双语美文《爱在无语时》
“shuma688”通过精心收集，向本站投稿了5篇双语美文《爱在无语时》，以下是小编为大家准备的双语美文《爱在无语时》，供大家参考借鉴，希望可以帮助到有需要的朋友。
篇1：双语美文《爱在无语时》
In the doorway of my home, I looked closely at the face of my 23-year-old son, Daniel, his backpack by his side.
在家门口，我凝视着23岁的儿子丹尼尔的脸，他的背包就放在身旁。
We were saying goodbye.
几个小时之后我们即将道别。
In a few hours he would be flying to France.
他就要飞往法国。
He would be staying there for at least a year to learn another language and experience life in a different country.
他将在那里待上至少一年的时间学习另一种语言，体验另一个国度的生活。
It was a transitional time in Daniel’s life, a passage, a step from college into the adult world.
这是丹尼尔生命中的一个过渡时期，也是他从象牙塔进入成人世界踏出的一步。
I wanted to leave him some words that would have some meaning, some significance beyond the moment.
我希望送给他几句话，几句能让他受用终身的话语。
But nothing came from my lips.
但我竟一句话也说不出来。
No sound broke the stillness of my beachside home.
我们的房子坐落在海边，此刻屋里一片静寂。
Outside, I could hear the shrill cries of sea gulls as they circled the ever changing surf on Long Island.
屋外，海鸥在波涛澎湃的长岛海域上空盘旋，我能听见它们的声声尖叫。
Inside, I stood frozen and quiet, looking into the searching eyes of my son.
我就这样冷冷地站在屋里，默默地注视着儿子那双困惑的眼睛。
What made it more difficult was that I knew this was not the first time I had let such a moment pass.
更糟的是，我知道自己已经不是第一次让如此重要的时光白白流逝。
When Daniel was five, I took him to the school-bus stop on his first day of kindergarten.
丹尼尔五岁的时候，那是他上幼儿园的第一天，我领着他来到校车的停车点。
I felt the tension in his hand holding mine as the bus turned the corner.
当校车转过街角出现时，他的小手紧紧地攥着我，我感觉到了他的紧张。
I saw color flush his cheeks as the bus pulled up.
校车到站的那一刻，丹尼尔双颊发红。
He looked at me―as he did now.
抬头望着我――就像现在这样。
What is it going to be like, Dad? Can I do it? Will I be okay?
“爸爸，接下来会怎样呢?我能行么?我会很好吗?”
And then he walked up the steps of the bus and disappeared inside.
说着，他上了校车，消失在我的视线里。
And the bus drove away.
车开走了。
And I had said nothing.
我却始终开不了口。
A decade or so later, a similar scene played itself out.
十多年后，这一幕再次上演。
With his mother, I drove him to William and Mary College in Virginia.
我和妻子开车送他到维吉尼亚州的威廉玛丽学院读书。
His first night, he went out with his new schoolmates, and when he met us the next morning, he was sick.
在学校的第一个晚上，丹尼尔和他的新同学一起外出，第二天清晨，再见到他时，他病了。
He was coming down with mononucleosis, but we could not know that then.
其实他当时已经染上了单核细胞增多症，但我们并不知道那件事。
We thought he had a hangover.
以为他只是有点不舒服而已。
In his room, Dan lay stretched out on his bed as I started to leave for the trip home.
我准备启程回家时，丹尼尔正在宿舍的床上躺着。
I tried to think of something to say to give him courage and confidence as he started this new phase of life.
我很想说一些鼓励的话语，在他开始这份新生活时，给他一些勇气和信心。
Again, words failed me.
但是，我再一次语塞。
I mumbled something like, “Hope you feel better, Dan.” And I left.
我只是咕哝了一句：“希望你快点好起来，丹尼尔。”然后就转身离开了。
Now, as I stood before him, I thought of those lost opportunities.
此时此刻，当我站在他面前，我想起了那些错过的时刻。
How many times have we all let such moments pass?
究竟有多少次，我们让这些珍贵的时刻白白溜走?
A boy graduates from school, a daughter gets married.
儿子的毕业典礼，女儿的婚礼等等。
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.
我们疲于应付这些热闹的场面，却没有在人群中抓住我们的孩子，找个安静的地方，亲口说出他们对我们有多么重要。
Or what they might expect to face in the years ahead.
