|
It has been weeks since I wrote this about my father. I pondered over whether to submit it, and initially decided to keep it to myself. After all, it is what I consider to be very private and personal about someone with whom I was very close. So I expressed my feelings, recorded the event as best as memory allowed, then stashed it away. Then my sister gained access to the Internet, so I wanted to share this story of our father with her; she and Dad were also quite close. Since she has family, I sent it to her to read. Her response is the reason why this story about my father appears here today. "You have to submit it", she said, "A lot of people will be able to relate to this story." So, thanks again to my wise litter sister, a previous decision has been overturned. Here, with hopes that it will touch some hearts, are details of an episode in life with my father. We never, ever forget, but the memories help keep us going, and the joyous moments shared can recur endlessly. They do with me, and they put a smile on my face each time I recall some of the incredibly happy times I shared with my dad. Although he didn't realize it, my father was a great teacher. He was a man of little formal education, having quit school in the seventh grade to help feed his siblings in a time when every penny was hard to come by. His working life actually began at a mere eight years of age. Consequently, he gained a lot from life. He had experienced more life lessons than most by the time he died, so while he had little formal training, he remains one of the brightest stars I know. What my father had accumulated in the school of life, he unknowingly passed down to me — lesson by lesson. Some months after he and my mother decide to walk separate paths, he needed a place to stay. It was to be temporary, only until he got "back on his feet". He swallowed a bit of pride in the process; I was thrilled beyond description with the opportunity to help the man who had done so much for me throughout my life. We sat and talked many a night, my father and me. We learned more about each other in the few months he resided with us, than we had in many years prior. It was a great chance for me to really get to know my day. Then, just when I thought I knew him and understood what he was all about — what made him tick — he threw me a curve. Sitting together in the living room one night discussing what made the Universe what it is, he turned to me and said, "You know, when I look in the mirror now, all I see is a fat, ugly old man." I distinctly recall hearing his words, and just as clearly can remember my reaction. I sat there, numb for what seemed like an eternity. It was one of those extremely rare moments when I couldn't find words — at least, none hat would have been appropriate, anyway. Sleeping on what he had just conveyed tome, the thoughts began to form and the words started to materialize, but how could I convey all the feelings that were welling up inside me? How could I tell my father how his words made me feel? Finally, it came to me: I would write him a letter. And so I did. "Dear Dad," I began, "the other night you spoke to me about the 'fat, ugly old man' you see when you look into the mirror. I don't understand. You must be looking at someone else, for when I look at you, the person I see is totally different from your description. When I look at you, what I see is the wonderful man who taught me how to bait a book, how to hammer a nail and how to walk away from the school bully. I look at you and in front of me is the person who was my mentor, the role model who showed me about life and how to live it with honesty, integrity and frankness. This is the man," I continued, "who displayed kindness toward others, often putting his neighbor first. He taught me all these things and so much more. Through the toughest of times, he showed me the importance of laughter." "Dad, you taught me how to be tough, yet compassionate. You taught me most of the things I know about this life. So as you look into that mirror, I hope the day will soon come that you see the same person I see, each time I look at you. I see my hero — the unique individual who helped me to become the person I am." My father did much more than teach me these things — he opened up so that I could get to really know the man whom I loved and came to respect more than my self. He taught me lessons of life that no ne else could; he taught me about who I am. And he made a difference. Looking back now, some four years after he decided to move on, I can see clearly why I chose him to be my father. |
/1 
|部落|Archiver|英文巴士
( 渝ICP备10012431号-2 ) 
GMT+8, 2016-10-5 12:11 , Processed in 0.057766 second(s), 8 queries , Gzip On, Redis On.
Powered by Discuz! X3.2
© 2009-2020 Best Translation and Interpretation Website
 |
