolded you as you were dressing for school because you gave your face merely a dab with a towel. I took you to task for not cleaning your shoes. I called out angrily when you threw some of your things on the floor.

At breakfast I found fault, too. You spilled things. You gulped down your food. You put your elbows on the table. You spread butter too thick on your bread. And as you started off to play and I made for my train, you turned and waved a hand and called, “Good-bye, Daddy!” and I frowned, and said in reply, “Hold your shoulders back!”

Then it began all over again in the late afternoon. As I came up the road I spied you, down on your knees, playing marbles. There were holes in your socks. I humiliated you before your friends by marching you ahead of me to the house. Socks were expensive, and if you had to buy them you would be more careful! Imagine that, son, from a father! It was such a stupid, silly logic.

Do you remember, later, when I was reading in the library, how you came in, timidly, with a sort of hurt, hunted look in your eyes? When I glanced up over my paper, impatient at the interruption, you hesitated at the door.

“What is it you want?” I snapped.

You said nothing, but ran across in one tempestuous plunge, and threw your arms around my neck and kissed me, and your small arms tightened with an affection that God had set blooming in your heart and which even neglect could not wither. And then you were gone, pattering up the stairs.

Well, son, it was shortly afterwards that my paper slipped from my hands and a terrible sickening fear came over me. When has habit been doing to me? The habit of complaining, finding fault, reprimanding—this was my reward to you for being a boy. It was not that I did not love you; it was that I expected too much of you. I was measuring you by the yardstick of my own years.

And there was so much that was good and fine and true in your character. The little heart of yours was as big as the dawn itself over the wide hills. This was shown by your spontaneous impulse to rush in and kiss me goodnight. Nothing else matters, tonight, son. I have come to your bedside in the darkness, and I have knelt here, choked with emotion and so ashamed!

It is a feeble atonement; I know you would not understand these things if I told them to you during your waking hours. But tomorrow I will be a real daddy. I will chum with you, suffer when you suffer, and laugh when you laugh. I will bite my tongue when impatient words come. I will keep saying as if it were a ritual, “He is nothing but a boy, a little boy!”

I am afraid I have visualized you as a man. Yet as I see you now, son, crumpled and weary in your bed, I see that you are still a little boy. Yesterday you were in your mother’s arms, your head on her shoulder. I have asked too much, too much!

Dear boy! Dear little son! A penitent kneels at your infant shrine, here in the moonlight. I kiss the little fingers, and the damp forehead, and the yellow curls, and, if it were not for waking for you, I would snatch you up and crush you to my breast.

Tears came and heartache and remorse and, I think, a greater, deeper love, when you ran through the library door and wanted to kiss me!

听着，我的儿子：这是在你熟睡时我对你说的一番话。你的一只小手弯曲着枕在小脸蛋儿下，温湿的金色鬈发贴在额前。我蹑手蹑脚地走进你的房间。之前，我在书房看报，突然，一阵懊悔袭上心头，令我窒息。我忍无可忍，满怀歉意地来到你的床前。

这是我的心里话，儿子：都是爸爸不好，总向你发脾气。当你穿衣准备上学时，只是因为你拿毛巾在脸上胡乱一擦了事，我便责骂了你；只因你没擦干净鞋子，我便训斥你；只因你把东西乱扔在地板上，我也会对你大吵大闹。

在你吃早饭时，我也总和你发脾气。你把食物洒得到处都是；你囫囵吞枣；你将胳膊肘放在桌上；你在面包上抹了太厚的黄油。我匆忙地要赶火车去上班，你也刚好吃完饭要跑出去玩，你转过身，挥手向我喊道：“爸爸，再见！”而我只是皱皱眉头对你说：“把胸挺起来！”

晚上，又上演了同样的事情。当我走上坡时，瞥见你蹲在那儿玩弹子，袜子都磨破了。于是我命令你跟我回家，使你在小伙伴面前很尴尬。我责备你说，袜子很贵的，如果是你自己赚钱买的，你就知道珍惜了。儿子，是不是很难想象，这话是出自一个父亲之口！多么愚蠢的逻辑啊！

还记得吗？后来，有一次我在书房看报，你是如何怯生生地走进去的？眼中充满了受伤害和受压制的胆怯表情。我抬起头来，因看报被你打扰而显得不耐烦，你则迟疑地站在门口。“你来干什么？”我厉声呵斥道。

你什么也没说，鼓足了勇气，跑向我，突然扑了过来。你用小胳膊搂住我的脖子，不断地亲吻我，一遍又一遍地。爱赋予你的小胳膊以无穷的力量，这爱是上帝对你的恩赐，是盛开在你心间的花朵，即使备受冷落也不会凋零。之后你转身，噔噔噔地跑上了楼。

哦，儿子，不一会儿，报纸从我的手上滑落，一种难以言状的恐惧侵袭着我。霎时间，我看清了自己，我的心有种说不出的痛。我什么时候养成了这些恶习？怨天尤人，吹毛求疵，谩骂连连——这就是我给你的“奖赏”，而你只不过是个孩子。我不是不爱你，只是对你期望太高。我是在用我这个年龄的标准去要求你。

你性格中有许多美好而真实的特质。儿子，我不该对你那样。你幼小的心灵犹如群山之上喷薄而出的曙光一样宽广。你情不自禁地跑来，亲吻我道晚安的事就足以证明了这一点。儿子，今晚，其他任何事情都不再重要，我在黑暗中走来，跪在你的床边，心潮起伏，悔恨不已！

我知道这是于事无补的，如果你醒着，你也不会理解我对你说的这些话。但是确实明天我要成为真正的爸爸，我要做你的好朋友，和你同欢喜，共患难。当无耐心的话溜至嘴边时，我要忍住不说。我要告诫自己：“他不过是个孩子—— 一个小男孩！”

我担心自己可能是把你当成大人了。可是，儿子，当我现在看到你柔弱地蜷缩在小床上时，我终于意识到了，你只不过是个孩子。昨天你还躺在妈妈的臂弯里，头靠着她的肩膀撒娇。我对你的要求太多了，简直苛刻！

亲爱的孩子！我可爱的宝贝儿子！月光下一个忏悔者跪在你面前，我亲吻着你的小手、你汗湿的额头和金色的鬈发。若不是怕惊醒你，我真想一把把你抱起，紧紧地贴近我的胸膛。

我痛心和悔恨的泪水顿时涌了出来。我知道，当你跑进我的书房亲吻我向我道晚安时，你心存至真、至纯且至深的爱！

词汇笔记

damp [dæmp] adj. 潮湿的

The damp wood began to warp.

这块潮湿的木材有些翘棱了。

remorse [ri'mɔ:s] n. 懊悔；悔恨；同情

He never seems to have been touched with the slightest remorse

for his crimes.

他似乎从来没有丝毫悔罪之意。

gulp [gʌlp] v. 吞；呛；抑制

He gulped his food.

他狼吞虎咽地吃东西。

yardstick ['jɑ:dstik] n. 码尺；标准；尺度；指标

She is a yardstick against which I can measure my achievements.

她是一个我可以用来衡量我的成就的准绳。

小试身手

听着，我的儿子：这是在你熟睡时我对你说的一番话。

霎那间，我看清了自己，我的心有种说不出的痛。

你性格中有许多美好而真实的特质。

短语家族

Nothing else matters.

nothing else：没什么别的东西

I would snatch you up and crush you to my breast.

snatch up： 夺取；抓起来；猛然抓住

爱在无语时

Words from a Father

佚名 / Anonymous

In the doorway of my home, I looked closely at the face of my 23-year-old son, Daniel, his backpack by his side. We were saying good-bye. In a few hours he would be flying to France. He would be staying there for at least a year to learn another language and experience life in a different country.

It was a transitional time in Daniel’s life, a passage, a step from college into the adult world. I wanted to leave him some words that would have some meaning, some significance beyond the moment.

But nothing came from my lips. No sound broke the stillness of my beachside home. Outside, I could hear the shrill cries of sea gulls as they circled the ever changing surf on Long Island. Inside, I stood frozen and quiet, looking into the searching eyes of my son.

What made it more difficult was that I knew this was not the first time I had let such a moment pass. When Daniel was five, I took him to the school-bus stop on his first day of kindergarten. I felt the tension in his hand holding mine as the bus turned the corner. I saw colour flush his cheeks as the bus pulled up. He looked at me—as he did now.

What is it going to be like, Dad? Can I do it? Will I be okay? And then he walked up the steps of the bus and disappeared inside. And the bus drove away. And I had said nothing.

A decade or so later, a similar scene played itself out. With his mother, I drove him to William and Mary College in Virginia. His first night, he went out with his new schoolmates, and when he met us the next morning, he was sick. He was coming down with mononucleosis, but we could not know that then. We thought he had a hangover.

In his room, Dan lay stretched out on his bed as I started to leave for the trip home. I tried to think of something to say to give him courage and confidence as he started this new phase of life. Again, words failed me. I mumbled something like, “Hope you feel better Dan.” And I left.

Now, as I stood before him, I thought of those lost opportunities. How many times have we all let such moments pass? A boy graduates from school, a daughter gets married. We go through the motions of the ceremony, but we don’t seek out our children and find a quiet moment to tell them what they have meant to us. Or what they might expect to face in the years ahead.

How fast the years had passed. Daniel was born in New Orleans, LA., in 1962, slow to walk and talk, and small of stature. He was the tiniest in his class, but he developed a warm, outgoing nature and was popular with his peers. He was coordinated and agile, and he became adept in sports.

Baseball gave him his earliest challenge. He was an outstanding pitcher in Little League, and eventually, as a senior in high school, made the varsity, winning half the team’s games with a record of five wins and two losses. At graduation, the coach named Daniel the team’s most valuable player.

His finest hour, though, came at a school science fair. He entered an exhibit showing how the circulatory system works. It was primitive and crude, especially compared to the fancy, computerized, blinking-light models entered by other students. My wife, Sara, felt embarrassed for him.

It turned out that the other kids had not done their own work—their parents had made their exhibits. As the judges went on their rounds, they found that these other kids couldn’t answer their questions. Daniel answered every one. When the judges awarded the Albert Einstein Plaque for the best exhibit, they gave it to him.

By the time Daniel left for college he stood six feet tall and weighed 170 pounds. He was muscular and in superb condition, but he never pitched another inning, having given up baseball for English literature. I was sorry that he would not develop his athletic talent, but proud that he had made such a mature decision.

One day I told Daniel that the great failing in my life had been that I didn’t take a year or two off to travel when I finished college. This is the best way, to my way of thinking, to broaden oneself and develop a larger perspective on life. Once I had married and begun working, I found that the dream of living in another culture had vanished.

Daniel thought about this. His friends said that he would be insane to put his career on hold. But he decided it wasn’t so crazy. After graduation, he worked as a waiter at college, a bike messenger and a house painter. With the money he earned, he had enough to go to Paris.

The night before he was to leave, I tossed in bed. I was trying to figure out something to say. Nothing came to mind. Maybe, I thought, it wasn’t necessary to say anything.

What does it matter in the course of a life-time if a father never tells a son what he really thinks of him? But as I stood before Daniel, I knew that it does matter. My father and I loved each other. Yet, I always regretted never hearing him put his feelings into words and never having the memory of that moment. Now, I could feel my palms sweat and my throat tighten. Why is it so hard to tell a son something from the heart? My mouth turned dry, and I knew I would be able to get out only a few words clearly.

“Daniel,” I said, “if I could have picked, I would have picked you.” That’s all I could say. I wasn’t sure he understood what I meant. Then he came toward me and threw his arms around me. For a moment, the world and all its people vanished, and there was just Daniel and me in our home by the sea. He was saying something, but my eyes misted over, and I couldn’t understand what he was saying. All I was aware of was the stubble on his chin as his face pressed against mine. And then, the moment ended. I went to work, and Daniel left a few hours later with his girlfriend.

That was seven weeks ago, and I think about him when I walk along the beach on weekends. Thousands of miles away, somewhere out past the ocean waves breaking on the deserted shore, he might be scurrying across Boulevard Saint Germain, strolling through a musty hallway of the Louvre, bending an elbow in a Left Bank caf e. What I had said to Daniel was clumsy and trite. It was nothing. And yet, it was everything.

