My Father无言的爱

有时候，父亲就好似那深埋于大地的树根，为了让树干有所依靠而深深地扎根于土壤，为了让枝叶繁盛茂密而不停地汲取养分。他们坚强地承担起一切，无私地付出一切，默默地给予我们深沉而细腻的爱，虽然无声，却胜似有声。

The afternoon sun shone brightly on the white sands of the beach. From farther down along the shore， the happy squeals1） of a child caught my ears. A father and his young son chased each other over the small dunes2）， the father walking only slightly fast so the child could outrun him. He caught his son and lifted him way up high， twirling3） him around before placing him on his shoulders and heading back to the parking lot.

My father died a month ago. He'd been as healthy as anyone could expect a 38-year-old man to be. He'd gone to sleep one night and just never got up in the morning. The doctor told us it was internal bleeding caused by a ruptured4） kidney. Nothing could have been done to help him， he said. I thought otherwise.

I was my father's only son， the eldest of three kids. Stacy and Jen， my little sisters， were only one and three， and would never know their father， never recall his loud， booming laugh or， less regrettably， the sting of his hand on their backsides.

I suppose I could say that he was a good father， better than most I know， anyway. He always had a ready smile， a kind word， and advice that could turn even the worst of times around. When I was little， he'd take me fishing， or to the park， and all the places you go to as a child. We were close then， and I couldn't have looked up to anyone more. I wanted to grow up to be just like Dad.

Then things began to change. I became too old to go fishing， could never find time to do stuff with him anymore， though I know I could have made time. I remember days when I caught a wistful5）， almost sad look from him aimed at me， especially on winter mornings perfect for snowmen and snowballs.

There were times when we fought6）， and， although I can't remember what we fought about， I know it was I who usually started it. He was a man of quiet simplicity， and I was a boy with a head crammed with all the things that go through the minds of young children. He was stuck in old ways， and nothing he hadn't seen was real in his eyes. I readily accepted anything new that came my way.

Dad tried to talk to me， but it was hard on both of us. He had become shameful in my eyes then. You see， my father had never learned to read， and he'd dropped out of high school as soon as he could take a job in an auto repair shop. Later， he saved enough money to start his own. We were not rich， but we were far from poor. This should have satisfied me， but I was still ashamed of my father. The terrible thing is—I think he knew it.

Then he started to behave oddly. He'd stay up late into the night， and in the morning would appear in the kitchen like a zombie7）， dark circles under his eyes. But those eyes had taken on a gleam， and he often shot glances at me that were full of something I tried to name， but could not. Not until one night.

午后明媚的阳光照在白色的沙滩上，远处海岸边一个孩子欢快的尖叫声传进了我的耳朵。一位父亲和他年幼的儿子正在小沙丘上相互追逐，那位父亲只是走得稍微快一点，好让儿子能跑到他前面。那位父亲追上了自己的儿子，将他高高举起在空中转了一圈后，让他骑在了自己的肩上，便转身朝停车场走去。

我的父亲一个月前去世了。他才38岁，和人们印象中这个年纪的人一样健康。一天晚上，他像往常一样上床睡觉，可第二天早上就再也没有醒过来。医生告诉我们，父亲死于肾脏破裂引起的内出血。他说无论当时做什么都于事无补，可我却不这么想。

父亲有三个孩子，我是他唯一的儿子，也是家里的老大。斯泰西和珍是我的两个小妹妹。那时她们一个只有一岁，另一个也就三岁，都永远没有机会去了解自己的父亲，也永远不会回想起父亲那爽朗、响亮的笑声，或是回想起他的大手打在她们屁股上时那火辣辣的滋味——这点可能不像前面那两点会让她们觉得那么遗憾。

我想我可以说他是一个好父亲，至少比我知道的大多数父亲都要称职。他总是面带笑容，话语亲切，也总能针对糟糕透顶的情况给出甚至可以扭转乾坤的建议。我小的时候，他会带我去钓鱼，或是去公园，所有小孩会去的地方他都带我去过。那时我们非常亲近，他是我最崇拜的人。我那时的愿望就是长大以后做一个像父亲那样的人。

