老爸
The first memory I have of him ― of anything, really ― is his strength. It was in the late afternoon in a house under construction near ours. The unfinished wood floor had large, terrifying holes whose yawning darkness I knew led to nowhere good. His powerful hands, then age 33, wrapped all the way around my tiny arms, then age 4, and easily swung me up to his shoulders to command all I surveyed.
我對他――實際上是對所有事的最初記憶，就是他的力量。那是一個下午的晚些時候，在一所靠近我家的正在修建的房子里，尚未完工的木地板上有一個個巨大可怕的洞，那些張著大口的黑洞在我看來是通向不祥之處的。時年33歲的爸爸用那強壯有力的雙手一把握住我的小胳膊，當時我才4歲，然后輕而易舉地把我甩上他的肩頭，讓我把一切都盡收眼底。
The relationship between a son and his father changes over time. It may grow and flourish in mutual maturity. It may sour in resented dependence or independence. With many children living in single-parent homes today, it may not even exist.
父子間的關系是隨著歲月的流逝而變化的，它會在彼此成熟的過程中成長興盛，也會在令人不快的依賴或獨立的關系中產生不和。而今許多孩子生活在單親家庭中，這種關系可能根本不存在。
But to a little boy right after World War II ,a father seemed a god with strange strengths and uncanny powers enabling him to do and know things that no mortal could do or know. Amazing things, like putting a bicycle chain back on, just like that. Or building a hamster cage.Or guiding a jigsaw so it forms the letter F；I learned the alphabet that way in those pre-television days.
然而，對于一個生活在二戰剛剛結束時期的小男孩來說，父親就像神，他擁有神奇的力量和神秘的能力，他無所不能，無所不知。那些奇妙的事兒有上自行車鏈條，或是建一個倉鼠籠子，或是教我玩拼圖玩具，拼出個字母“F”來。在那個電視機還未誕生的年代，我便是通過這種方法學會了字母表的。
There were, of course, rules to learn. First came the handshake. None of those fishy little finger grips, but a good firm squeeze accompanied by an equally strong gaze into the other's eyes. “ The first thing anyone knows about you is your handshake,” he would say. And we'd practice it each night on his return from work, the serious toddler in the battered Cleveland Indian's cap running up to the giant father to shake hands again and again until it was firm enough.
當然，還得學些做人的道理。首先是握手。這可不是指那種冷冰冰的手指相握，而是一種非常堅定有力的緊握，同時同樣堅定有力地注視對方的眼睛。老爸常說：“人們認識你首先是通過同你握手。”每晚他下班回家時，我們便練習握手。年幼的我，戴著頂破克利夫蘭印第安帽，一本正經地跌跌撞撞地跑向巨人般的父親，開始我們的握手。一次又一次，直到握得堅定，有力。
As time passed, there were other rules to learn. “Always do your best.”“Do it now.”“Never lie！” And most importantly,“You can do whatever you have to do.” By my teens, he wasn't telling me what to do anymore, which was scary and heady at the same time. He provided perspective, not telling me what was around the great corner of life but letting me know there was a lot more than just today and the next, which I hadn't thought of.
隨著時間的流逝，還有許多其他的道理要學。比如：“始終盡力而為”，“從現在做起”，“永不撒謊”，以及最重要的一條：“凡是你必須做的事你都能做到”。當我十幾歲時，老爸不再叫我做這做那，這既令人害怕又令人興奮。他教給我判斷事物的方法。他不是告訴我，在人生的重大轉折點上將發生些什么，而是讓我明白，除了今天和明天，還有很長的路要走，這一點我是從未考慮過的。
One day, I realize now, there was a change. I wasn't trying to please him so much as I was trying to impress him. I never asked him to come to my football games. He had a high-pressure career, and it meant driving through most of Friday night. But for all the big games, when I looked over at the sideline, there was that familiar fedora. And by God, did the opposing team captain ever get a firm handshake and a gaze he would remember.
