译文如下:在我还未成年时,如果有人看到我和父亲在一块儿,我就会觉得难堪。他腿瘸得很厉害,个子又矮。我们一起走路时,他的手搭在我臂上以保持平衡,人们就会盯着看。对于这种讨厌的注视,我打心眼里感到别扭。即使父亲注意到这些或感到不安,他也从不表露出来。
我们的步伐难以协调一致——他常常停下脚步,而我的步子却显得不耐烦。正因为如此,我们一路很少说话。但每次出门时,他总说:“你按你的步速走,我跟着你。”
我们通常就在地铁口和家门口之间来回,那是他上班的路线。他生病或天气恶劣时也坚持上班,几乎从不缺勤。他总是准点到办公室,即使别人做不到。这是件可以引以为荣的事。当路上覆盖冰雪时,即使有人搀扶,他也难以行走。这种时候,我或者我的姐妹们就用一辆带有钢轮的儿童推车拉着他穿过纽约布鲁克林的街道到地铁站口。一到那儿,他就紧抓着地铁口的扶手一直往下走,因为地铁内比较暖和,下面几级台阶没有冰雪。曼哈顿的地铁站直通他们办公楼的地下室,他不用出站(就可到办公室)。下班回家时,我们会去布鲁克林的地铁站口接他。现在回想起来,我不禁惊叹:像他那样一个成年人,得有多大的勇气才能承受这样的屈辱和压力,而当时他却显得毫无痛苦,也没怨言。
他从不说自己可怜,也从不表现出对那些比他幸运或健康的人的羡慕。他从别人那儿寻找的是一颗“好心”。一旦找到了,那人在他心目中就是个大好人。现在我长大了,我相信这是判断一个人的标准。虽然我还没有确切理解什么是“好心”,但我知道自己有时候并没有这么一颗“好心”。
虽说很多活动父亲都不能参加,但他还是试着以某种方式来参与。当地一个棒球队缺少一个经理时,是他使球队正常运转。他是一个见多识广的棒球迷,常常带我到埃贝茨球场,观看布鲁克林道奇队的比赛。他喜欢参加各种舞会和聚会,虽然在那儿他只能坐着观看,却也能享受一番乐趣。记得在一次沙滩聚会上,进行了一场殴斗,人人挥拳上阵,相互推撞。他不满足只是坐着观看,然而在松软的沙地上如果没人帮助,他又站不起来。于是在极度无助的情况下,他高声喊道:“谁坐下来和我对打! 谁愿意坐下来和我对打! ”没有人坐下来和他对打。第二天,人们和他开玩笑,说是第一次听到拳击手在开打之前,就有人要求他倒地服输。
如今我知道他是通过我,他唯一的儿子,间接地参与了一些事情。我打球时(球技很糟),他也“打”;后来我加入海军,他也“加入”了。我休假回家时,他一定要让我去参观他的办公室。在介绍我时,虽然没有说出口,但他实际上在说:“这是我儿子,但也是我。如果我没瘸,我也会和他一样。”
如今父亲已去世多年,但我时常想起他。不知他当时是否留意在我们同行时,我不愿意被人看到。若他确实注意到了,那我真惭愧当时没能对他说我是多么对不起他,我是多么不孝,我有多么后悔。现在,每当我因一些琐事而怨天尤人的时候,每当我嫉妒别人运气比我好的时候,每当我没有一颗“好心”的时候,我就会想起他。每逢此时,我就设想自己将手搭在他的臂上,重新找回自己的平衡,我会说:“你按你的步速走,我跟着你。”
原文如下:When I was growing up, I was embarrassed to be seen with my father. He was severely crippled and very short, and when we walked together, his hand on my arm for balance, people would stare. I would inwardly struggle at the unwanted attention. If he ever noticed or was bothered, he never let on.
It was difficult to coordinate our steps — his halting, mine impatient — and because of that, we didn't say much as we went along. But as we started out, he always said, "You set the pace. I will try to adjust to you."Our usual walk was to or from the subway on which he traveled to work. He went to work sick, and despite nasty weather. He almost never missed a day, and would make to the office even if others could not. A matter of pride.
When snow or ice was on the ground, it was impossible for him to walk, even with help. At such times my sisters or I would pull him through the streets of Brooklyn, N.Y., on a child's wagon with steel runners to the subway entrance. Once there, he would cling to the hand-rail until he reached the lower steps that the warmer tunnel air kept free of ice. In Manhattan the subway station was the basement of his office building, and he would not have to go outside again until we met him in Brooklyn on his way home.
When I think of it now, I am amazed at how much courage it must have taken for a grown man to subject himself to such shame and stress. And at how he did it—without bitterness or complaint.He never talked about himself as an object of pity, nor did he show any envy of the more fortunate or able. What he looked for in others was a "good heart", and if he found one, the owner was good enough for him.Now that I am older, I believe that is a proper standard by which to judge people, even though I still don't know precisely what a "good heart" is. But I know the times I don't have one myself.
Unable to engage in many activities, my father still tried to participate in some way. When a local baseball team found itself without a manager, he kept it going. He was a knowledgeable baseball fan and often took me to Ebbets Field to see the Brooklyn Dodgers play. He liked to go to dances and parties, where he could have a good time just sitting and watching.On one occasion a fight broke out at a beach party, with everyone punching and shoving. He wasn't content to sit and watch, but he couldn't stand unaided on the soft sand. In frustration he began to shout, "I'll fight anyone who will sit down with me! I'll fight anyone who will sit down with me!"Nobody did. But the next day people kidded him by saying it was the first time any fighter was urged to take a dive before the fight began.
I now know he participated in some things through me, his only son. When I played ball (poorly), he "played" too. When I joined the Navy, he "joined" too. And when I came home on leave, he saw to it that I visited his office. Introducing me, he was really saying, "This is my son, but it is also me, and I could have done this, too, if things had been different." Those words were never said aloud.
He has been gone many years now, but I think of him often. I wonder if he sensed my reluctance to be seen with him during our walks. If he did, I am sorry I never told him how sorry I was, how unworthy I was, how I regretted it. I think of him when I complain about trifles, when I am envious of another's good fortune, when I don't have a "good heart."At such times I put my hand on his arm to regain my balance, and say, "You set the pace. I will try to adjust to you."