后来，情况开始变了。我长成了大小伙子，不愿意去钓鱼了，也不再能抽出时间和他一起干这干那了，尽管我现在知道，其实那时我本可以抽出时间陪陪他的。我记得在那段日子里，特别是在最适合堆雪人和打雪仗的冬日清晨，我能从他看我的眼神里捕捉到一丝闷闷不乐甚至可以说是悲伤的神情。

有时我们也会争吵，尽管现在我已经记不得我们是为什么而吵，但我知道挑起事端的通常都是我。他是一个温和而质朴的人，而那时的我还是个少年，满脑子净是些年轻孩子们喜欢的玩意儿。他传统守旧，在他眼里，凡是他没见过的东西都不是真的。我则会欣然接受出现在我面前的一切新鲜事物。

父亲曾试图和我谈心，但这种谈话对我俩都是一种折磨。那时在我眼中，他已经开始让我觉得丢脸了。要知道，父亲根本没怎么读过书，大字不识几个，他上中学的时候，刚能去一家汽修店打工，就立马辍学了。后来，他攒够了钱，开了自己的汽修店。我们不富裕，但也远远算不上是穷人。对于这点我本应该觉得知足，但我却仍然觉得父亲让我很丢脸。而最糟糕的是，我觉得他知道我的心思。

此后他的行为就变得古怪起来。他每天总是熬到深夜才睡，早晨又像个僵尸一样带着重重的黑眼圈出现在厨房。但就是这样一双眼中却闪烁着一丝微光。他总会时不时地看我一眼，眼神中饱含一种无可名状的深意，我试着想读懂它，可却总也无法参透，直到一个夜晚。

It was winter， and I woke when a branch fell outside. The wind roared， and the cold had worked its way through the walls and into my bed， so I decided to get another blanket from the hall closet.

The kitchen light was still on， and I walked through the living room to shut it off. Peering around the corner， I saw my father at the kitchen table， with a book in front of him and a pen in his hand. His head was nodding， but he shook himself awake to take a gulp8） of what， I am sure， was cold coffee. As I watched， he began talking slowly and quietly. After a time I could catch snippets9） of what he was saying and recognized Dr. Seuss's10） The Cat in the Hat.

I had bought that book years ago when I was little， after saving up my allowance11）. I'd brought it home and given it to my father， asking him to read it to me. I remember his face， how red it was， and how sorry his eyes were as he handed it back to me. All he said was， "Sorry， Son." I remember feeling confused. I left the book on the kitchen counter and when I looked for it again， it was gone. I hadn't seen it since. But now I heard the familiar rhymes coming from my father's lips. I was stunned.

He was teaching himself to read， struggling with each word. Yet even that amazed me.

I stood in that corner for a long time. My father knew I was there， I'm sure， because I was none too12） quiet coming down those stairs. I think he wanted me to know.

I went back to bed without the extra blanket. The warmth in my heart was all I needed.

I never mentioned my discovery. But my faith and respect for my father grew stronger， and time and again I found myself turning to him for advice. I spent time with him each day， and we grew close again， talking about everything and nothing at all.

Jen was born， and I took time off from school to work side by side with Dad at the shop to pay the bills. I wasn't very good at mechanics， but Dad was patient and took the time to teach me.

We went to baseball games together， he came to my football tournaments13）， and I rediscovered my love of fishing. He was there when I graduated from school， and I was there when he received his high school diploma， twenty years after he'd dropped out. The mysterious gleam I had seen in his eyes now had a name. It was pride.

Stacy was born， and we tumbled into hard times again. I took a night job at a movie theatre and worked with Dad during the day. I put my dreams of college on hold and became his full-time partner.

One summer day， just two months before his death， I came home to find a gray Pontiac in our yard， parked where my hand-me-down Chevy usually was. My father was sitting casually on the hood14）， and as I began to question， he silenced me. I deserved it， he said. I had worked hard， and I needed a car that started when I wanted it to， unlike my Chevy.

We didn't have money to spare， I knew. Yet he cared enough to take the risk. The three words I had not uttered in fifteen years were now on the tip of my tongue， but still I could not tell him that I loved him. I knew it showed in my eyes， though， because I could see the reflection of it in his， which were as wet and shiny as mine. We didn't need those words.

At his funeral， we made a very small procession15）： my mother and sisters， a few close relatives， some guys from the garage， and me. I didn't cry， although the tears were there. Later I cried for hours， alone.