在家门口，我目不转睛地看着23岁的儿子丹尼尔的脸，他把背包放在身旁。我们正在道别，几个小时后他将飞往法国，在那里生活一年。他要学习另一种语言——法语，并将在一个陌生的国度，体验一种全新的生活。

对丹尼尔来说，这是一个过渡时期，也是他走出象牙塔，迈入成人社会的第一步。我希望赠给他几句话，几句能让他受益终生的话。

但最终我还是一句没说出口。我们的房子位于海边，此刻屋内一片寂静。屋外，海鸥盘旋在波涛汹涌的长岛海域上空，不停地尖叫着。我就这样呆呆地站着，默默地注视着儿子那双充满渴盼的双眸。

令我困窘的是，我已不是第一次让宝贵的时间这样白白地从我身边溜走了。丹尼尔5岁时，幼儿园开学的第一天，我带他来到校车站点。当校车出现在拐弯处时，他的小手把我紧紧地攥住，我明显地感觉到了他的不安。校车到站那一刻，丹尼尔满脸通红，望着我——就像现在这样。

以后会怎样呢，爸爸？我能行吗？我会令您满意吗？他边上车边说着，很快脱离了我的视线。车开走了，我却始终一句话也没能说出口。

10余年后，类似的场景又一次重现。我和妻子开车送丹尼尔去弗吉尼亚的威廉玛丽学院上学。到学校的第一个晚上，丹尼尔就和他的新同学一起外出了，次日早晨我们再见他时，他病了。其实当时他体内的白血球已经在开始增多，而我们却并不知晓。以为他只是酒喝多了。

当我准备启程回家时，丹尼尔正躺在宿舍的床上。我很想对他说些鼓励的话，激发他面对新生活的勇气和信心，但我再一次语塞，只是嘀咕了一句“愿你早日康复，丹尼尔”就转身走了。

此刻，我站在丹尼尔面前，回想起那些被错过的时刻。感叹我们曾让多少宝贵的时光白白流逝啊！从儿子的毕业典礼到女儿的婚礼，太多太多了。我们参加了那些重要的仪式，但却从未将孩子从人群中找出来，拉到安静的角落，亲口对他们说，他们对于我们来说有多么重要，也从未与他们探讨过未来的道路。

时间过得真快啊！1962年，小丹尼尔出生在洛杉矶的新奥尔良。与同龄的其他孩子相比，他学走路和说话都很晚，个头也不高。尽管他是班级里最瘦小的，但是他性格外向，热情开朗，很受欢迎。由于他动作协调性好且身手敏捷，不久便成了运动健将。

棒球运动是丹尼尔一生面对的最早的一项挑战。他是少儿棒球队一名出色的投手。上高三时，他就率队南征北战，所向披靡，曾创下了七局五胜的纪录。在毕业典礼上，棒球队教练授予他“最有价值的球员”称号。

一次校园举办科技展览会，那算是丹尼尔最辉煌的时刻了。他带着他的循环电路系统参加了那次展览。其他同学的参展作品非常新奇，大多是些由电脑操控的、熠熠发光的模型，与他们相比，丹尼尔的作品真是相形见绌，就连我的妻子莎拉都替儿子感到尴尬。

我们后来才知道，其他孩子的作品都是父母代做，而并非他们亲手完成的。现场评委们评审时发现，那些孩子对自己的参展作品一问三不知，只有丹尼尔能对答如流。于是，他们把“最佳作品”这一奖项颁给了丹尼尔，并授予他“阿尔伯特·爱因斯坦”奖牌。

丹尼尔刚入大学时已身高6英尺，体重170磅，俨然一个男子汉。放弃棒球选择英国文学后，身强体壮的丹尼尔就再也没接触过棒球。他放弃自己的体育特长，我深感惋惜，同时也为他能慎重地作出这样的决定而骄傲。

一天，我告诉丹尼尔，我没能在大学毕业时抽出一两年时间去旅游，为此我一直感到遗憾。我认为旅游是开拓视野、练达人性的最佳途径。工作成家后，体验异域文化的这种梦想自然就会被抛至九霄云外。

丹尼尔若有所思。他的朋友曾对他说，为了旅游而荒废事业，是不明智之举。然而，他发誓他不会疯狂到荒废事业的地步。毕业后，他在大学餐厅里当服务生，骑单车送报纸，还做过油漆工。他用打工赚得的钱，凑够了去巴黎的路费。

丹尼尔离开的前一天晚上，我躺在床上翻来覆去难以入眠。我想理一下思路，想好明天该对他说的话，大脑却一片空白。也许根本就没必要说那些无聊的话，我安慰着自己。

一位父亲一生都没能告诉儿子自己对他的看法，那又怎样？可是，当我面对丹尼尔时，我却感觉将我对他的看法告知他是非常必要的。我和父亲彼此都深爱着对方，但我从未听过他的心里话，从没有一个感人的场面供我回忆。为此，我总是满腹遗憾。此时，我手心出汗，喉咙哽咽。难道对儿子说几句心里话就这么难吗？我口干舌燥，想必我顶多只能清晰地吐出几个字。“丹尼尔，”我终于开口说话了，“如果上帝再给我一次选择儿子的机会，我仍会选择你。”千言万语都化做了这一句话。我不知道他是否理解了我的意思，但他扑过来将我抱住了。那一刻，世间一切都不复存在，只有我和丹尼尔站在海边我们家的小屋里。丹尼尔嘴里也说着什么，然而泪水模糊了我的双眼，他说的话我一个字也没听进去。只是当他的脸凑到我面前时，我感觉到了他下巴上的胡子楂儿。而后，一切又恢复正常。我继续我的工作，几小时后丹尼尔带着女朋友离开了。

转眼七周过去了，每每周末在海边散步，我都会想起丹尼尔。在这茫茫的大海对岸，几百英里以外的某个角落的丹尼尔，此刻也许正飞奔穿越圣热蒙大道，或者徘徊于卢浮宫内散发着霉味的走廊上，抑或是正托着腮坐在左岸咖啡馆里小憩。我对丹尼尔所说的那句话，虽晦涩又老套，似乎空洞无文，然而道出了我内心的一切真实感受。

心灵小语

亲爱的儿子，这里有一个爸爸对你最深沉最真切的爱！

词汇笔记

hangover ['hæŋ͵əuvə] n. 残留物；遗物；宿醉

Oh, I can not do my work with this hangover.

啊，因为宿醉，工作做不下去。

adept ['ædept͵ə'dept] adj. 熟练的；老练的

Helen is adept in music and her husband is adept in drawing.

海伦精通音乐，而她的丈夫擅长绘画。

embarrass [im'bærəst] v. 使……困窘；使……局促不安；阻碍

She appears to be very embarrassed.

她显得很不好意思的样子。

superb [sju:'pə:b] adj. 极好的

Thompson turned in a superb performance to win the decathlon.

汤普森在十项全能比赛中表现十分出色。

小试身手

我希望赠给他几句话，几句能让他受益终生的话。

校车到站那一刻，丹尼尔满脸通红，望着我——就像现在这样。

然而，他发誓他不会疯狂到荒废事业的地步。

短语家族

As the judges went on their rounds...

go on： 继续；进行；发生

I didn’t take a year or two off to travel.

take off：起飞；脱下；动身；匆匆离开

瞧这父子俩

The Father and the Son

佚名 / Anonymous

I listened to them while I ate my breakfast, a young boy and a man, apparently father and son, on the other side of the wall in the smoking section of the restaurant. The boy’s voice seemed small and quiet, in that awkward range between childhood and puberty. The man’s voice boomed abnormally loud in contrast.

The man had done nothing during all that time but denigrate his son, belittling him for wanting to lift weights, for wanting to read his father’s newspaper, for every thing he did and said. “Jerk,” I thought, then was overwhelmed by a wash of pity for the boy, always seeking and never winning his father’s approval. Couldn’t this man see what he was doing to his son?

“I think I can do it,” the boy mumbled in that dull, beaten— down tone. I could visualize him, looking down at the table, maybe blushing. His father laughed, cruelly it seemed to me. It was a laugh that told me that he had no confidence in his son’s abilities as clearly as any words could have.

“You ain’t smart enough,” he told the boy disparagingly, and there was another peal of mocking laughter.

I wondered then what kind of life that boy would have. He must already have suffered enough disapproval for a lifetime. With so consistent a message that he was a failure, how could he ever be expected to succeed?

On an afternoon with nothing but sports on television, my mom and I had watched a documentary on one of the first students who’d shot up a high school, killing his parents beforehand. The documentary pointed out that he had consistently failed at everything he’d tried, but despite his shortcomings his parents had been unflaggingly supportive. He’d simply snapped when he lost his girlfriend, broken under the weight of his failures. In his own words, “I was tired of letting everyone down.”

If that kid, from a loving, nurturing family could go berserk, what should we expect from boys like the one in the next room, constantly belittled by his father?

The boy said something else in a low voice. I couldn’t distinguish the words, but his father began that cruel laughter again, saying, “You’ll never make it.”

It made me angry, and I felt a fresh wave of some other emotion I couldn’t easily identify. I wanted to confront the father, to tell him to give his son a chance, that the boy couldn’t help but fail when all he heard was that he already had. I wanted to tell him to give his son some hope, to give him some possibility of pleasing his father.

But in our society, people don’t do that. We mind our own business unless it gets bloody. Nobody says anything until a tragedy strikes. Then we all crowd in front of the camera to tell the world we’d seen it coming.

By the time I’d finished my breakfast, I was so depressed I wanted to cry. As youngsters, we recognize when our parents have treated us unfairly. We vow never to make the same mistakes with our children. Yet every one of us, when grown with children of our own can at one time or another identifies our parents’ voices emanating from our mouths. We become what we know.

This boy was doomed to relate to his children in the same abusive way his father was relating to him. I left money on the table for the bill and the tip, gathered my things and moved to leave through the main restaurant. I could have should have, probably left through the side door, which was much closer. But it was important to me to see this boy, this father. When I reached the doorway, I made a show of putting my jacket on and zipping it up, taking the time to look around the room for the pair I sought. Then I heard the laugh again.

He was an older man, pudgy and bald, dressed in what appeared to be a mechanic’s uniform. The boy must have been thirteen or so, tall for his age and very thin, wearing glasses and slumped in his seat.

To my surprise, the father had his arm around his son’s shoulder, and in contradiction to the harshness of his laugh, he smiled at the boy. His son smiled up at him self-deprecatingly. The love between them was obvious.

My depression lifted, and I smiled at them when they looked up at me. This boy would be fine, and when he had a son of his own, they’d joke with each other some Saturday morning, having breakfast before he had to go to work, in exactly this same way. It would be a good morning for both of them.

吃早饭时，隔壁吸烟间一个男孩和一个男人的对话传进了我的耳朵。很明显，是父子俩。男孩的声音低沉而轻柔，似乎是那种青春期的嗓音，相比之下，男人的嗓音显得高亢而有力。

男人一直在诋毁他的儿子，不论儿子是要练举重还是要读父亲的报纸，反正只要他想做任何一件事，男人都会说：“愚蠢至极！”我不禁对那男孩产生了怜悯，他一次次尝试着，期望得到父亲的认可，但总是事与愿违，难道这个男人不理解儿子的心情吗？“我认为我能做。”男孩嘀咕着，语调阴郁，似乎受了很大打击。我能想象出他的样子，头垂向桌子，或许还红着脸。他的父亲冷笑着，是那种近乎残忍的嘲笑。这种笑暗示了他对儿子的能力没信心，这不言而喻。“你还是不够精明。”他轻蔑地告诉男孩，紧接着一阵讥笑。

我真不知道这个男孩过的是什么日子，或许他早已受够了这种指责，一次又一次地被否定，怎么能期望他取得什么成功呢？

一天下午，电视台播放的只有体育节目，母亲和我就看了一部纪实片，讲述的是一名中学生，开枪杀害了父母后，在学校又枪杀了他的同学。纪实片指出，无论做什么事，他总会经历失败的打击。虽然他有这么多缺点，但父母还是一如既往地关心支持他。他的犯罪行为是由于失去女友而导致的。他自己说：“我一直都使别人感到失望，我已经厌倦了这种生活。”

这么一位出身于充满爱心的、有良好教育背景的家庭的孩子都会冲动地做出这样的傻事来，那么像隔壁那样总是被父亲蔑视的孩子，我们又能指望他做出什么成就来呢？

男孩又小声嘀咕着别的事情，我听不清楚他究竟在说什么，但父亲又残忍地笑了，说道：“你永远也做不到！”

我愤怒了，一种无以言状的感觉油然而生。我想说服这位父亲再给儿子一次机会，儿子听腻了那么多令人泄气的话，是注定要失败的。我要让他给儿子一线希望，一次能让父亲高兴的机会。

但在我们的社会，人们不会那么做。除非有流血事件的发生，否则我们不会去管别人的闲事。除非有悲剧发生，否则我们不会站出来说一句话。只有看到悲剧发生了，人们才会拥至摄像机前告知全世界。

吃过早餐后，我郁闷得想哭。年轻时，我们意识到父母对我们极不公平，于是我们便发誓不会再犯同样的错误，去那样对待我们的下一代。然而，我们在对待自己的孩子时，都会不由自主地说出当年父母曾经对我们说过的话。我们成了我们所熟知的那类人。

这个男孩注定会用父亲对待他的这种刻薄的方式去对待他的孩子。我把小费连同餐费一起放在桌上，带好自己的东西，准备离开饭店。我应该从侧门离开，那儿离我比较近，其实我是想顺便看看那对父子，这对于我来说很重要。到门口时，我故意弄了弄外套，拉了拉拉链，以便趁机扫视一下房间，寻找到这对父子。此时，又传来一阵大笑。

他是一个上了年纪的人，矮胖，秃头，身穿机修制服。那个男孩大约十二三岁，与同龄人相比，似乎高许多，也瘦削许多，他戴着一副眼镜，耷拉着脑袋坐在那里。

令我吃惊的是，那位父亲把手臂搭在儿子的肩头，与刚才那刺耳的讥笑截然不同，他面带微笑地看着儿子，而儿子也像是在挑战自我似的抬头微笑地望着他，彼此间的爱意都溢于言表。

我压抑的情绪顿时舒朗了许多，我笑着看着他们，此时他们也抬头看到了我。这男孩一切都会好的，当他有了自己的孩子时，他们也会在某个周六早上互相取笑诋毁，共享上班前的早餐，如同现在一样。对于他们来说，那定会是一个美妙的清晨。

词汇笔记

puberty ['pju:bə:ti] n. 青春期

Puberty is very important for the character formation for a person.

青春期对人的性格形成是非常重要的。

denigrate ['denigreit] v. 使变黑；玷污

Then, worried about other people' s jealousy, we denigrate our

own advantages.

然后，我们担心别人出现嫉妒，于是诋毁自己的优势。

distinguish [dis'tiŋgwi] v. 区别；辨别；表现突出

Speeches distinguish human beings from animals.

人类和动物的区别在于人会说话。

pudgy ['pɔdʒi] adj. 矮胖的；膨松的

He was a massive black giant and I was a pudgy little redhead.

他是个大黑块头，而我是个红头发的小矮胖子。

小试身手

吃早饭时，隔壁吸烟间一个男孩和一个男人的对话传进了我的耳朵。

我能想象出他的样子，头垂向桌子，或许还红着脸。

这个男孩注定会用父亲对待他的这种刻薄的方式去对待他的孩子。

短语家族

This boy was doomed to relate to his children in the same abusive way.

be doomed to：注定要

The father had his arm around his son’s shoulder, and in contradiction to the harshness of his laugh.

in contradiction to：与……相反；与……相矛盾

父爱无声

Silent Father-love

佚名 / Anonymous

After Mom died, I began visiting Dad every morning before I went to work. He was frail and moved slowly, but he always had a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice on the kitchen table for me, along with an unsigned note reading, “Drink your juice.” Such a gesture, I knew, was as far as Dad had ever been able to go in expressing his love. In fact, I remember, as a kid I had questioned Mom “Why doesn’t Dad love me?” Mom frowned. “Who said he doesn’t love you?” “Well, he never tells me,” I complained. “He never tells me either,” she said, smiling. “But look how hard he works to take care of us, to buy us food and clothes, and to pay for this house. That’s how your father tells us he loves us.” Then Mom held me by the shoulders and asked, “Do you understand?”

