本帖最后由 ヮ成熟、羙° 于 2013-11-5 20:32 编辑
我永远的情人
荷叶/译
小时候，我家传统的节日是一边看着足球赛，一边吃着精心烹制的饭菜度过的。父亲一边愉快地聊天，一边用一半时间尽情地吃着。圣诞节，他会打上冬青状领带，开心地喝上一两杯。但他最闪光的时刻还要等到情人节。
我不知道是因为二月里办公室里工作节奏慢了，还是足球赛季结束了，但情人节是父亲选来向他特别的人示爱的时刻。多年来，我一直天真地认为他是我的情人。
我最早的有魔力的情人节出现在我六岁那年。几天来，我在为同学们剪贴情人节礼物。每人都装饰一个“邮箱”，放在桌子上，盛别人送的礼物。那个邮箱和里面的礼物都会带来一连串苦涩酸甜的记忆，这使我们进入了一个受欢迎程度的比赛，其标志是收到了多少礼物，关于男友/女友的取笑，以及来自班上对最可爱的男孩礼物的温情关注。
那天早上，在早餐桌上，我的椅子旁，我发现了一张卡片和一个包装好的礼物。卡片上写着“来自爱你的爸爸”，礼物是一个戒指，上有一块红色的玻璃，代表我生日的红宝石。对一个六岁的孩子来说，红玻璃和红宝石之间没有多大区别。我记得戴着这个戒指，那股骄傲劲是世上没有任何一种礼物可以相比的。
随着年龄的增长，礼物变成了心形的盒子，里面装着我最爱吃的巧克力，里面总有一张特别的卡片上署名“来自爱你的爸爸”。那些年，我的答谢总是很敷衍。这些卡片似乎不再重要，我想当然地认为情人节会永远存在。课桌上放“邮箱”的日子早就过去了，我开始对收到重要人物的卡片和礼物寄予希望和梦想，来自亲爱的爸爸的礼物似乎变得不再重要。
如果父亲知道了那时他已被替换，他从没表现出来。如果他感觉到我对于没出现的情人的任何失望时，他会更加努力地创造一种积极的氛围，抱我一下，尽他所能地让我这一天更加灿烂。
我的邮箱里最后出现了一个乡村地址，人工递送的糖果和卡片降级为美国邮政服务。十年来父亲的包裹从没有迟到过，他的情人节礼物也一样。直到八年前的情人节，当我把手伸进邮箱时，发现卡片上是妈妈的笔迹。
这是一张孩子为了一个学校计划挣点钱，去走门串户送的那种不值钱的乱七八糟的卡片。这是那种来自奶奶或年老的姑妈的卡片，这一次，是来自奄奄一息的父亲。这种卡片让人喉咙发哽，双目噙泪，因为你知道那个人已不能走出去，买一张真正的情人节卡片。这张卡片预示着这将是你收到的他最后一张卡片。
卡片外面有一朵郁金香图片，里面，妈妈印上“情人节快乐”字样。下面是潦草难辨的爸爸的笔迹“来自爱你的爸爸”。
这张最后的卡片依然留在我的布告栏上，它是一个念想，提示着我父亲可以多么特别，多年来这一直对我多么重要，让我知道我有一位父亲，他以慷慨的精神，简单的理解行为传递着爱的传统，他有能力向他生活中的人表达幸福。
那些事情将永不磨灭，我对那个永远的情人的记忆将永不磨灭。
附：原文 My Forever Valentine The traditionalholidays in our house when I was a child were spent timing elaborate mealsaround football games. My father tried to make pleasant chitchat and eat asmuch as he could during halftime. At Christmas he found time to have a cup ortwo of holiday cheer and do his holly-shaped bow tie. But he didn't truly shineuntil Valentine's Day. I don't knowwhether it was because work at the office slowed during February or because thefootball season was over. But Valentine's Day was the time my father chose toshow his love for the special people in his life. Over the years I fondlythought of him as my "Valentine Man". My firstrecollection of the magic he could bring to Valentine's Day came when I wassix. For several days I had been cutting out valentines for my classmates. Eachof us was to decorate a "mailbox" and put it on our desk for othersto give us cards. That box and its contents ushered in a succession ofbittersweet memories of my entrance into a world of popularity contests markedby the number of cards received, the teasing about boyfriends/girlfriends andthe tender care I gave to the card from the cutest boy in class. That morning at thebreakfast table I found a card and a gift- wrapped package at my chair. Thecard was signed "Love, Dad", and the gift was a ring with a smallpiece of red glass to represent my birthstone, a ruby. There is little differencebetween red glass and rubies to a child of six, and I remember wearing thatring with a pride that all the cards in the world could not surpass. As I grew older,the gifts gave way to heart shaped boxes filled with my favorite chocolates andalways included a special card signed "Love, Dad". In those years my"thank-yous" became more of a perfunctory response. Thecards seemed less important, and I took for granted the valentine that wouldalways be there. Long past the days of having a "mailbox" on my desk,I had placed my hopes and dreams in receiving cards and gifts from"significant others", and "Love, Dad" just didn't seemquite enough. If my father knewthen that he had been replaced, he never let it show. If he sensed anydisappointment over valentines that didn't arrive for me, he just tried thatmuch harder to create a positive atmosphere, giving me an extra hug and doingwhat he could to make my day a little brighter. My mailboxeventually had a rural address, and the job of hand delivering candy and cardswas relegated to the U.S. Postal Service. Never in ten years was my father'spackage late-- nor was it on the Valentine's Day eight years ago when I reachedinto the mailbox to find a card addressed to me in my mother's handwriting. It was the kind ofcard that comes in an inexpensive assortment box sold by a child goingdoor-to-door to try to earn money for a school project. It was the kind of cardthat you used to get from a grandmother or an aging aunt or, in this case, adying father. It was the kind of card that put a lump in your throat and tearsin your eyes because you knew the person no longer was able to go out and buy areal valentine. It was a card that signaled this would be the last you receivefrom him. The card had a photographof tulips on the outside, and on the inside my mother had printed "HappyValentine's Day". Beneath it, scrawled in barely legible handwriting,was "Love, Dad". His final cardremains on my bulletin board today. It's a reminder of how special fathers canbe and how important it had been to me over the years to know that I had afather who continued a tradition of love with a generosity of spirit, simpleacts of understanding and an ability to express happiness over the people inhis life. Those things neverdie, nor does the memory of a man who never stopped being my valentine.
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发表于 2013-11-4 10:36:36
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发表于 2013-11-4 22:48:06