As I stood on the beach where we once played， a heavy sadness hung in my heart， and I knew it would never quite go away. We'd been through a lot， he and I， and all I could hope for now was that I could somehow find the strength to carry on without him. I wondered， if I had said those three words， would his life have been any happier？ Maybe. But I hadn't needed to say it. He'd known anyway.

那时正值寒冬，我被外面一根树枝的折断声惊醒。屋外狂风呼啸，阵阵寒意透过墙壁一路钻进我的被窝里，于是我决定到前厅的壁橱里再拿一条毯子。

厨房的灯还亮着，我穿过客厅走过去想把灯关上，却看见父亲还坐在餐桌前。我躲在墙角偷偷地看着，他面前摆了一本书，手里握着一支笔。他打着盹儿，头时不时地垂下去，但他很快又摇摇头使自己清醒过来，然后喝一大口咖啡。我敢肯定，那一定是冷了的咖啡。就在我观察他时，他开始喃喃自语，语速很慢，声音极小。过了好一会儿，我才听清只言片语，原来他是在读苏斯博士的《戴帽子的猫》。

那本书是好几年前我还小的时候用攒下的零花钱买的。当年我把书拿回家，递给父亲，让他读给我听。我记得当他把书递回给我时，他的脸涨得有多红，满眼有多歉疚。他只说了一句：“对不起，儿子。”我记得自己当时觉得很困惑。我把书放在了厨房的长桌上，等我再去找时，它却不见了。那之后，我就再也没有见过那本书。但那一刻我却听见那些熟悉的韵律从父亲的嘴里读了出来。我愣住了。

他在教自己识字，每一个字都念得很吃力。但即便是那样也足以令我大吃一惊。

我在那个墙角站了很久。我现在敢肯定，当时父亲知道我在那里，因为我下楼时动作并不轻。现在想来，他当时是想让我知道这一切的。

我没拿毯子就回到了床上。我的心中暖意融融，足以帮我抵御寒冷。

我从未提及这次的发现，但我对父亲的信任和敬意却与日俱增。我会常常向他请教，听取他的建议。我每天都花时间陪他，我们又变得亲近起来，无话不谈，毫无保留。

接着，珍出生了。我休了一段时间学，和父亲一起在汽修店里工作以贴补家用。我的修车技术不怎么样，但父亲很耐心地花时间教我。

我们一起去看棒球赛；他来参加我的足球锦标赛；我发现自己又重新爱上了钓鱼。他在我毕业时出席了我的毕业典礼，而我也亲眼见证了他在退学20年后亲手接过中学毕业证的一幕。我终于读懂了曾在他眼中看到的那道神秘微光——那是自豪。

随后，斯泰西出生了，家里的生活又一次陷入了困境。我晚上在一家电影院上班，白天则和父亲一起干活。我将我的大学梦暂时搁置，做起了他的全职帮手。

那年夏天，也就是在他去世前两个月，我有一天回家后在院子里发现了一辆灰色的庞蒂克车，就停在我那辆二手雪佛兰车经常停放的地方。父亲很随意地坐在汽车的引擎盖上，就在我要询问时，他打断了我。他说这是我应得的，说我工作十分努力，并且也需要一辆我想发动就能发动起来的车，而不是像我那辆半天也发动不了的雪佛兰车。

我很清楚我们手头没有闲钱，可他却竭尽所能，冒了这个险。15年来我从未对他说过的那三个字当时就在我的嘴边，可我还是没能告诉他——我爱他。但是我知道，这三个字就在我的眼睛里，因为他和我一样，眼里噙满了泪水，而我也能从他闪着泪花的双眼里看到同样的内容。那一刻，我们之间无需多言。

来父亲葬礼上为他送葬的人很少，只排成了短短的一列：妈妈和两个妹妹、几位近亲、汽修店的几个伙计，还有我。我眼眶里泛着泪水但却没有哭。后来，我独自一个人哭了好几个小时。

当我站在我们一起嬉闹过的那片沙滩上时，我的心情沉重而悲痛，我知道这种伤痛会伴我一生，永远也不会消逝。父亲和我，我们曾经一起经历了那么多的风风雨雨，而现在我只希望我能找到某种力量，支撑我在没有他的日子里继续前行。我不知道，如果那时我对他说出了那三个字，他会不会过得更快乐一些？或许会吧。但那时我已经没有说出来的必要了，因为爱在心中，他已了然。