I nodded slowly I understood in my head,but not in my heart. I still wanted my father to put his arms around me and tell me he loved me. Dad owned and operated a small scrap metal business, and after school I often hung around while he worked. I always hoped he’d ask me to help and then praise me for what I did. He never asked. His tasks were too dangerous for a young boy to attempt, and Mom was already worried enough that he’d hurt himself. Dad hand fed scrap steel into a device that chopped it as cleanly as a butcher chops a rack of ribs. The machine looked like a giant pair of scissors, with blades thicker than my father’s body. If he didn’t feed those terrifying blades just right, he risked serious injury.

“Why don’t you hire someone to do that for you?” Mom asked Dad one night as she bent over him and rubbed his aching shoulders with a strong smelling liniment. “Why don’t you hire a cook?” Dad asked, giving her one of his rare smiles. Mom straightened and put her hands on her hips. “What’s the matter, Ike? Don’t you like my cooking?” “Sure I like your cooking But if I could afford a helper, then you could afford a cook!” Dad laughed, and for the first time I realized that my father had a sense of humor. The chopping machine wasn’t the only hazard in his business. He had an acetylene torch for cutting thick steel plates and beams. To my ears the torch hissed louder than a steam locomotive, and when he used it to cut through steel, it blew off thousands of tiny pieces of molten metal that swarmed around him like angry fireflies.

Many years later, during my first daily visit, after drinking the juice my father had squeezed for me, I walked over, hugged him and said, “I love you, Dad.” From then on I did this every morning. My father never told me how he felt about my hugs, and there was never any expression on his face when I gave them. Then one morning, pressed for time, I drank my juice and made for the door.

Dad stepped in front of me and asked, “Well!” “Well what?” I asked, knowing exactly what. “Well !” he repeated, crossing his arms and looking everywhere but at me. I hugged him extra hard. Now was the right time to say what I’d always wanted to, “I’m fifty years old, Dad, and you’ve never told me you love me.” My father stepped away from me. He picked up the empty juice glass, washed it and put it away. “You’ve told other people you love me,” I said, “but I’ve never heard it from you.”

Dad looked uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. I moved closer to him. “Dad, I want you to tell me you love me.” Dad took a step back, his lips pressed together. He seemed about to speak, then shook his head. “Tell me!” I shouted. “All right, I love you!” Dad finally blurted, his hands fluttering like wounded birds. And in that instant something occurred that I had never seen happen in my life. His eyes glistened, then overflowed.

I stood before him, stunned and silent. Finally, after all these years, my heart joined my head in understanding. My father loved me so much that just saying so made him weep, which was something he never, ever wanted to do, least of all in front of family. Mom had been right. Every day of my life Dad had told me how much he loved me by what he did and what he gave. “I know, Dad,” I said, “I know.” And now at last I did.

妈妈去世后，我开始每天上班之前去看看爸爸。他身体虚弱，动作迟缓，但他总是亲手为我榨好一杯橙汁放在餐桌上，旁边放一张没有署名的便条，写着：“把橙汁喝了。”我知道，这是他向我表达爱的一种特殊方式。实际上，我仍然清楚地记得，小时候我曾问过妈妈：“为什么爸爸不喜欢我？”妈妈会皱起眉头，反问道：“谁说他不喜欢你？”“哦，可他从来没有告诉过我。”我抱怨道。“他也从没告诉过我，”她面带微笑地说，“但是，你看他拼命地工作赚钱，养活我们，要供我们吃穿，还要缴房款，这些行动都告诉我们，他是爱我们的。”然后，妈妈搂着我的肩膀说：“你明白了吗？”

我微微地点点头。我明白，但并不理解。我仍然渴望爸爸抱着我，亲口对我说爱我。爸爸自己经营一家小型的废金属处理厂。放学后，我就围在他身边玩。他工作时，我总希望他能让我帮什么忙，然后夸我干得好。可他从不叫我。他的工作对一个小男孩来讲太危险了，妈妈为爸爸已经够担心的了。爸爸把废金属塞进一个机器里，这个机器就像屠夫剁骨头一样，顺利地切割着金属。它酷似一把巨大的剪刀，刀片比爸爸的身体还要厚。所以用这样的机器进行工作是极其危险的，稍有不慎便会严重受伤，其后果不堪设想。“你为什么不雇人替你干这个活儿呢？”一天晚上，妈妈给爸爸按摩酸疼的肩膀，并涂抹一种气味浓烈的搽剂时问爸爸。“那你为什么不雇个厨师替你做饭呢？”爸爸反问道，并对她露出了少有的微笑。妈妈直起身子，双手叉在腰间问道：“怎么了，埃克？你难道不喜欢我做的饭吗？”“当然喜欢喽，如果我雇得起帮手的话，你就也能雇得起厨师了!”爸爸笑着说，这是我有生以来第一次觉得爸爸其实是个幽默的人。那台切割机不是他工厂里唯一的危险物，还有一台更危险的，是用来切割厚钢板和粗钢条的乙炔炬。在我听来，那乙炔炬切割时所发出的声响比火车头的蒸汽机发出的还要大。用它切割钢材时，无数熔化了的金属粉末形成液滴，在爸爸周围四溅开来，就像一群愤怒的萤火虫一样。

多年以后，我离开家乡后又回来，第一次去看爸爸时，我喝完了他为我亲手榨的橙汁后，走到他跟前，搂住他说：“爸爸，我爱你！”从那以后，每天早上我都那样做。可是，爸爸从未告诉过我，我拥抱他时他有怎样的感觉；不仅如此，当我拥抱他时，他甚至都面无表情。而后的又一天早上，由于时间赶不及，我喝完橙汁就向门外走去。

爸爸跨步到我面前问道：“这个？”“噢，什么？哪个？”我明知故问。“这个!”他重复着，交叉着双臂，目光游离，可就是不看我。我更用力地搂了搂他。现在是时候该说出我一直想说的话了：“爸，我已经50岁了，可你却从没对我说过一句你爱我。”爸爸转身走开了，他把那个空杯子拿去，洗干净放好。“你对别人说你爱我，”我说，“可我从没听你亲口对我说过。”

父亲看上去有些不自在，非常地不自在。我走到他跟前说：“爸爸，我想让你告诉我你爱我。”他双唇紧闭，向后退了一步，欲言又止地摇了摇头。“告诉我啊！”我大声喊道。“好吧，我爱你！”父亲终于说出口了，他双手如受伤的小鸟一样颤抖着。刹那间，我看到了有生以来从未见过的情景：他双眼噙满泪水，簌簌地落下。

我呆呆地站在他面前，一句话也说不出来。毕竟这么多年了，可我最终还是理解了父亲的爱——我知道了他是多么爱我，以至于他在说出爱我时，居然能激动得热泪盈眶。以前他可从来不会流泪，更不用说是在家人面前流泪了。妈妈是对的。在我生命的每一天，爸爸都是在用无言的行动对我说着他爱我。“我知道，爸爸，”我说，“我知道。”最终我明白了，也理解了。

词汇笔记

frail [freil] adj. 脆弱的；虚弱

Is much sweat the body frail?

多汗是不是身体虚弱？

squeeze [skwi:z] v. 紧握；挤

You can squeeze through sideways.

你侧着身就能挤过去。

liniment ['linimənt] n. 涂敷药

A liniment that burns when first applied.

第一次使用时就感到炽热的搽剂。

blurt [blə:t] v. 冲口说出；突然说出

Folks that blurt out just what they think wouldn't be so bad if

they thought.

一想到什么就马上脱口而出的人们，倘使经过思量之后再讲的

话，就可能没那么差劲了。

小试身手

妈妈去世后，我开始每天上班之前去看看爸爸。

我仍然渴望爸爸抱着我，亲口对我说爱我。

我呆呆地站在他面前，一句话也说不出来。

短语家族

I knew, was as far as Dad had ever been able to go in expressing his love.

as far as：就……而言；至于；远到

From then on I did this every morning.

from then on：从那时起

来自亲情的吻

A Box Full of Kisses

佚名 / Anonymous

The story goes that some time ago, a man punished his 3-year-old daughter for wasting a roll of gold wrapping paper. Money was tight and he became infuriate when the child tried to decorate a box to put under the Christmas tree. Nevertheless, the little girl brought the gift to her father the next morning and said, “This is for you, Daddy.”

The man was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, but his anger flared again when he found out the box was empty. He yelled at her, stating, “Don’t you know, when you give someone a present, there is supposed to be something inside?” The little girl looked up at him with tears in her eyes and cried, “Oh, Daddy, it’s not empty at all. I blew kisses into the box. They’re all for you, Daddy.”

The father was crushed. He put his arms around his little girl, and he begged for her forgiveness.

Only a short time later, an accident took the life of the child. It is also told that her father kept that gold box by his bed for many years and, whenever he was discouraged, he would take out an imaginary kiss and remember the love of the child who had put it there.

In a very real sense, each one of us, as humans beings, have been given a gold container filled with unconditional love and kisses... from our children, family members, friends, and God. There is simply no possession, anyone could hold, more precious than this.

这个故事发生在很早以前。三岁的女儿浪费了一卷金色的包装纸，父亲惩罚了她。当时家里生活很拮据，所以看到女儿用金色包装纸装饰盒子，并把它挂到圣诞树上时，父亲非常生气。第二天早上，小姑娘把圣诞礼物送给父亲，说道：“爸爸，这是送给您的。”

父亲为自己先前的大动肝火而懊悔不已，但当他打开盒子发现里面什么也没有时，又生气了。他对小姑娘大声嚷道：“难道你不知道送别人礼物时，里面应该放东西吗？”小姑娘抬头望着父亲，眼中噙满了泪水，她哭着说：“爸爸，这个盒子不是空的。我吹了许多吻放在里面，这些吻都是送给您的，爸爸。”

父亲顿时羞愧难当，他张开双臂拥抱着女儿，乞求女儿原谅他。

不久，小女孩死于一场事故。此后许多年，她的父亲一直把这个金色的盒子放在床头，每当他感到绝望时，就拿出那个装满了吻的盒子，想想女儿曾经给予他的爱。

其实，我们每个人都有个金色的盒子，里面装满了无私的爱和吻，这些吻来自我们的孩子、家人、朋友和上帝。人人都有这样的盒子，但不一定人人都懂得如何珍惜它。

词汇笔记

infuriate [in'fjuərieit] adj. 狂怒的

How infuriate!

真叫人恼火！

decorate ['dekəreit] v. 装饰；装修

I decorate my Christmas tree with stars.

我要用星星装饰我的圣诞树。

overreaction [͵əuvəri'æktʃｎ] n. 过度反应

Allergies are an overreaction of the immune system to certain

stimuli.

过敏是免疫系统对某些刺激物所作出的过激反应。

yell [jel] v. 大叫

You don’t have to yell, I can hear you.

你用不着喊，我听得见。

小试身手

三岁的女儿浪费了一卷金色的包装纸，父亲惩罚了她。

父亲顿时羞愧难当，他张开双臂拥抱着女儿，乞求女儿原谅他。

人人都有这样的盒子，但不一定人人都懂得如何珍惜它。

短语家族

He put his arms around his little girl, and he begged for her forgiveness.

put around：传播

In a very real sense, each one of us, as humans beings, have been given a gold container filled with unconditional love and kisses...

be filled with：充满

瞬间的崩塌

The Doll and a White Rose

佚名 / Anonymous

I hurried into the local department store to grab some last minute Christmas gifts. I looked at all the people and grumbled to myself. I would be in here forever and I just had so much to do. Christmas was beginning to become such a drag. I kinda wished that I could just sleep through Christmas. But I hurried the best I could through all the people to the toy department. Once again I kind of mumbled to myself at the prices of all these toys, and wondered if the grandkids would even play with them. I found myself in the doll aisle. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a little boy about 5 holding a lovely doll.

He kept touching her hair and he held her so gently. I could not seem to help myself. I just kept looking over at the little boy and wondered who the doll was for. I watched him turn to a woman and he called his aunt by name and said, “Are you sure I don’t have enough money?” She replied a bit impatiently, “You know that you don’t have enough money for it.” The aunt told the little boy not to go anywhere that she had to go and get some other things and would be back in a few minutes. And then she left the aisle. The boy continued to hold the doll.

After a bit I asked the boy who the doll was for. He said, “It is the doll my sister wanted so badly for Christmas. She just knew that Santa would bring it.” I told him that maybe Santa was going to bring it. He said, “No, Santa can’t go where my sister is... I have to give the doll to my Mamma to take to her.” I asked him where his sister was. He looked at me with the saddest eyes and said, “She was gone to be with Jesus. My Daddy says that Mama is going to have to go be with her.”

My heart nearly stopped beating. Then the boy looked at me again and said, “I told my Daddy to tell Mama not to go yet. I told him to tell her to wait till I got back from the store.” Then he asked me if I wanted to see his picture. I told him I would love to. He pulled out some pictures he’d had taken at the front of the store. He said, “I want my Mamma to take this with her so she doesn’t ever forget me. I love my Mama so very much and I wish she did not have to leave me. But Daddy says she will need to be with my sister.”

I saw that the little boy had lowered his head and had grown so quiet. While he was not looking I reached into my purse and pulled out a handful of bills. I asked the little boy, “Shall we count that money one more time?” He grew excited and said, “Yes, I just know it has to be enough.” So I slipped my money in with his and we began to count it. Of course it was plenty for the doll. He softly said, “Thank you Jesus for giving me enough money.” Then the boy said, “I just asked Jesus to give me enough money to buy this doll so Mama can take it with her to give to my sister. And he heard my prayer. I wanted to ask him for enough to buy my Mama a white rose, but I didn’t ask him, but he gave me enough to buy the doll and a rose for my Mama. She loves white roses so much.” In a few minutes the aunt came back and I wheeled my cart away.