或者与他们聊聊未来的挑战和人生的期望。
How fast the years had passed.
时光飞逝，岁月如梭。
Daniel was born in New Orleans, LA.,in 1962, slow to walk and talk, and small of stature.
1962年，小丹尼尔出生于洛杉矶新奥尔良市。他学会走路和说话要比同龄人稍迟一些，个子也长得不高。
He was the tiniest in his class, but he developed a warm, outgoing nature and was popular with his peers.
但是，尽管丹尼尔是班里最瘦小的一个，但他的性格热情外向，在同学中人缘颇佳。
He was coordinated and agile, and he became adept in sports.
由于协调性好，动作敏捷，他很快就成了运动高手。
Baseball gave him his earliest challenge.
棒球是丹尼尔人生的第一项挑战。
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.
他是棒球队里出色的投手，高三的时候，丹尼尔带领学校棒球队所向披靡，创下了七局五胜的记录。
At graduation, the coach named Daniel the team’s most valuable player.
在毕业典礼上，棒球教练宣布他为球队里的最有价值球员。
His finest hour, though,came at a school science fair.
然而，丹尼尔最辉煌的时刻却是在一次校园科技展上。
He entered an exhibit showing how the circulatory system works.
丹尼尔带着他的循环电路系统参加了这次展览。
It was primitive and crude, especially compared to the fancy, computerized, blinking-light models entered by other students.
与其他参展学生的那些新奇怪异、电脑操控、熠熠发光的模型相比，丹尼尔的作品相形见绌。
My wife, Sara, felt embarrassed for him.
我的妻子莎拉都感到有些尴尬。
It turned out that the other kids had not done their own work―their parents had made their exhibits.
后来我们才知道，其他孩子的作品并不是自己完成的，而是父母代劳的。
As the judges went on their rounds, they found that these other kids couldn’t answer their questions.
当评委在现场评审的时候，他们发现这些孩子都对参展作品一无所知，无法回答他们的问题。
Daniel answered every one.
只有丹尼尔对答如流。
When the judges awarded the Albert Einstein Plaque for the best exhibit, they gave it to him.
于是，他们把本次展览的最佳作品奖颁给了丹尼尔，并授予他艾伯特・爱因斯坦奖牌。
By the time Daniel left for college he stood six feet tall and weighed 170 pounds.
丹尼尔刚进大学时已经是个身高六尺、重一百七十磅的堂堂男子汉了。
He was muscular and in superb condition, but he never pitched another inning, having given up baseball for English literature.
自从放弃棒球而选择英国文学后，肌肉结实、身体强壮的丹尼尔就再没打过棒球了。
I was sorry that he would not develop his athletic talent, but proud that he had made such a mature decision.
我为他放弃了自己的体育特长感到遗憾，但更为他做出如此慎重的决定感到骄傲。
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.
有一次，我告诉丹尼尔，我一生中最大的失误就是，大学刚毕业时没能抽出一两年的时间出游旅行。
This is the best way, to my way of thinking, to broaden oneself and develop a larger perspective on life.
在我看来，旅行是开拓视野、形成豁达人生观的最好的方式。
Once I had married and begun working, I found that the dream of living in another culture had vanished.
而当我成家工作以后，我发现，体验异国文化的梦想已经烟消云散了。
Daniel thought about this.
听了这番话后，丹尼尔若有所思。
His friends said that he would be insane to put his career on hold.
丹尼尔的朋友告诫他说，为了游历世界而把事业搁在一边，这是非常愚蠢的疯狂行为。
But he decided it wasn’t so crazy.
但丹尼尔并不认同。
After graduation, he worked as a waiter at college, a bike messenger and a house painter.
毕业后，他曾在大学校园端盘子，骑单车送报纸，还替人刷过墙。
With the money he earned, he had enough to go to Paris.
通过打工挣钱，他攒足了去巴黎的路费。
The night before he was to leave, I tossed in bed.
丹尼尔离开的前一晚上，我在床上辗转难眠。
I was trying to figure out something to say.
我想准备好明天要说的话。
Nothing came to mind. Maybe, I thought, it wasn“t necessary to say anything.
但脑袋里却一片空白，也许根本就无须说什么，我安慰自己。
What does it matter in the course of a life-time if a father never tells a son what he really thinks of him?
