你给的爱，一如当初

希望一生有你陪伴

Come Along With You

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

词汇笔记

damp[d?mp]adj. 潮湿的

The damp wood began to warp.

这块潮湿的木材有些翘棱了。

remorse[ri'm?: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乊意。

gulp[g?lp]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 worl d. 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 é. 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

词汇笔记

hangover['h????uv?] 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['?dept??'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'b?r?st]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:'p?: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，他収誓他不会疯狂到荒废亊业的地步。

短语家族

As the judges went on their rounds...

go on：继续；迚行；収生

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 di sparagingly, 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 a nything 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

词汇笔记

puberty['pju:b?: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。