I could not keep from thinking about the little boy as I finished my shopping in a totally different spirit than when I had started. And I kept remembering a story I had seen in the newspaper several days earlier about a drunk driver hitting a car and killing a little girl and the Mother was in serious condition. The family was deciding on whether to remove the life support. Now surely this little boy did not belong with that story.

Two days later I read in the paper where the family had disconnected the life support and the young woman had died. I could not forget the little boy and just kept wondering if the two were somehow connected. Later that day, I could not help myself and I went out and bought some white roses and took them to the funeral home where the young woman was. And there she was holding a lovely white rose, the beautiful doll, and the picture of the little boy in the store. I left there in tears, their life changed forever. The love that little boy had for his little sister and his mother was overwhelming. And in a split second a drunk driver had ripped the life of that little boy to pieces.

我匆匆走进了当地一家百货商店，想抓紧圣诞节前的最后几分钟抢购一些圣诞礼物，看到熙熙攘攘的人群，我郁闷极了。看样子我要一直待在这儿了，可还有好多事情等着我呢。我甚至想用睡觉将这永无休止的圣诞节打发掉。可我不得不穿过人流，挤到玩具部去。看到玩具上的标价，我不禁自言自语：这是给小孩子玩的吗？站在玩具专柜前，无意间我瞥见一个五岁左右的小男孩，手里正摆弄着一个可爱的玩具娃娃。

他小心翼翼地抱着它，不断地抚摸着它的头发。他的样子深深地吸引了我，我想知道他要买这个娃娃给谁。我看到他转向一位女士，称呼她阿姨，说：“您确定我的钱不够吗？”那女士不耐烦地说：“你知道你的钱是买不起它的。”这位阿姨让小男孩站在原地不要到处乱走，她要去买些别的东西，一会儿就回来，然后便离开了。小男孩继续抱着那个玩具娃娃。

停了一下，我走过去问这男孩想把娃娃送给谁。他说：“这是我姐姐最想要的圣诞礼物，她知道圣诞老人一定会带给她的。”我告诉他，也许圣诞老人真的会带给姐姐这个礼物。他说：“不会了，圣诞老人不能到我姐姐那儿去……我要把它给妈妈，让她带给姐姐。”我问他，姐姐在哪里。他悲伤地望着我说：“她去上帝那儿了，爸爸说，妈妈要去陪姐姐。”

我的心脏几乎要停止跳动了，男孩又望着我说：“我让爸爸告诉妈妈先别走，等我从商店回去后再走。”然后，他问我想不想看他的照片。我欣然答应了。他拿出一些在商店门前拍的照片来，说：“我要妈妈把这照片带在身边，那样她就不会忘记我了。我非常喜欢妈妈，不想让她离开我，但爸爸说妈妈得去陪姐姐。”

小男孩垂下头，沉默不语。趁他不注意，我把手伸进钱包，掏出一些钱。对他说：“我们再数一遍，看看钱到底够不够，怎么样？”他兴奋地说：“好啊！我觉得钱应该够的。”这时，我把刚刚掏出的钱偷偷混进他的钱里，当然，这些钱买这个娃娃是足够了。他轻声地说：“感谢上帝，给了我足够的钱。”然后又说：“我祈求过上帝，让他给我足够的钱买这个娃娃，那样妈妈就可以把它带给姐姐了，上帝一定听到了我的祈祷。我本想再多要点儿钱，给妈妈买朵玫瑰花，但我没要，可他还是多给了，这钱足够买娃娃和玫瑰花了。妈妈特别喜欢白玫瑰。”几分钟后，他的阿姨回来，我推着购物车走开了。

买完东西后，我的心情畅快多了，不由自主地又想起了那个小男孩。我忽然记起前几天在报纸上看到的一条新闻，报道说一个酒后驾车的司机撞了一辆小车，致使一小女孩当场死亡，而她的妈妈被撞成重伤。那家人一直在考虑是否该继续借用氧气瓶来维持这位妈妈的生命。当然，我宁愿相信这个小男孩与这则报道无任何关联。

两天后，我从报上得知，那家已不再用氧气瓶，年轻的女子死了。我始终忘不了那个小男孩，总觉得他们之间有着某种联系。当天晚些时候，我无法控制自己，买了些白玫瑰，去了这个不幸的家。我看到那个女子静静地躺在那儿，手里拿着一枝白玫瑰，还有漂亮的玩具娃娃和商店里那个小男孩的照片。我流着泪离开了，他们的生活就这样永远地改变了，小男孩对妈妈和姐姐的爱深刻无比，可瞬间，那个醉酒的司机却把他们的生活碾得支离破碎。

词汇笔记

aisle [ail] n. （席位间的）通道

The organ plays as the bride comes down the aisle.

当新娘沿着通道走过来时，风琴演奏了起来。

prayer [prɛə] n. 祈祷；祷告；祷文

She had a wakeful night spent in prayer.

她整夜祈祷。

funeral ['fju:nərəl] adj. 葬礼（的）

A funeral is a melancholy occasion.

葬礼是令人悲哀的场合。

slip [slip] v. 滑倒；犯错；减退

Never let a chance to improve your English slip by!

绝不要让提高英语水平的机会溜掉了!

小试身手

我甚至想用睡觉将这永无休止的圣诞节打发掉。

他轻声地说：“感谢上帝，给了我足够的钱。”

我始终忘不了那个小男孩，总觉得他们之间有着某种联系。

短语家族

I reached into my purse and pulled out a handful of bills.

a handful of：少数；少量；一捧

I could not keep from thinking about the little boy.

keep from：阻止；抑制；使免于；隐瞒

长大成人

When Allie Left Home

辛迪·卡恩·舍洪 / Sandi Kahn Shehon

My daughter Allie is leaving for college in a week. Her room is cluttered with shopping bags filled with blankets, towels, jeans, sweaters.

She won’t talk about going.

I say, “I’m going to miss you.” and she gives me one of her looks and leaves the room. Another time I say, in a voice so friendly it surprises even me: “Do you think you’ll take your posters and pictures with you, or will you get new ones at college?”

She answers, her voice filled with annoyance, “How should I know?”

My daughter is off with friends most of the time. Yesterday was the last day she’d have until Christmas with her friend Katharine, whom she’s known since kindergarten. Soon, it will be her last day with Sarah, Claire, Heather...and then it will be her last day with me.

My friend Karen told me, “The August before I left for college, I screamed at my mother the whole month. Be prepared.”

I stand in the kitchen, watching Allie make a glass of iced tea. Her face, once so open and trusting, is closed to me. I struggle to think of something to say to her, something meaningful and warm. I want her to know I’m excited about the college she has chosen, that I know the adventure of her life is just starting and that I am proud of her. But the look on her face is so mad that I think she might slug me if I open my mouth.

One night—after a long period of silence between us—I asked what I might have done or said to make her angry with me. She sighed and said, “Mom, you haven’t done anything. It’s fine.” It is fine—just distant.

Somehow in the past we had always found some way to connect. When Allie was a toddler, I would go to the day-care center after work. I’d find a quiet spot and she would nurse—our eyes locked together, reconnecting with each other.

In middle school, when other mothers were already lamenting the estrangement they felt with their adolescent daughters, I hit upon a solution: rescue raids. I would show up occasionally at school, sign her out of class and take her somewhere—out to lunch, to the movies, once for a long walk on the beach. It may sound irresponsible, but it kept us close when other mothers and daughters were floundering. We talked about everything on those outings—outings we kept secret from family and friends.

When she started high school, I’d get up with her in the morning to make her a sandwich for lunch, and we’d silently drink a cup of tea together before the 6:40 bus came.

A couple of times during her senior year I went into her room at night, the light off, but before she went to sleep. I’d sit on the edge of her bed, and she’d tell me about problems: a teacher who lowered her grade because she was too shy to talk in class, a boy who teased her, a friend who had started smoking. Her voice, coming out of the darkness, was young and questioning.

A few days later I’d hear her on the phone, repeating some of the things I had said, things she had adopted for her own.

But now we are having two kinds of partings. I want the romanticized version, where we go to lunch and lean across the table and say how much we will miss each other. I want smiles through tears, bittersweet moments of reminiscence and the chance to offer some last bits of wisdom.

But as she prepares to depart, Allie’s feelings have gone under ground. When I reach to touch her arm, she pulls away. She turns down every invitation I extend. She lies on her bed, reading Emily Dickinson until I say l have always loved Emily Dickinson, and then she closes the book.

Some say the tighter your bond with your child, the greater her need to break away, to establish her own identity in the world, The more it will hurt, they say. A friend of mine who went through a difficult time with her daughter but now has become close to her again, tells me, “Your daughter will be back to you,”

“I don’t know,” I say. I sometimes feel so angry that I want to go over and shake Allie. I want to say, “Talk to me—or you’re grounded!” I feel myself wanting to say that most horrible of all mother phrases: “Think of everything I’ve done for you.”

Late one night, as I’m getting ready for bed, she comes to the bathroom door and watches me brush my teeth. For a moment, I think I must be brushing my teeth in a way she doesn’t approve of. But then she says, “I want to read you something.” It’s a pamphlet from her college. “These are tips for parents.”

I watch her face as she reads the advice aloud: “ ‘Don’t ask your child if she is homesick,’ it says. ‘She might feel bad the first few weeks, but don’t let it worry you. This is a natural time of transition. Write her letters and call her a lot. Send a package of goodies...’ ”

Her voice breaks, and she comes over to me and buries her head in my shoulder. I stroke her hair, lightly, afraid she’ll bolt if I say a word. We stand there together for long moments, swaying, reconnecting.

I know it will be hard again. It’s likely there will be a fight about something. But I am grateful to be standing in here at midnight, both of us tired and sad, toothpaste smeared on my chin, holding tight to—while also letting go of—my daughter who is trying to say good-bye.

一周后，女儿就要离开家去上大学了，她的房间里堆满了购物袋，里边满是毛毯、毛巾、牛仔裤和毛衣等。

她闭口不提有关要走的话题。

我说：“我会想你的。”她看了我一眼走开了。还有一次，我用近乎讨好的，连自己都惊讶的语气问她：“你打算把自己的海报和图片带走，还是到大学再弄新的呢？”

她却极不耐烦地回答：“我怎么知道？”

最近女儿总不在家，多数时候与朋友们在一起。昨天是她与朋友凯瑟琳在圣诞节前一起度过的最后一天。她们从幼儿园起就是朋友。不久，将会是她与萨拉、克莱尔、希瑟……的最后一天。然后，才将是她与我度过的最后的一天。

我的朋友凯伦曾告诉过我：“我离家上大学前的那个八月，对我妈妈吼了整整一个月。你作好准备吧。”

我站在厨房，看见艾莉在沏冰茶。她的脸，曾经对我如此坦诚，如此信任，现在又离我这么近。我想尽量对她说些有意义的或贴心的话。我想告诉她，她选的大学令我很兴奋，我知道她生命的冒险历程才刚开始，我为她感到骄傲。可她脸上的表情如此愤怒，我担心一开口，她就会给我一拳。

一天晚上——我们之间沉默了很长一段时间后——我问她，是不是我做过或说过什么话，使她生气了。她叹口气说：“妈，您没做错什么，一切都很好。”是啊，一切都好——只是我们越来越疏远了。

不知为什么，过去我们总能找到沟通的方式。艾莉刚学走路时，我常在下班后去托儿所接她，找一个安静的地方喂她奶——我们注视着对方，两颗心凝聚在一起。

上中学时，许多妈妈悲伤地发现，进入青春期的女儿与自己的距离越来越远了。我偶然想出了一个好的解决办法：“营救奇袭。”我不时会突然出现在校园，签字让她离开教室，把她带到其他的地方——吃饭、看电影。有一次，我还带她去海边散步，走了很长一段路。听起来似乎有点儿不负责任，但其他的母女不知所措时，我们的关系却更密切了。我们外出散步，几乎无话不谈——外出游玩成了我们两人的秘密，对所有的家人和朋友都保密。

她开始上高中时，早上我和她同时起床，为她的午餐准备三明治，然后我们一起静静地喝茶，直到6：40的班车到来。

她上高三的时候，有几次，晚上我走进她的房间，灯已经关了，可她并没睡，我就坐在她床边跟她聊天。她会跟我诉说遇到的一些困难：因为她在课堂上太害羞，不敢大胆发言，一个老师给了她低分；有一个男生嘲笑她；她一个朋友开始抽烟了。她的声音从黑暗中传来，听起来那么年轻而又充满困惑。

几天后，我听到她在打电话时，把和我说过的话重复给别人听。她已经照我的话去做了。

现在，对于离别，我们却有两种不同的看法。我想用浪漫的方式告别，出去吃顿午餐，坐在饭桌旁对视着，诉说我们会多么思念对方。我想有流泪的微笑、苦且甜的回忆，临别时，还有机会互诉最后几点看法。

但当艾莉准备离家时，却把情感封闭起来。要是我伸手去触摸她的手臂，她就把手抽回去。她拒绝我所有的邀请，她躺在床上读艾米莉·迪金斯，我要是说自己也喜欢时，她就干脆把书合上。

有人说过，你把孩子拴得越牢，她越想挣脱你，证明自己存在的价值的意愿就越强烈。他们说，这样对母亲的伤害也越大。我的一位朋友和女儿刚刚经历了这样一段艰难的日子，但现在两人又重新密切了。她告诉我：“你女儿会回到你身边的。”“我不知道，”我说，有时候，我感到如此的气愤，只想好好审问她，摇晃着艾莉的肩膀大声说，“跟我说话——不然我打你。”我只想说，所有妈妈都会说的最可怕的一句话：“想想我为你做的一切吧。”

一个深夜，我正准备洗漱上床睡觉，她来到浴室门口，看着我刷牙。那时，我正在想她肯定不喜欢我刷牙的方式。但她说，“我想读点东西给您听，”这是大学发的小册子，“是给父母的温馨提示。”

她大声朗读上面的建议，我看着她的脸：“‘不要问你的孩子是否想家’，上面说，‘她可能在刚开始的几个星期不适应，但是不用担心，这是转变期的正常现象。多给她写信，多打电话，寄一些好吃的东西……’”

她突然停了下来，走近我，把头搭在我的肩膀上。我轻柔地抚摸着她的头发，害怕一说话，她就要逃开。我们在那里站了很久，轻轻地摇晃着，两颗心再次凝聚在一起。

我知道以后可能还会有艰难的时候，还会为了某些事争吵。但我非常感激，能在此时此刻，一起站在那里。我们都很疲惫，很伤心，我下巴上还沾满了牙膏。我用手紧紧搂住即将放飞的女儿——她正试着向我告别。

心灵小语

我们高兴时，她与我们一起分享；我们伤心时，她会伸出手来帮助我们；我们有了进步，她的喜悦溢于言表。她的爱平淡、温暖而实在，且毫无保留地给了我们，这个人就是我们的母亲。身为儿女的我们，拿什么来报答她呢？

词汇笔记

annoyance [ə'nɔiəns] n. 烦恼，可厌之事

He gave a mild answer, in spite of his annoyance.