即使一位父亲一辈子都不曾亲口告诉儿子自己对他的看法，那又如何?
But as I stood before Daniel, I knew that it does matter.
然而，当我面对着丹尼尔，我知道这非常重要。
My father and I loved each other.
我爱我的父亲，他也爱我。
Yet, I always regretted never hearing him put his feelings into words and never having the memory of that moment.
但我从未听他说过什么心里话，更没有这些感人的回忆，为此，我总是心怀遗憾。
Now, I could feel my palms sweat and my throat tighten.
现在，我能感觉到自己手心冒汗，喉咙也在打结。
Why is it so hard to tell a son something from the heart?
为什么对儿子说几句心里话这么困难?
My mouth turned dry, and I knew I would be able to get out only a few words clearly.
我的嘴巴变得干涩，我想我顶多能够清晰地吐出几个字而已。
“Daniel,” I said, “if I could have picked, I would have picked you.”
“丹尼尔，”我终于挤出了一句，“如果上帝让我选择谁是我的儿子，我始终会选你。”
That“s all I could say.
这是我说的唯一一句话。
I wasn”t sure he understood what I meant.
我不知道丹尼尔是否理解了这句话。
Then he came toward me and threw his arms around me.
但他扑过来伸出胳膊抱住了我。
For a moment, the world and all its people vanished, and there was just Daniel and me in our home by the sea.
那一刻，整个世界都消失了，只剩下我和丹尼尔站在海边的小屋里。
He was saying something, but my eyes misted over, and I couldn“t understand what he was saying.
丹尼尔也在说着什么，但泪水已经模糊了我的双眼，我一个字也没听进去。
All I was aware of was the stubble on his chin as his face pressed against mine.
当他的脸紧贴着我时，我感觉到了他下巴的胡子楂。
And then, the moment ended.
然后，一切恢复原样。
I went to work, and Daniel left a few hours later with his girlfriend.
我继续工作，丹尼尔几个小时后带着女友离开了。
That was seven weeks ago, and I think about him when I walk along the beach on weekends.
七个星期过去了。周末在海边散步时，我会想起丹尼尔。
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 cafe.
几千英里之外的某个地方，横跨这个荒芜海岸的茫茫大海，丹尼尔也许正飞奔着穿越圣热蒙大道，或者漫步在卢浮宫散发着霉味的走廊上，又或者正托着下巴，坐在左岸咖啡馆里憩息。
What I had said to Daniel was clumsy and trite.
我对丹尼尔说的那些话，既晦涩又老套。
It was nothing. And yet, it was everything.
空洞无文。然而，它却道出了一切。
篇2：双语美文：爱在日出时
她真是一个美人――个子高高的，肤若凝脂，带着浴后的清新。长而有亮泽的头发在她的肩上起舞。她有一双大而有神的褐色眼睛，分明的轮廓在晨曦里更加清晰可见。
Sunrise on the eastern coast is a special event. I stood at Dolphin’s Nose, a spur jutting out into the Bay of Bengal, to behold the breaking of the sun’s upper limb over the horizon of the sea. As the eastern sky started unfolding like the crimson petals of a gigantic flower, I was overcome by a wave of romantic feelings and nostalgia―vivid memorie not diminished by the fact that almost ten years had passed.
东海岸的日出是一道特别的景观。我站在海豚鼻――一块向外延伸至孟加拉海湾的地方――观看太阳的上半边缘冉冉升起在海平面上。当东边的天空开始如一朵巨大的花展开深红色的花瓣般逐渐红透时，我被一股浪漫的感觉和怀旧之情征服了――如此清晰的记忆，并没有因为近乎十年的光阴已经逝去这个事实而褪去。
I was a young bachelor then, and Visakhapatnam did not have much to offer. Every Sunday morning, I used to rise before dawn and head for Dolphin’s Nose, to enjoy the dazzling spectacle of the sun majestically rising out of the sea. The fresh, salty sea breeze was a panacea for all the effects of hangovers caused by Saturday night excesses.