有一天，事情發生了變化，這是我現在才意識到的。我不再那么迫切地想要取悅于老爸，而是迫切地想要給他留下深刻的印象。我從未請他來看我的橄欖球賽。他工作壓力很大，這意味著每個禮拜五要拼命干大半夜。但每次大型比賽，當我抬頭環視看臺時，那頂熟悉的軟呢帽總在那兒。并且感謝上帝，對方隊長總能得到一次讓他銘記于心的握手――堅定而有力，伴以同樣堅定的注視。
Then, a school fact contradicted something he said. Impossible that he could be wrong, but there it was in the book. These accumulated over time, along with personal experiences, to buttress my own developing sense of values. And I could tell we had each taken our own, perfectly normal paths.
后來，在學校學到的一個事實否定了老爸說過的某些東西。他不可能會錯的，可書上卻是這樣寫的。諸如此類的事日積月累，加上我的個人閱歷，支持了我逐漸成形的價值觀。我可以這么說：我倆開始各走各的陽關道了。
I began to see, too, his blind spots, his prejudices and his weaknesses. I never threw these up at him. He hadn't to me, and, anyway, he seemed to need protection. I stopped asking his advice； the experiences he drew from no longer seemed relevant to the decisions I had to make.
與此同時，我還開始發現他對某些事的無知，他的偏見，他的弱點。我從未在他面前提起這些，他也從未在我面前說起，而且，不管怎么說，他看起來需要保護了。我不再向他征求意見；他的那些經驗也似乎同我要做出的決定不再相干。
He volunteered advice for a while. But then, in more recent years, politics and issues gave way to talk of empty errands and, always, to ailments.
老爸當了一段時間的“自愿顧問”，但后來，特別是近幾年里，他談話中的政治與國家大事讓位給了空洞的使命與疾病。
From his bed, he showed me the many sores and scars on his misshapen body and all the bottles for medicine. “ Sometimes,” he confided, “ I would just like to lie down and go to sleep and not wake up.”
躺在床上，他給我看他那被歲月扭曲了的軀體上的疤痕，以及他所有的藥瓶兒。他傾訴著：“有時我真想躺下睡一覺，永遠不再醒來。”
After much thought and practice （“ You can do whatever you have to do.” ）, one night last winter, I sat down by his bed and remembered for an instant those terrifying dark holes in another house 35 years before. I told my fatherhow much I loved him. I described all the things people were doing for him. But, I said, he kept eating poorly, hiding in his room and violating the doctor's orders. No amount of love could make someone else care about life, I said； it was a two-way street. He wasn't doing his best. The decision was his.
通過深思熟慮與親身體驗（“凡是你必須做的事你都能做到”），去年冬天的一個夜晚，我坐在老爸床邊，忽然想起35年前那另一棟房子里可怕的黑洞。我告訴老爸我有多愛他。我向他講述了人們為他所做的一切。而我又說，他總是吃得太少，躲在房間里，還不聽醫生的勸告。我說，再多的愛也不能使一個人自己去熱愛生命：這是一條雙行道，而他并沒有盡力，一切都取決于他自己。
He said he knew how hard my words had been to say and how proud he was of me. “ I had the best teacher,” I said. “ You can do whatever you have to do.” He smiled a little. And we shook hands, firmly, for the last time.
他說他明白要我說出這些話多不容易，他是多么為我自豪。“我有位最好的老師，”我說，“凡是你必須做的事你都能做到”。他微微一笑，之后我們握手，那是一次堅定的握手，也是最后的一次。
Several days later, at about 4 A.M., my mother heard Dad shuffling about their dark room. “ I have some things I have to do,” he said. He paid a bundle of bills. He composed for my mother a long list of legal and financial what-to-do's “ in case of emergency.” And he wrote me a note.
幾天后，大約凌晨四點，母親聽到父親拖著腳步在他們漆黑的房間里走來走去。他說：“有些事我必須得做。”他支付了一疊帳單，給母親留了張長長的條子，上面列有法律及經濟上該做的事，“以防不測”。接著他留了封短信給我。
Then he walked back to his bed and laid himself down. He went to sleep, naturally. And he did not wake up.
然后，他走回自己的床邊，躺下。他睡了，十分安詳，再也沒有醒來。
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