他尽管已恼火，但回答得还是很和蔼。

toddler ['tɔdlə] n. 初学走路的孩子

The hyperactive toddler is a real handful.

这个还在学走路的却极其活跃的小孩真是难以控制。

lamenting [lə'mentiŋ] adj. 悲伤的；悲哀的

Mrs Smith is still lamenting for her daughter, two years after her

death.

史密斯太太在女儿死了两年以后，还在为她悲伤。

estrangement [i'streindʒment] n. 疏远

I hope this debate will not bring estrangement to us.

我希望这次争论将不会使我们之间产生隔阂。

小试身手

她闭口不提有关要走的话题。

她的脸，曾经对我如此坦诚，如此信任，现在又离我这么近。

我们在那里站了很久，轻轻地摇晃着，两颗心再次凝聚在一起。

短语家族

I screamed at my mother the whole month. Be prepared.

scream at：尖叫

I am proud of her.

be proud of：以……自豪；因……感到满意

妈妈的小曲奇

Cookies, Forgotten and Forgiven

佚名 / Anonymous

As I sat perched in the second floor window of our brick schoolhouse that afternoon, my heart began to sink further with each passing car. This was a day I’d looked forward to for weeks: Miss Pace’s fourth grade, end-of-the-year party. Miss Pace had kept a running countdown on the blackboard all that week, and our class of nine-year-old had bordered on insurrection by the time the much-anticipated “party Friday” had arrived.

I had happily volunteered my mother when Miss Pace requested cookie volunteers. Mom’s chocolate chips reigned supreme on our block, and I knew they’d be a hit with my classmates. But two o’clock passed, and there was no sign of her. Most of the other mothers had already come and gone, dropping off their offerings of punch and crackers, chips, cupcakes and brownies. My mother was missing in action.

“Don’t worry, Robbie, she’ll be along soon,” Miss Pace said as I gazed forlornly down at the street. I looked at the wall clock just in time to see its black minute hand shift to half—past.

Around me, the noisy party raged on, but I wouldn’t budge from my window watch post. Miss Pace did her best to coax me away, but I stayed put, holding out hope that the familiar family car would round the corner, carrying my rightfully embarrassed mother with a tin of her famous cookies tucked under her arm.

The three o’clock bell soon jolted me from my thoughts and I dejectedly grabbed my book bag from my desk and shuffled out the door for home.

On the four-block walk to our house, I plotted my revenge. I would slam the front door upon entering, refuse to return her hug when she rushed over to me, and vow never to speak to her again.

The house was empty when I arrived and I looked for a note on the refrigerator that might explain my mother’s absence, but found none. My chin quivered with a mixture of heartbreak and rage. For the first time in my life, my mother had let me down.

I was lying face—down on my bed upstairs when I heard her come through the front door.

“Robbie,” she called out a bit urgently. “Where are you?”

I could then hear her darting frantically from room to room, wondering where I could be. I remained silent. In a moment, she mounted the steps—the sounds of her footsteps quickening as she ascended the staircase.

When she entered my room and sat beside me on my bed, I didn’t move but instead stared blankly into my pillow refusing to acknowledge her presence.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” she said. “I just forgot. I got busy and forgot—plain and simple.”

I still didn’t move. “Don’t forgive her,” I told myself. “She humiliated you. She forgot you. Make her pay.”

Then my mother did something completely unexpected. She began to laugh. I could feel her shudder as the laughter shook her. It began quietly at first and then increased in its velocity and volume.

I was incredulous. How could she laugh at a time like this? I rolled over and faced her, ready to let her see the rage and disappointment in my eyes.

But my mother wasn’t laughing at all. She was crying. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed softly. “I let you down. I let my little boy down.”

She sank down on the bed and began to weep like a little girl. I was dumbstruck. I had never seen my mother cry. To my understanding, mothers weren’t supposed to. I wondered if this was how I looked to her when I cried.

I desperately tried to recall her own soothing words from times past when I’d skinned knees or stubbed toes, times when she knew just the right thing to say. But in that moment of tearful plight, words of profundity abandoned me like a worn-out shoe.

“It’s okay, Mom,” I stammered as I reached out and gently stroked her hair. “We didn’t even need those cookies. There was plenty of stuff to eat. Don’t cry. It’s all right. Really.”

My words, as inadequate as they sounded to me, prompted my mother to sit up. She wiped her eyes, and a slight smile began to crease her tear-stained cheeks. I smiled back awkwardly, and she pulled me to her.

We didn’t say another word. We just held each other in a long, silent embrace. When we came to the point where I would usually pull away, I decided that, this time, I could hold on, perhaps, just a little bit longer.

那天下午，我坐在教学楼二楼的窗台上，心情随着过往的车辆更加低落。好几个星期前，我就开始盼望这一天的到来：裴老师带的四年级班的年终联欢就在今天举行。那个星期，裴老师还在黑板上挂了个倒计时牌。当这个期待已久的“联欢星期五”到来时，我们班九岁大的孩子们兴奋得像开了锅似的。

在裴老师征召做小甜饼的志愿者时，我高兴地推荐了妈妈。妈妈做的巧克力片在我们那个街区是公认最好吃的。我知道我的同学们也一定会喜欢的。但是都两点多了，她连个影儿都没有。其他同学的母亲多数都来过了，留下她们做的饮料、饼干、薯条、蛋糕还有核仁巧克力饼。可我妈妈却没有出现在活动中。“别担心，罗比，她很快就来了。”当我孤独失落地盯着楼下的大街时，裴老师说。我看了看墙上的钟，黑色的分针正好指向两点半。

我的周围，热闹的联欢正如火如荼地进行着，而我却不想挪开窗口这个观察点半步。裴老师想方设法地劝我离开，我仍一动不动，一门心思地希望看到家里那辆熟悉的汽车转过街角，载着我那一定是满怀内疚的母亲，怀里抱着一罐她制作的出名的小甜饼。

三点的钟声惊扰了我的思绪，我沮丧地抓起桌上的书包，拖着沉重的脚步向家走去。

只要步行四个街区就可以到家了，一路上我就盘算着怎样报复妈妈：我一到家就狠狠地关上前门，她匆忙来迎我时拒绝和她拥抱，并发誓再也不和她说话。

当我到家时，家里空荡荡的。我到冰箱上找，看她是否给我留了便条，或许她会向我解释她没去的原因。可是什么也没有。我的心都要碎了，愤怒不已，气得下巴发抖。生平第一次，母亲让我如此失望。

听到她进门的声音，我便上楼趴在自己的床上。“罗比，”她有些急切地叫着我，“你在哪儿？”

我听见她发疯似的逐个房间找我，想着我会在哪儿。我默不作声。不一会儿，她上楼了——脚步声越来越急促。

她走进我的房间，在我身边坐下来。我毫无表情地盯着枕头一动不动，当她不存在。“对不起，宝贝儿，”她说，“我忘了，我太忙了，忘了——就这样苍白和简单。”

我还是没动。“不能原谅她，”我对自己说，“她让你丢脸，她把你忘了。应该惩罚她。”

而后，母亲做了一件出乎我意料的事。她开始笑，我感觉得到她在浑身打战。开始还悄无声息，接着越来越急促，声音也越来越大。

简直令我难以置信，此时她还能笑得出来？我翻过身，面对着她，好让她看到我愤怒而失望的眼神。

但母亲根本不是在笑，她是在哭。“对不起，”她轻轻啜泣着，“我让你失望了，我让我的宝贝儿子失望了。”

她倒在床上，开始像个小女孩一样哭泣着。我惊呆了。我从没见到母亲哭过，我以为母亲是不会哭的。我不知道她看到我哭时是不是也这样。

我努力回想以前自己蹭破膝盖、磕伤脚趾时她安慰我说的那些话，那种时候她总能知道该说什么。此时此刻她在哭泣，我却是这样没用，一句深刻关心的话都说不出来。“好了，妈妈，”我伸出手轻轻地抚弄她的头发，结结巴巴地说，“其实我们根本不需要那些小甜饼的，那里好吃的东西已经够多了。别哭了，没关系，真的。”

虽然这些话在我听来是如此的苍白无力，然而母亲却坐了起来。她抹了抹眼睛，满是泪痕的脸庞绽放出一丝微笑。我不好意思地笑了，她把我抱到怀里。

我们没再说话，只是默默地拥抱了很久。通常我们拥抱一会儿就会松开，但这次，我决定，或许，我会坚持长久一些。

心灵小语

母爱是世界上最伟大的，没有豪言壮语，没有隽永的辞藻，却蕴含着所有的爱。

词汇笔记

词汇笔记

perch [pə:tʃ] n. 栖息；就位；位于

The bird took its perch.

鸟栖息在栖木上。

volunteer [vɔlən'tiə(r)] v. 志愿

Tim’s busy but I’ll come, he volunteered.

蒂姆很忙，我来吧，他主动说道。

punch [pʌntʃ] n. 打洞器；钻孔机；殴打

The last punch did for me.

最后的一拳把我击败了。

dejectedly [di'dʒektidli] adv. 沮丧地；委靡地

The tall fellow’s head sank dejectedly.

高个儿小伙子忧郁地低下头。

小试身手

在裴老师征召做小甜饼的志愿者时，我高兴地推荐了妈妈。

我的心都要碎了，愤怒不已，气得下巴发抖。

她抹了抹眼睛，满是泪痕的脸庞绽放出一丝微笑。

短语家族

Most of the other mothers had already come and gone，dropping off their offerings of punch and crackers.

drop off：入睡；下降；减少；把……放下；减弱

She sank down on the bed and began to weep like a little girl.

sink down：沉落

与“另一位女人”约会

That“Other Woman”in My Life

佚名 / Anonymous

After 22 years of marriage, I’ve discovered the secret to keeping love and intimacy alive in my relationship with my wife, Peggy: I started dating another woman.

It was Peggy’s idea, actually. “You know you love her,” she said one day, taking me by surprise. “Life is too short. You need to spend time with the people you love. You probably won’t believe me, but I think that if the two of you spend more time together, it will make us closer.”

The “other woman” my wife was encouraging me to date is my mother, a 72-year-old widow who has lived alone since my father died 20 years ago. Right after his death, I moved 2,500 miles away to California and started my own family and career. When I moved back near my hometown six years ago, I promised myself that I would spend more time with Mom. But with the demands of my job and three kids, I never got around to seeing her much beyond family get-togethers and holidays.

She was surprised and suspicious, then, when I called and suggested the two of us go out to dinner and a movie. “What’s wrong?” she asked. My mother thinks anything out of the ordinary signals bad news.

“I thought it would be nice to spend some time with you,” I said, “Just the two of us.”

“I’d like that a lot,” she replied.

As I drove to her house, I actually had a case of predate jitters! What would we talk about? What if she didn’t like the restaurant I chose?

When I pulled into her driveway, she was waiting by the door with her coat on. Her hair was curled, and she was smiling. “I told my lady friends I was going out with my son, and they were all impressed,” she said as she got into my car. “They can’t wait to hear about our evening.”

We didn’t go anywhere fancy, just a neighborhood place where we could talk. My mother clutched my arm, half out of affection and half to help her negotiate the restaurant steps.

We had a nice talk over dinner. Nothing earth shattering, just catching up with each other’s lives. We talked for so long that we missed the movie.

“I’ll go out with you again,” my mother said as I dropped her off, “but only if you let me buy dinner next time.” I agreed.

“How was your date?” my wife asked when I got home that evening.

“Nice...nicer than I thought it would be,” I said. She smiled her told you so smile.

Mom and I go out for dinner a couple of times a month. Sometimes we take in a movie, but mostly we talk. I tell her about my trials at work and brag about the kids and Peggy.

Mom fills me in on family gossip and tells me about her past. Now I know what it was like for her to work in a factory during World War II. I know how she met my father there, and how they nurtured a trolley car courtship through those difficult times. I can’t get enough of these stories. They are important to me, a part of my history.

We also talk about the future. Because of health problems, my mother worries about the days ahead. “I have so much living to do,” she told me once. “I need to be there while my grandchildren grow up. I don’t want to miss any of it.”

Like many baby boomers, I tend to fill my calendar to the brim as I struggle to fit family, career and friendships into my life. I often complain about how quickly time flies. Spending time with my Mom has taught me the importance of slowing down.

Peggy was right. Dating another woman has helped my marriage.