那时，我还是一个年轻的单身汉，维萨卡帕特南市对我来说并没有太多好玩的东西。每个周日早晨，我习惯天不亮就起床，前往海豚鼻，享受太阳从海面上庄严升起的壮丽景观。清新又有一丝咸味的海风不啻是一种万能药，能够缓解周六晚上因尽情玩乐而引发的宿醉后的不适感。
After viewing the metamorphosis at sunrise, I would walk downhill along the steep mountain-path, towards the rocky beach, for a brief swim. Each time, I noticed a flurry of activity in a distant compound with a single decrepit building. I used to ignore it, but curiously, one day I decided to take a closer look. It was a fish market. Most customers were housewives from the nearby residential complexes. They were at their “Sunday-worst”―sans make-up, slovenly dressed, faces unwashed, and unkempt hair―in stark contrast with their carefully made-up appearances at the club the previous evening.
在观看了日出时奇妙的变化以后，我会沿着陡峭的山路下行，走到一个遍布岩石的海滩，游一会儿泳。每次，我都注意到远处有一个居民区，里面有一座破旧的建筑物，人声沸沸扬扬。我通常都对它视而不见，但很奇怪的是，有一天，我竟决定走过去看看。这是一个鲜鱼市场。大部分顾客都是附近居民楼里的家庭主妇。她们完全是一副最糟糕的周日装扮――不施粉黛，衣着邋遢，脸也没洗，头发蓬乱――这与她们前一晚在夜店里那副精心装扮的外表形成了鲜明的对比。
I had began to walk away, quite dejected, when I saw her for the first time. I stopped, dead in my tracks. She was a real beauty―tall, fair and freshly bathed, her long lustrous hair dancing on her shoulders. She had large, expressive brown eye and her sharp features were accentuated by the rays of the morning Sun. I can’t begin to describe the sensation she evoked in me; it was the first time in my life that I felt my heart ache with such intense yearning. I knew this was love. Yet, in my heart, I knew that Istood no chance―she had a mangalsutra around her neck. She was married―maybe happily, too. Nevertheles I drew closer to her and made the pretence of buying some fish. Smiling guardedly at me, she selected a couple of pomfrets and held them out to me. I managed to briefly touch her soft hands―the feeling was electric and a shiver of thrill passed through me. She communicated an unspoken “good-bye” with her teasing, dancing eyes and briskly walked away. Too dazed to follow her, I returned to my room and had fried pomfret for breakfast. Needless to say, they tasted delicious.
我很失望，正要离开时，我第一次看见了她。我停了下来，脑子里一片空白。她真是一个美人――个子高高的，肤若凝脂，带着浴后的清新。长而有亮泽的头发在她的肩上起舞。她有一双大而有神的褐色眼睛，分明的轮廓在晨曦里更加清晰可见。我无从描述她在我内心唤起的感受。在我的一生中，我还是头一次由于强烈的渴望而感到内心疼痛。我知道这是爱。然而，我心里清楚我已经没有机会了――她脖子上戴着用来护佑婚姻的幸运项链。她结婚了――说不定还很幸福。然而，我不由地向她靠近，假装要买鱼。她警觉地朝我笑了笑，挑选了两条鲳鱼，捞出水面递给我。我设法碰了碰她柔软的双手――犹如触了电一般，一阵颤栗袭遍全身。她揶揄似的转动双眸，无声地示意“再见”，然后脚步轻快地走了。我昏昏沉沉的，以至无法跟从她，便回到自己的房间，炸了鲳鱼做早餐。不用说，味道好极了。
Soon, I was following this routine every Sunday morning with almost religious zeal. She never missed her rendezvous with me―same place, same day, at precisely the same time, Seven o’clock. Still, not a word was exchanged between us. I was too shy and she probably wanted to keep it this way―a beautiful ethereal relationship―a love so delicate that one wrong move might ruin everything. Meanwhile, I had developed a taste for fried pomfret―quite surprisingly, considering that I had never eaten fish before.
不久，每个周日早上，我都带着近乎宗教般的虔诚做着相同的事。她从没有错过与我的相聚――相同的地点，相同的日子，分毫不差的时间，七点整。我们依旧没有说过一句话。我太害羞了，而她或许是希望一切止步于此吧――一种美丽而缥缈的关系――这种爱如此微妙，以至一个错误的举动就可能毁掉一切。同时，我逐渐喜欢上了炸鲳鱼――鉴于我之前从不吃鱼，这确实让我很吃惊。
As the years went by, I left Visakhapatnam and travelled around the world, met many beautiful girls at the various exotic places I visited. But I never forgot her! A man’s first love would always have an enduring place in his heart.