与妻子佩姬结婚22年了，我发现使我们爱情真挚长久的秘诀是：我开始约会“另一位女人”。

这实际是佩姬的主意。“你明明知道你爱她，”一天，妻子对我说，我大吃一惊，“生命如此短暂，一定要与你爱的人共度。你也许不相信我的话，可是我觉得如果你俩共度更多的时光，会使我们的关系更融洽。”

妻子鼓励我约会的“另一位女人”就是我的母亲，一位72岁的寡妇。自从20年前父亲死后，她就一直一个人生活。父亲去世不久，我就搬到了2500英里外的加州，成家并开创了自己的事业。六年前我搬回家乡附近，希望能有更多时间陪母亲。但因为工作繁忙，还要照顾三个年幼的孩子，除了家人聚会和节假日外，我从没其他时间去看望母亲。

我给她打电话，提出和她一块儿出去吃晚饭，然后看电影时，她惊讶不已，甚至有些怀疑，问我：“发生什么事情了？”母亲认为非正常的信息多会带来坏消息。“我就是想和您开开心心地聚一聚，”我说，“就我们俩。”“我很高兴接受你的邀请。”她答道。

在开车前往母亲家的路上，我的确有种赴约前的紧张不安感。我们该谈论些什么话题呢？要是她不喜欢我选的餐馆怎么办呢？

当我把车开到她家车道时，她已穿好外套站在门口等我了。她卷了头发，微笑着：“我和朋友们说我要和儿子出去玩，她们都为我高兴。”她边上车边说，“她们都急不可待地想听我和你聚会的事情呢。”

我们没去高档饭店，只就近选了一家适合聊天的餐馆。母亲挽着我的胳膊，这样既表现出母子情深，同时也能帮她迈过饭店的台阶。

吃饭时我们谈得很开心。没谈论什么大事，都是生活中的一些琐碎小事儿。我们谈了很长时间，竟然连电影都没赶上。“我还想和你一起出来，”下车时，母亲说，“不过，下次你得让我埋单。”我答应了。“你们的约会怎样？”那天回到家后，妻子问我。“非常好……比我想象中的好多了。”我说。妻子笑了，那笑中分明有“我说得没错吧”的意味。

以后每个月，我都陪母亲外出吃两三顿饭。偶尔我们也会去看场电影，但多数时间我们还是聊天。我向她讲述工作的事，也向她夸奖孩子和佩姬。

母亲向我讲了许多家庭琐事，还有她的过去。直到现在，我才知道“二战”期间她在一家工厂工作的情况。她是在那儿认识父亲的。他们那些在艰苦岁月中有轨电车里的爱情故事，对我来说百听不厌。它们对我极其重要，几乎成了我的历史的一部分。

我们也谈及了未来。因为身体的原因，母亲很担心以后的日子。“我还有许多事情要做。”有一次，她对我说，“我想看到孙儿们长大成人，我不想错过任何一个这样的机会。”

与大多数战后出生的人一样，当我努力兼顾家庭、事业和友谊等各个方面时，我的日程便安排得很满。我常抱怨时间过得太快，与母亲共享时光让我意识到了将生活节奏放慢的重要。

佩姬说得没错，约会“另一位女人”的确使我们的夫妻感情更融洽了。

词汇笔记

intimacy ['intiməsi] n. 亲昵的言行；熟悉；亲密；密切关系

He refused to tell it to me except in the intimacy of his room.

除非避开众人耳目在他房间里谈，否则他不肯把这件事告诉我。

suspicious [səs'piʃəs] adj. 怀疑的

I have not betrayed you, betrayed our feelings, it is suspicious

of you.

我没有背叛过你，没有背叛过我们的感情，是你多心了。

predate ['pri:'deit] n. 在日期上早于；提早日期；预期

In fact, stone tools predate human history.

事实上，早期人类就开始使用石器。

Jitter ['dʒitə] n. 抖动；紧张不安；跳动

The dedicated capacity gives no latency or jitter between the

endpoints.

这个专用的容量赋予在端点之间无延迟时间或剧跳。

小试身手

生命如此短暂，一定要与你爱的人共度。

六年前我搬回家乡附近，希望能有更多时间陪母亲。

他们那些在艰苦岁月中有轨电车里的爱情故事，对我来说百听不厌。

短语家族

You need to spend time with the people you love.

need to do：需要去做

...just catching up with each other’s lives.

catch up with：赶上；对……产生恶果；指出……出了差错

母亲的信

All Mum’s Letters

佚名 / Anonymous

To this day I remember my mum’s letters. It all started in December 1941. Every night she sat at the big table in the kitchen and wrote to my brother Johnny, who had been drafted that summer. We had not heard from him since the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor.

I didn’t understand why my mum kept writing Johnny when he never wrote back.

“Wait and see—we’ll get a letter from him one day,” she claimed. Mum said that there was a direct link from the brain to the written word that was just as strong as the light God has granted us. She trusted that this light would find Johnny.

I don’t know if she said that to calm herself, dad or all of us down. But I do know that it helped us stick together, and one day a letter really did arrive. Johnny was alive on an island in the Pacific.

I had always been amused by the fact that mum signed her letters, “Cecilia Capuzzi” , and I teased her about that. “Why don’t you just write ‘Mum’ ?” I said.

I hadn’t been aware that she always thought of herself as Cecilia Capuzzi. Not as Mum. I began seeing her in a new light, this small delicate woman, who even in high-heeled shoes was barely one and a half meters tall.

She never wore make-up or jewelry except for a wedding ring of gold. Her hair was fine, sleek and black and always put up in a knot in the neck. She wouldn’t hear of getting a haircut or a perm. Her small silver-rimmed pince-nez only left her nose when she went to bed.

Whenever mum had finished a letter, she gave it to dad for him to post it. Then she put the water on to boil, and we sat down at the table and talked about the good old days when our Italian-American family had been a family often: mum, dad and eight children. Five boys and three girls. It is hard to understand that they had all moved away from home to work, enroll in the army, or get married. All except me.

Around next spring mum had got two more sons to write to. Every evening she wrote three different letters which she gave to me and dad afterwards so we could add our greetings.

Little by little the rumour about mum’s letters spread. One day a small woman knocked at our door. Her voice trembled as she asked: “Is it true you write letters?”

“I write to my sons.”

“And you can read too?” whispered the woman.

“Sure.”

The woman opened her bag and pulled out a pile of airmail letters. “Read... please read them aloud to me.”

The letters were from the woman’s son who was a soldier in Europe, a red-haired boy who mum remembered having seen sitting with his brothers on the stairs in front of our house. Mum read the letters one by one and translated them from English to Italian. The woman’s eyes welled up with tears. “Now I have to write to him,” she said. But how was she going to do it?

“Make some coffee, Octavia,” mum yelled to me in the living room while she took the woman with her into the kitchen and seated her at the table. She took the fountain pen, ink and air mail notepaper and began to write. When she had finished, she read the letter aloud to the woman.

“How did you know that was exactly what I wanted to say?”

“I often sit and look at my boys’ letters, just like you, without a clue about what to write.”

A few days later the woman returned with a friend, then another one and yet another one—they all had sons who fought in the war, and they all needed letters. Mum had become the correspondent in our part of town. Sometimes she would write letters all day long.

Mum always insisted that people signed their own letters, and the small woman with the grey hair asked mum to teach her how to do it. “I so much want to be able to write my own name so that my son can see it.” Then mum held the woman’s hand in hers and moved her hand over the paper again and again until she was able to do it without her help.

After that day, when mum had written a letter for the woman, she signed it herself, and her face brightened up in a smile.

One day she came to us, and mum instantly knew what had happened. All hope had disappeared from her eyes. They stood hand in hand for a long time without saying a word. Then mum said: “We better go to church. There are certain things in life so great that we cannot comprehend them.” When mum came back home, she couldn’t get the red-haired boy out of her mind.

After the war was over, mum put away the pen and paper. “Finito,” she said. But she was wrong. The women who had come to her for help in writing to their sons now came to her with letters from their relatives in Italy. They also came to ask her for her help in getting American citizenship.

On one occasion mum admitted that she had always had a secret dream of writing a novel. “Why didn’t you?” I asked.

“All people in this world are here with one particular purpose,” she said. “Apparently, mine is to write letters.” She tried to explain why it absorbed her so.

“A letter unites people like nothing else. It can make them cry, it can make them laugh. There is no caress more lovely and warm than a love letter, because it makes the world seem very small, and both sender and receiver become like kings in their own kingdoms. My dear, a letter is life itself!”

Today all mum’s letters are lost. But those who got them still talk about her and cherish the memory of her letters in their hearts.

至今，我仍记得母亲的那些信。事情要追溯到1941年的12月。每天晚上，母亲总要坐在厨房的大饭桌旁，写信给我的弟弟约翰。约翰是在那年夏天应征入伍的。自从日本袭击珍珠港后，他就杳无音讯了。

约翰从没回信，我不知道为什么母亲还要这样一直坚持写下去。“等等看吧，总有一天他会回信的。”母亲断言。她坚信思想和文字是息息相通的，这种关联强大得如同上帝赐予人类的光芒，这道光芒终有一天会照到约翰。

我不知道她是否只是在安慰自己、父亲，或我们这几个孩子。但我知道，我们一家人因此更为亲密了。终于有一天，我们盼到了约翰的回信，他安然无恙，驻扎在太平洋的一个岛屿上。

母亲写信时总署名“塞西莉娅·卡普奇”，每次我都要取笑她几句：“为什么不直接写‘母亲’ 呢？”

以前我一直没在意她把自己当成塞西莉娅·卡普奇，而不是母亲。我禁不住以另一种眼光去审视自己的母亲，她如此瘦弱、矮小，即使穿上高跟鞋，身高仍不足一米五。

母亲从不刻意地修饰自己，除了那枚结婚戒指外，她基本不戴其他首饰。柔顺黑亮的头发自然地盘在颈后，从不剪短发或烫发。鼻梁上那副小小的银丝眼镜只有在睡觉时才摘下来。

母亲每次写完信，都会把信交给父亲，让他寄出去。然后，她把水烧开，和我们围坐在桌旁，追忆昔日的美好时光：那时我们这个意裔的美籍家庭人丁兴旺，父母亲和我们八个兄弟姐妹——五男三女，快乐地生活在一起。现在大家因工作、入伍或婚姻等原因纷纷离开了家，只有我留了下来，真是难以想象。

第二年春天，母亲又开始给另外两个儿子写信。每天晚上，她都要先写好三封内容不同的信，然后让我和父亲在后面加上自己的问候。

渐渐地，母亲写信的事传开了。一天，一个身材矮小的女人敲开我们家的门，用颤抖的声音问母亲：“您真的会写信吗？”“我经常写信给我的儿子们。”“那你也能读信？”女人低声问。“当然。”

女人打开她的包，拿出一摞航空信：“请，请您大声读给我听吧。”

这些信都是女人的儿子写来的，他是名战士，现在欧洲。母亲还依稀记得他的模样：满头红发，常和兄弟们一起坐在我们家门前的楼梯上。母亲一封接一封地把信用英文翻译成意大利文读出来。听完，那女人满眼泪水地说：“现在，我一定要给他回信。”但是她该如何做呢？“奥塔维娅，去冲杯咖啡。”母亲在客厅大声叫我，然后带那个女人到厨房的桌旁坐下，拿出钢笔、墨水和信纸开始写信。写完后又大声读给她听。“这些的确都是我想说的话，您是怎么知道的呢？”“我常坐下看儿子的来信，就像你一样，根本不知道该怎么写才好。”

几天后，女人带来一个朋友，而后络绎不绝地一个接一个的朋友被带来……他们的儿子都奋斗在战场上，都需要写信。妈妈成了我们城镇的通讯员，有时她一整天都在写信。

母亲总是坚持让大家署自己的名字。一位花白头发的女人要母亲教她如何签名：“我真想亲手写下自己的名字，让儿子看到我的笔迹。”于是，母亲手把手地教她在纸上一遍遍地写，直到她自己可以签名了。

第二天，母亲帮那个女人写好信，让她亲手签名，女人露出了灿烂的笑容。

有一天她到我家来，眼中失去了往日的光芒，母亲立刻明白了。两人握着手，久久不语。然后母亲说：“我们还是去教堂吧。生命中有许多我们无法解释的深奥的事情。”母亲回家后，一直忘不了那个红头发的小男孩。

战争结束后，母亲把纸笔收起来，说：“一切都结束了。”但是她错了。那个曾让母亲帮忙给儿子写信的女人又来了，带着意大利亲人的来信。他们还让母亲帮忙给他们的亲属申请入籍。

一次，母亲坦言，她一直有个秘密梦想，那就是自己写本小说。“那为什么不着手写呢？”我问。“每个人来到这个世界上都带着一个特定的目的。很显然，我的目的就是写信。” 母亲试图解释她如此沉迷于写信的原因。“信可以把人们紧紧连在一起，这是其他任何东西都无法取代的。它能使我们哭，使我们笑。一封情书比任何爱抚都令人感到亲切和温暖，因为它缩小了世界，写信人和收信人都是自己世界的国王。亲爱的，要知道，信就是生命本身啊！”

今天，虽然母亲所有的信都遗失了，但那些收到信的人仍在谈论着她，并将这些与信有关的记忆珍藏在心底。

词汇笔记

grant [ɡrɑ:nt; ɡrænt] v. 授予；同意；承认

I grant that your excuce is reasonable.

我承认你的辩解是合理的。

delicate ['delikit] adj. 细致优雅的；微妙的；美味的

She wears a dress with delicate lace.

她穿了一件带有精致花边的裙子。

afterwards ['ɑ:ftəwədz] adv. 以后；后来

And afterwards remember, do not grieve.

而后又记起，请不要忧伤。

correspondent [͵kɔris'pɔndənt] n. 通讯记者；通信者

I'm handing you over now to our home affairs correspondent.

现在请听本台记者报道的国内新闻。

小试身手

约翰是在那年夏天应征入伍的。

鼻梁上的那副小小的银丝眼镜只有在睡觉时才摘下来。

母亲试图解释她如此沉迷于写信的原因。

短语家族

“I write to my sons.”

write to：写信给……；给……写信；存盘

...it makes the world seem very small，and both sender and receiver become like kings in their own kingdoms.

both... and...：两者都；兼容并蓄

母爱

Mother’s Love

佚名 / Anonymous

“Mother,” she said, looking down at the older woman who sat in the wheelchair. She ignored the other residents of the nursing home around them. “Mother, I know now. I understand.”

The woman looked up and smiled at her. “Sonya, it’s always so good to see you.” she said.

“Why didn’t you tell me what you were doing?” asked Sonya. She dropped into a chair beside the wheelchair, so that she and her mother could be on the same level. “All these years, and you never told me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said the older woman. “How is your job going? Were you promoted, as you wanted to be?”

“I don’t want to talk about my job. I want to talk to you about what you’ve done to make me successful.”

“I didn’t do anything. You’ve done it all. All the education, all the hard work...”

“No!” Sonya stood up again, unable to keep still. “You’ve been doing it all! When I was in high school and I said I needed help with the higher level math courses, because I couldn' t figure any of it out, you said I shouldn’t worry.”

“You did fine.” said her mother.

“Yes! Because you gave me your math ability! After that, you couldn’t even balance your checkbook, remember?”

She shrugged. “When people get older, they start to slow down.”

“You had a graduate degree in mathematics. You were a brilliant teacher. But after I started doing well in high school math, you lost all your abilities. Tell me it was a coincidence!”

“Darling, you’re upset. Probably too much stress.”

“No! No! I can’t stand taking from you anymore! I never wanted to go to grad school for that MBA. I never had the ambition. But you did. You had more ambition than ten women! Until I needed it, and then—then suddenly I burned with the desire to prove myself and you—you gave up. That’s when you started working at the supermarket.”

“I wanted a lower stress job.”

“I told you I was lonely but I thought I would never find anyone who would want to marry me, and then suddenly Bob turned into the most committed man I could ever imagine, and Dad suddenly lost interest in you and wandered off with that stupid woman across the street.”

“Now surely you’re not saying I’m responsible for your father’s failings, are you?” asked her mother, smiling weakly.

“I’m saying you gave up your own desirability, to give it to me! At tremendous cost to you! But that wasn’t all, either, was it?”

“Sonya, you really shouldn’t get yourself worked up this way. It can’t be good for you.”

“And then,” Sonya continued, ignoring the older woman, “when I needed that extra energy to do all the work I had to do in my first executive position, suddenly I had the energy I needed, and you could barely drag yourself out of bed in the morning!”

“I just wanted to see you succeed.”

“Why?” Sonya dropped down on her knees in front of her mother’s wheelchair, clutching her mother’s frail hands. “Why did you do all this to yourself? Why? I’m not worth it, Mom! No success I’ve had in my life is worth what you’ve done to yourself, for me!”

“Oh,” said her mother, stroking Sonya’s hair, “ you’re wrong about that. Everything I did, everything I gave up, was worth it because of you, of what you’ve made of yourself.”

“Mom, Mom, please, I’m begging you, take it back. I don’t want my success on these terms! I don’t want to see you grow more and more frail, more and more helpless, just so that I can grow stronger and richer and more famous!”

“What’s holding you back now?” asked her mother. “Why didn’t you get the promotion?”

“I’m not going to tell you! Aren’t you listening to me? I don’t want you to do more to yourself for me!”

Her mother looked down at her for a few seconds, and then nodded. “Ah, yes, I see. I understand, dear. You’re almost there, aren’t you? You just need a little more, just a tad more strength, but it’s all right. You’re going to get it, don’t worry.”

Sonya raised her head, horrified. “No, Mom! I told you, I don’t want it! Don’t—whatever you’re going to do, don’t do it!”

Her mother’s head snapped backwards, and her eyes rolled in her head. Sonya, horrified, clutched at her mother’s wrist. The pulse was barely discernible. Sonya screamed, and the personnel at the nursing home rushed toward them.

But before they arrived, her mother’s eyes opened for a second, and for the last time, Sonya saw the intelligence she always remembered in her mother. “Have a daughter,” her mother breathed. “Do it for her.” “妈妈，”她看着轮椅上的老妇人说道，好像没有察觉到自己周围疗养院的其他居民，“妈妈，我现在知道了，我懂了。”

老妇人抬起头，笑着对她说：“索尼娅，每次见到你，我都非常高兴。”“为什么不早点儿告诉我您所做的一切呢？”索尼娅问道，她在轮椅旁边的椅子上坐了下来，和妈妈并肩坐在一起，“这些年来，您从没对我说过。”“我不知道你在说什么，”老妇人说，“你的工作还好吗？提拔到你追求的位置了吗？”“我不想谈工作。只想和您谈谈，为了我的成功，您作出了多大的牺牲！”“我什么都没做，都是你自己努力的结果，你学业有成，所有艰巨的工作也能……”“不！”索尼娅腾地站起来，身子有些摇晃，“所有的一切都是您的付出！读高中时，我说自己的高年级数学课需要帮助，因为我根本算不出来。您让我不必担心。”“你确实做得很好。”她的母亲说。“是的！因为您把您的数学才能给了我！从那以后，您连自己的账本都算不清楚了，您还记得吗？”

她耸了耸肩：“人一旦衰老，大脑就反应迟钝了。”“您有大学数学学位，是一名优秀教师，但是，自从我高中数学有所起色后，您却失去了所有的能力，告诉我，这难道是巧合吗？”“亲爱的，你太紧张了，可能压力太大了。”“不！不是的！我不能再剥夺您的任何东西了！简直令我无法忍受！我从来没想过要去念MBA，我没有雄心大志。但是，您有，您的志气比十个女人的还要大，直到我需要它，突然强烈地想要证明自己能力时，但是，您——您却放弃了，开始在超市干活。”“我想要一份压力小些的工作。”“我告诉您我很孤独，觉得不会有人愿意娶我。可是，突然，鲍勃成为我期待中的最适合托付终身的人。但是，爸爸突然对您失去了兴趣，与街对面的蠢妇走到一起。”“你不是在责备我对你父亲的失职吧？”妈妈问道，虚弱地笑了。“我是说您放弃了自己的希求，把它给了我！您付出了极大的代价！但这还不是全部，对吗？”“索尼娅，你真的不要这么激动，这对你不好。”“然后，”索尼亚不顾老妇人的话，继续说道，“当我第一次当上主管时，我需要更大的勇气来应付所有的工作。突然，我拥有了自己需要的所有能量，可您却连早上起床的力气都没有了！”“我只是想看到你成功。”“为什么？”索尼娅在妈妈的轮椅前跪了下来，抓住母亲虚弱的双手，“您为什么要这样对自己？为什么？我不值得您这么做。妈，我生命中的任何一次成功都不值得您这样做！”“噢，”母亲抚摸着她的头说，“你这样想就错了。我所做的、所放弃的每一件事都值得，因为你，因为你的成功而有了价值。”“妈，妈，我请求您，把放弃的拿回去吧，我不要自己的成功建立在您的牺牲之上！我不想看着您越来越虚弱，越来越无助，只是为了让我更强壮，更富有，更出名！”“现在是什么让你退缩了？”母亲问道，“为什么你没有得到提升？”“我不想说这些！您在听我说吗？我不想让您为我放弃更多！”

母亲低下头来，久久地看着她，然后又点了点头：“啊，是的，我知道了，我懂了，亲爱的，你很快就能晋升了，不是吗？你只是需要再努力一点点，但是没关系，你很快就会得到的，不要担心。”

索尼娅抬起头来，惊悸地说道：“不，妈妈，我跟您说过，我不想要！不管您要做什么，请不要再做了！”

母亲的头猛地往后一仰，眼珠直往上翻。索尼娅惊恐地抓住母亲的手腕，脉搏几乎感觉不到了。索尼娅尖叫着，护理员很快向她们跑来。

在他们到达之前，母亲的眼睛睁开了一秒钟，最后一次，索尼娅看到了母亲眼里闪烁的智慧之光，“生一个女儿，”母亲喘息着，“为她活着。”

心灵小语

时光荏苒，无论我们在怎样的环境和形势下活着，总难以忘记母亲对我们的爱，如果你的母亲已经离你远去，不要悲哀，因为母亲的音容笑貌依然清晰、和蔼。母亲已经成为你的记忆中的永恒风景。

词汇笔记

shrug [ʃrʌg] v. 授予；同意；承认

He shrugged at my suggestion.

他对我的建议只是耸耸肩。

coincidence [kəu'insidəns] n. 巧合；巧；同时发生

It was a coincidence that he was born on his mother’s birthday.

他在他母亲生日那天出生，真是巧事。

commit [kə'mit] v. 犯罪；做错事等

I committed an error in handling the business.

我在处理这一业务时犯了一个错误。

executive [ig'zekjutiv] adj. 执行的；实施的；经营管理的

He is on the executive committee.

他是该执行委员会委员。

小试身手

只想和您谈谈，为了我的成功，您作出了多大的牺牲！“你不是在责备我对你父亲的失职吧？”妈妈问道，虚弱地笑了。“生一个女儿，”母亲喘息着，“为她活着。”

短语家族

She dropped into a chair beside the wheelchair.

drop into：落入；偶然进入

I never wanted to go to grad school for that MBA.

want to do：想要做……

给女儿的信

Father’s Day Sentimentality

佚名 / Anonymous

Dear Lara,

As I write this letter, you are nearly one week old and sound asleep at your mother’s side. It’s going to be a few years before you can read this, and even longer before you understand exactly what I’m feeling—which is good, because then you’ll need even more time to forgive.

This letter is one of the hardest things, I’ve ever had to write, since I’m only a journalist and not a real writer. No words I know—not even the ones I looked up in the neighbor’s dictionary—can describe the sublime joy and wonder I have felt since watching your mother do the equivalent of passing Andre the Giant’s bowling ball and realizing that I could never take her place.

And let me say right now, thank god for that as well.

When they told me you were a girl, I felt so excited my heart could have burst—for when you hit adolescence, you’re mostly your mother’s problem, not mine.

We took your name from Lara Croft, the main character of the video game “Tomb Raider” and a new movie that features Angelina Jolie playing far below her talent. Croft, you one day will discover, has gazongas large enough to sink battleships and has reduced many teenage boys to the level of drooling idiocy. So, while it’s anatomically impossible for you to share that gift, at least you’ll have the name going for you, which can’t hurt in job interviews.

The best way to describe what I’m feeling right now is “surreal,” which means I should lay off the after—dinner cocktails. I’ve long wanted to be a father but somehow never believed it would happen, in light of my lousy dating history and penchants for watching “Star Trek” and reading comic books.

But now you’re here, and a week after your birth, I still sit for minutes watching your chest rise and fall—if for no other reason than it’s more interesting than the other reality shows on TV. I still feel a sense of wonder as you kick and squirm upon waking—as you stretch your teeny—tiny limbs, wrinkle your little face, and cry. And then I feel guilty for practicing the accordion while you were trying to sleep.

Over the years to come, I’m sure I will let you down, and there’ll be times you’ll wish you had someone different for a father. Your cousins Mario and Luigi have been wishing that about their father since day one.

But I want you to know that I’m always going to be there for you—no matter where you shop, how you park, or how much time you spend on our phone. It’s not obsessive, I’m your FATHER, and I even promise to be unobtrusive when I’m with you on dates. (However, if the guy lays as much as a finger on you, he’s a dead man.)

In life, there’s a few important things to know:

Maintain a good credit rating. Successful superheroes never let it slide. That’s how Batman, Iron Man, the Wasp, and the Golden Age Sandman all retain their millionaire status, even when they do the costume thing full-time. Spider-man and Green Lantern never made even the minimum monthly payment, and they’re always struggling just to pay the rent.

Also, if Dr. Dingle ever calls from George Wood University in Texas about my pledge to the Alumni Dance Fund, tell the old goat I refuse to donate a single penny.

That’s about it right now. Later on, we’ll get into the specifics of getting dressed—underwear first, then your shoes—avoiding trademark lawsuits, guarding against government conspiracies, and what to look for in rodents when you’re preparing that delicious dish of “potato au raton.”

Right now, I’m happy just to watch your mother change the diaper when it’s dirty, then listen to you breathe quietly as you slumber against my shoulder—which means that, soon, I too will get to hit the sack.

Right now, I just want to treasure that moment by shooting it with my digital camera, then forwarding it to everyone I know until they put me on their spam-blockers list. Thank God one more time, for modern technology.

Love,

Dad

亲爱的罗拉：

当我写这封信时，你才一周大，甜甜地睡在你妈妈的身边。看来要再过几年你才会读这封信，若要你完全理解我此刻的感受可能还需更长的时间——那样也好，因为你需要更长的时间去学习宽恕别人。

写这封信是一件很难的事，但我必须写，要知道我不过是个新闻工作者，并非真正的作家。看到你妈妈把你生下来时，就如同给安德鲁大力士传递巨型保龄球一样艰险，而我却无能为力，只能眼睁睁地看着。心中的喜悦和惊奇却无以言表，就算借助周围所有字典的帮助也找不到合适的词去形容。

为你顺利地降生，我要再次感谢上帝。

知道你是个女孩后，我兴奋得几乎要跳起来——等你进入青春期时，你将会是你妈妈的最大问题，而不是我的。

我们给你取名叫劳拉·克罗福特，是电子游戏《古墓丽影》中女主角的名字，也是一部同名电影中的主角。可我认为安吉丽娜·朱丽的演技还没发挥到极致。终有一天你会发现，劳拉·克罗福特独有骄人的丰满胸脯，足以使战舰沉没，她迷人的魅力会使无数少男神魂颠倒。当然了，从解剖学角度讲，你并没有与她们相同的天赋，可至少你和她们有相同的名字，这对你日后参加工作面试应该很有好处。

我此刻的感受用“超现实主义”来形容最恰当不过了，也就是说，晚饭后我都不用再喝鸡尾酒了。我一直都渴望做一位父亲，可当我真正成为父亲时又有些不敢相信，或许是由于我那劣迹斑斑的恋爱史，再有就是闲着没事时只爱看《星舰迷航》和漫画书的缘故吧！

而现在你就在我面前，已经出生一个星期了，我依然会兴致勃勃地坐在旁边看着你，你那起伏的胸脯非常有趣，比电视上的真人秀好看多了。看着你的小腿蹬来蹬去，蠕动着身子，伸伸小胳膊小腿，皱皱小脸，然后号啕大哭，我依然会感到万分惊奇。而一想到我在你要睡觉的时候练手风琴，便觉得有些内疚。

以后的日子，我肯定会有令你伤心失望的时候，甚至你会希望换个父亲。其实，你的表哥马里奥和雷基降生的第一天他们就曾这么想过。

但我想让你知道，我会永远守候在你身边——无论你在哪里逛街，如何停车，或是花多长时间与我们通电话，我都甘愿守候你，只因我是你父亲。我甚至可以保证在陪你出去约会时，少插嘴（如果那家伙敢动你一根指头，他就没命了）。

生活中，有一些重要的事情你有必要知道：

要有良好的信贷信誉。成功的大英雄从不败于此。保持着百万富翁地位的蝙蝠侠、钢铁侠、黄蜂和金世纪沙人等，尽管他们每天出去行侠仗义都得乔装打扮。而蜘蛛侠和绿灯侠却连最低的月薪都赚不到，还要为每个月的房租犯愁。

另外，如果德州佐治伍德大学的丁格教授打来电话，问我承诺给校友舞蹈基金会捐款的事情，你就直接告诉那老头，我是分文不出的。

就此搁笔吧。不久后，我们会谈及其他事的一些细节，比如穿衣——先穿内衣，然后再穿鞋子——你还要学着避免卷入侵权官司，提防政府的阴谋，以及在做美味的马铃薯菜肴时，如何把被老鼠咬过的马铃薯挑拣出来。

此刻，看着你妈妈给你换尿布，我的幸福感不禁油然而生。你枕在我的肩膀上，静谧地呼吸着。我想，用不了多久，我也会和你一起睡着的。

现在，我只想用数码相机把每个宝贵的瞬间都记录下来，把照片转发给所有我们认识的人，直到他们把我的邮箱地址封禁为止。为今天的高科技，我要再次感谢上帝。

爱你的，

父亲

词汇笔记

词汇笔记

journalist ['dʒə:nəlist] n. 记者；新闻工作者

The journalist has handed in her copy.