时间一年一年地流逝，我离开了维萨卡帕特南市，周游世界。在异国他乡，我遇见过很多漂亮的女孩，但我从没忘记她!初恋在男人的心里总占据着一个恒久的位置。
And now, I was back in Visakhapatnam, almost ten years later. As I walked down the slope towards the beach, in my mind’s eyes I could still vividly envision the playfully sublime look on her face―her gentle smile and communicative eyes―even if ten years had passed. I could not contain the mounting excitement and anticipation in me; I was desperately yearning to see her again. It was a forlorn hope but I felt flushed with optimism.Reaching the beach, I noticed that the sun was well clear of the horizon. I glanced at my watch―almost seven o’clock. I hastened my step, almost breaking in to a run, and reached the fish market where I stood at the exact same spot, where we used to have our rendezvous at sunrise.
现在，近十年以后，我又回到了维萨卡帕特南市。当我沿着斜坡下山走向海滩，在我的脑海里，我依旧能生动地回想起她脸上那顽皮而矜持的神情――她那温柔的微笑和会说话的眼睛――尽管十年已经过去了。我无法再控制这不断堆积的兴奋和我心中的期望。我非常渴望能再见到她。尽管这个希望很渺茫，但我心中还是充满了期待。到达海滩后，我注意到太阳已经完全跃出海平面了。我瞥了一眼手表――快七点了。我加快脚步，几乎跑了起来，来到当年的鲜鱼市场，站在当年的位置上，那儿是我们过去常常在日出之时相聚的地方。
Trembling with anticipation verging on anxiety, I looked around with searching eyes. Nothing had changed. The scene was exactly the same as I had left it ten years ago. There was only one thing missing―she wasn’t there! I had drawn out the short straw! I felt crestfallen. My mind went blank and I stood motionles overcome with gloom, when suddenly, I felt that familiar electrifying touch, the same shiver and the familiar thrill. It jolted me back to reality, as quick as lighting. As she softly put two promfret fish in my hand I was feeling in the seventh Heaven.
带着近乎焦虑的期待，我不住地颤抖，用双眼四处搜寻着。一切都没变。这个场景还和我十年前离开时一模一样。只有一样东西不见了――她不在那里!倒霉透了!我感到很沮丧，大脑一片空白。我一动不动地站在那里，满怀忧郁。忽然，我感觉到那熟悉的触电似的触碰。同样的颤抖，熟悉的战栗。它闪电般把我飞快地拽回到现实。当她把两条鲳鱼轻轻放到我手里时，我感觉自己如同飘上了七重天。
Looking at her, I was not disappointed. Her beauty had enhanced with age. Yet, something had changed, indeed. Yes! It was her eyes. Her large brown eyes did not dance so teasingly anymore. There was a trace of sadnes a sense of tender poignancy in her liquid brown eye as she bid me her unspoken “good-bye”. Dumbstruck by the abruptness of the event and the enormity of the moment, I stood frozen like a statue, unable to react or say anything. It was only when she was leaving that I noticed that there was no mangalsutra around her slender neck anymore.
看着她，我并不失望。随着年龄的增长，她愈发美丽了。然而有什么东西的确已经改变了――是的!就是她的眼睛。她那大大的褐色双眼不再顾盼生姿，饱含揶揄了。她的眼里有一丝悲苦。当她向我无声地示意“再见”时，她那水汪汪的褐色眼睛里流露出一种温柔的酸楚。我被这突如其来的一切震呆了，这一瞬间是如此长久，我像泥塑木雕一般站在那里，不能回应，说不出一句话来。只有当她离开时我才注意到，她那细细的脖子上不再戴着那串用来护佑婚姻的幸运项链了。
篇3：爱在无语时
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 world. 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 6)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 café.
What I had said to Daniel was clumsy and trite. It was nothing. And yet, it was everything.
篇4：爱在无语时
Words From a Father
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 world. 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 6)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 café.
What I had said to Daniel was clumsy and trite. It was nothing. And yet, it was everything.
篇5：爱在无语时的英语散文
有关爱在无语时的英语散文
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 world. 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 6)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 café.
What I had said to Daniel was clumsy and trite. It was nothing. And yet, it was everything.
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