这个女记者交了稿。

adolescence [͵ædəʊ'lesəns] n. 青春期

Late adolescence is another transition, this time to leaving

home altogether.

青年期后期是另一个转折，这时候完全地离开家。

sink [siŋk] v. 下沉；使……低落；陷于

I shall sink lower and be worse.

我必然会更堕落下去，变得更坏。

guilty ['gilti] adj. 有罪的；内疚的

He passed judgement on the guilty man.

他对那个罪犯作出了裁决。

小试身手

为你顺利地降生，我要再次感谢上帝。

生活中，有一些重要的事情你有必要知道。

此刻，看着你妈妈给你换尿布，我的幸福感不禁油然而生。

短语家族

However, if the guy lays as much as a finger on you, he’s a dead man.

as much as：差不多

That’s about it right now.

right now：马上

谁是你的天使

Who Will Be Your Angel

佚名 / Anonymous

Once upon a time there was a child ready to be born.

One day the child asked God, “They tell me you are going to send me to earth tomorrow but how am I going to live there being so small and helpless?”

God replied, “Among the many angels, I have chosen one for you. She will be waiting for you and will take care of you.”

“But,” said the child, “tell me here in Heaven I don’t do anything else but sing and smile. That’s what I need to be happy!”

God said, “Your angel will sing for you and will also smile for you everyday. And you will feel your angel’s love and be happy.”

“And,” said the child, “how am I going to be able to understand when people talk to me, if I don’t know the language that men talk?”

“That’s easy,” said God, “your angel will tell you the most beautiful and sweet words you will ever hear, and with much patience and care, your angel will teach you how to speak.”

The child looked up at God saying, “And what am I going to do when I want to talk you?”

God smiled at the child saying, “Your angel will place your hands together and will teach you how to pray.”

The child said, “I’ve heard on earth there are bad men. Who will protect me?”

God put his arm around the child, saying, “Your angel will defend you—even if it means risking life!”

The child looked sad, saying, “But I will always be sad because I will not see you anymore.”

God hugged the child, “Your angel will always talk to you about me and will teach you the way to come back to me, even though I will always be next to you.”

At that moment there was much peace in Heaven, but voices from earth could already be heard.

The child, in a hurry, asked softly, “Oh God, if I am about to leave now please tell me my angel’s name!”

God replied, “Your angel’s name is of no importance... you will simply call her MOMMY!”

从前，有一个婴儿即将降生。

一天，他问上帝：“有人告诉我，您明天要把我送到人间。但是，我幼小无助，怎么活下去呢？”

上帝说：“我已经从众多的天使中给你选择了一个，她会在那儿等你，并无微不至地照顾你。”“但是，”孩子问道，“您是知道的，在天堂，我除了歌唱和微笑，不必做任何事，那才是我所需要的快乐啊。”

上帝说：“你的天使每天都会为你歌唱，对你微笑。你将感受到她无尽的爱，也会因此而快乐。”“但是，”小孩又问，“我不懂他们的语言，怎么能听得懂他们说话呢？”“那很容易啊，”上帝说，“你的天使会教你从未听过的最甜美的语言，并且她会耐心地教你如何去讲这些语言。”

小孩仰脸望着上帝说：“那我要是想和您说话该怎么办？”

上帝微笑着对他说：“你的天使会教你如何双手合十去祈祷呀。”

小孩说：“我听说人间有坏人，那么遇到坏人，谁来保护我呢？”

上帝搂住小孩说：“你的天使会尽全力保护你，甚至甘冒生命危险！”

小孩悲伤地说：“但是，再也看不到您了，我会很伤心的。”

上帝拥着小孩说：“你的天使会时常和你提起我，还会教你怎样回到我身边，当然，我始终与你同在。”

那一刻，天堂很平静，但已经可以听得见凡间的声响。

小孩急切而温和地说：“哦，上帝，我马上要出发了，请您告诉我，我的天使叫什么名字。”

上帝回答说：“你的天使的名字并不重要……你就简单地叫她‘妈妈’ 吧！”

词汇笔记

patience ['peiʃəns] n. 耐性；耐心

Thank you for your patience!

感谢您的耐心等待！

pray [prei] v. 祈祷；恳求；央求

They prayed that he wonld recover.

他们为他尽快康复而祈祷。

risk [risk] v. 冒……的危险

The college student risked his life in trying to save the drowning boy.

这个大学生冒着生命危险去营救那个快要淹死的男孩。

importance [im'pɔ:təns] n. 价值；重要；重大

The importance is speed,not scale.

重要的是速度而不是规模。

小试身手

有人告诉我，您明天要把我送到人间。但是，我幼小无助，怎么活下去呢?

她会在那儿等你，并无微不至地照顾你。

你的天使会尽全力保护你，甚至甘冒生命危险！

短语家族

Once upon a time there was a child ready to be born.

once upon a time：从前

The child, in a hurry, asked softly.

in a hurry：立即；匆忙

爱的奇迹

Love Lives Forever

佚名 / Anonymous

My mouth felt dry as I followed my mother into the doctor’s private office and sank into a padded chair next to hers. This doctor didn’t carry a stethoscope. He had a room full of gadgets and gizmos to analyze the learning abilities of failing students. That day he had analyzed me.

He shuffled papers and jabbed his wire frame glasses with a forefinger. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Mrs. Dow, but Peter has dyslexia. A fairly severe case.”

I swallowed and tried to breathe. The doctor went on. “He’ll never read above the fourth-grade level. Since he won’t be able to complete high school requirements, I suggest you enroll him in a trade school where he can learn to work with his hands.”

I didn’t want to go to trade school. I wanted to be a preacher, like my dad. My eyes filled with tears, but I forced them back. A twelve-year-old was too big to cry.

Mom stood up, so I jumped to my feet, too. “Thank you, Doctor,” she said. “Come along, Peter.”

We drove home without saying much. I felt numb. Dyslexia? I’d never heard the word until last week. Sure, I was always the slowest kid in my class. During recess I had a special hiding place behind a shrub. There I would cry because I couldn’t do my lessons no matter how hard I tried.

Of course, I never told my mom about that part of school. I was too ashamed. I didn’t want to worry her, either. She had enough on her mind with teaching school full-time and taking care of Dad, my two brothers, my sister and me.

Mom and I arrived home before the rest of the family. I was glad. I wanted some time alone. With my chin almost touching my chest, I pulled off my coat and hung it in the closet. When I turned around my mother was standing right in front of me. She didn’t say anything. She just stood there looking into my eyes with tears running down her cheeks. Seeing her cry was too much for me. Before I knew what was happening, I was in her arms bawling like a big baby. A few minutes later, she led me into the living room to the couch.

“Sit down, honey. I want to talk to you.”

I rubbed my eyes with my sleeve and waited, plucking at the crease in my trousers.

“You heard what the doctor said about your not finishing school. I don’t believe him.”

I stopped sniffling and looked at her. Her mild blue eyes smiled into mine. Behind them lay an iron will. “We’ll have to work very hard, you and I, but I think we can do it. Now that I know what the problem is, we can try to overcome it. I’m going to hire a tutor who knows about dyslexia. I’ll work with you myself evenings and weekends.” Her eyebrows drew down as she peered at me. “Are you willing to work, Peter? Do you want to try?”

A ray of hope shone through the hazy future. “Yes, Mom. I want to real had.”

The next six years were an endurance run for both of us. I studied with a tutor twice a week until I could haltingly read my lessons. Each night, my mom and I sat at my little desk and rehearsed that day’s schoolwork for at least two hours, sometimes until midnight. We drilled for tests until my head pounded and the print blurred before my eyes. At least twice a week, I wanted to quit. I had the strength of a kitten, but my mom’s courage never wavered.

She’d rise early to pray over my school day. A thousand times I heard her say, “Lord, open Peter’s mind today. Help him remember the things we studied.”

Her vision reached beyond the three R’s. Twice I won at statewide speech competitions. I participated in school programs and earned a license to work as an announcer on a local radio station.

Then my mother developed chronic migraines during my senior year. She blamed the headaches on stress. Some days the intense pain kept her in bed. Still she’d come to my room in the evening, wearing her robe, an ice pack in her hand, to study with me.

We laughed and cried when I passed my senior finals. Two days before graduation I talked to my mother and father about Bible college. I wanted to go, but I was afraid.

Mom said, “Apply at the Bible Institute in our town. You can live at home, and I’ll help you.”

I put my arms around her and hugged her close, a baseball-sized lump in my throat.

A week after graduation, my mom felt a stabbing pain in her head. She became disoriented for just a moment, but seemed to be all right. It was another migraine, she thought, so she went to bed. That night Dad tried to wake her. She was unconscious.

A few hours later, a white-coated doctor told us Mom had an aneurysm that had burst. A massive hemorrhage left us no hope. She died two days later.

My grief almost drowned me. For weeks I walked the floor all night, sometimes weeping, sometimes staring at nothing. Did I have a future without my mother? She was my eyes, my understanding, my life. Should I still enroll in Bible school? The thought of going on alone filled me with terror. But, deep inside, I knew I had to move on to the next step, for her.

When I brought home the first semester’s books and course outlines, I sat in the chair at my little desk. With trembling fingers, I opened my history book and began to read the first chapter. Suddenly, I looked over at the chair she used to sit in. It was empty, but my heart was full.

Mom’s prayers still followed me. I could feel her presence. I could sense her faith.

In my graduation testimony I said, “Many people had a part in making Bible college a success for me. The person who helped me most is watching from Heaven tonight. To her I say, ‘Thank you, Mom, for having faith in God and faith in me. You will always be with me.’ ”

我跟着母亲走进医生办公室，一屁股坐到母亲旁边的一把软椅子上，感觉口干舌燥。医生没有戴听诊器，他的房间里满是小装置和小玩意儿，那是用来分析成绩不好的学生是否具有学习障碍的。那天，他给我作了全面检查。

医生不紧不慢地翻看着病历，然后用食指推了推金丝边的眼镜，说：“我很遗憾地告诉你，杜夫人，彼得患的是阅读障碍，比较严重。”

我局促不安，几乎要窒息了，并努力使自己的心情平静下来。医生接着说：“他顶多能读到四年级，既然无法上高中，我建议你还是让他去上职业学校吧，那样，他还能学到一些手艺。”

我不要去职校，我还要像爸爸一样当牧师呢。我热泪盈眶，却强忍住了，我12岁了，已经是大孩子了，不能再哭了。

妈妈站了起来，我也跟着从椅子上跳了起来。“谢谢您，医生！”她说，“走吧，彼得。”

我们没再说什么，便开车回了家。我麻木了，阅读障碍？直到上周我才听说还有这么一种病。的确，我总是班里反应最慢的一个，课间休息时，我总会跑到灌木丛后边去，那是我所拥有的藏身之处。我会躲在那里，偷偷地流泪，因为无论我怎么努力，成绩总是不尽如人意。

当然了，我从未把这些事情告诉妈妈，我很羞愧。况且，我也不想让她为我担心，她在学校里全天上课已够心烦的了，而且她还要照顾爸爸和我们兄弟姐妹四人。

我和妈妈到家时，其他人都还没回来。我很高兴，我想一个人待一会儿。我垂头丧气地脱下外套，把它挂到壁橱里。当我转身时，母亲就站在我的面前，她一句话也没说，只是站在那儿默默地看着我，眼泪簌簌地滑过她的脸。看到她哭得那么伤心，我心里难受极了。不知为什么，我扑到她的怀里像个宝宝似的大哭起来。几分钟后，她把我带到客厅的沙发那儿。“坐下吧，亲爱的，我想和你聊聊。”

我用袖口抹了抹眼泪，等着她开口，我的手不由自主地摆弄着裤子上的皱褶。“你都听到了，医生说你不能完成学业，但我不相信。”

我停止了抽泣，盯着她看，她微笑着，那漂亮的蓝眼睛温柔地注视着我，在这温柔的背后隐藏着她无比坚强的意志。“我们必须齐心协力，我想我们一定能成功。现在，我已经知道问题的症结所在，我们要努力克服它。我打算给你请一位懂得如何应对阅读障碍的家庭教师，每天晚上和周末我来陪你一起学习。”她凝视着我，说：“彼

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