Father Forgets

Father Forgets

Father Forgets

Listen, son; I am saying this as you lie asleep, one little paw crumpled under your cheek and the blond curls stickily wet on your damp forehead. I have stolen into your room alone. Just a few minutes ago, as I sat reading my paper in the library, a stifling wave of remorse swept over me. Guiltily I came to your bedside.

There are things I was thinking, son: I had been cross to you. I scolded you as you were dressing for school because you gave your face merely a dab with a twoel. I took you to task for not cleaning your shoes. I called out angrily when you threw some of your things on the floor.

At breakfast I found fault, too. You spilled things. You gulped down your food. You put your elbows on the table. You spread butter too thick on your bread. And as you started off to play and I made for my train, you turned and waved a hand and called, "Goodbye, Daddy!" and I frowned, and said in reply, "Hold your shoulders back!"

Then it began all over again in the late afternoon. As I came Up the road, I spied you, down on your knees, playing marbles.

There were holes in your stockings. I humiliated you before you boyfriends by marching you ahead of me to the house. Stockings were expensive - and if you had to buy them you would be more careful! Imagine that, son, form a father!

Do you remember, later, when I was reading in the library, how you came in timidly, with a sort of hurt look in your eyes? When I glanced up over my paper, impatient at the interruption, you hesitated at the door. "What is it you want?" I snapped.

You said nothing, but ran across in one tempestuous plunge, and threw your arms around my neck and kissed me, and your small arms tightened with an affection that God had set blooming in your heart and which even neglect could not wither. And then you were gone, pattering up the stairs.

Well, son, it was shortly afterwards that my paper slipped from my hands and a terrible sickening fear came over me. What has habit been doing to me? The habit of finding fault, of reprimanding - this was my reward to your for being a boy. It was not that I did not love you; it was that I expected too muchof youth. I was measuring you by the yardstick of my own years.

And there was so much that was good and fine and true in yourcharacter. The little heart of you was as big as the dawn

itself overthe wide hills. This was shown by your spontaneous impulse to rush in and kiss me good night. Nothing else matters tonight, son. I have come to your bedside in the darkness, and I have knelt there, ashamed!

It is a feeble atonement; I know you would not understand these things if I told them to you during your waking hours. But tomorrow I will be a real daddy! I will chum with you, and suffer when you suffer, and laugh when you alugh. I will bite my tongue when impatient words come. I will keep saying as if it were a ritual: "He is nothing buy a boy - a little boy!"

I am afraid I have visualized you as a man. Yet as I see you now, son, crumpled and weary in your cot, I see that you are still a baby. Yesterday you were in your mother's arms, your head on her shoulder. I have asked too much, too much.

静听，我儿：我在你睡熟的时候这样说，一只小手掌，被你的小脸压皱，金色头发帖在你潮湿的额头上。我独自偷偷溜进你的房间，只是在几分钟前，我坐在书房读报的时候，一种窒息的懊悔情绪遍布我全身，我充满内疚地来到你的床前。

孩子，这些是我想的事：我曾对你粗暴，当你整装入学的时候，我责骂你，因为你只用毛巾将脸一抹。我因为你没有擦鞋，罚你劳动。当你将东西丢在地板上时，我愤怒地大

声呵斥。

早餐时，我也找茬：你弄洒了东西，你直接吞下你的食物，你将肘放在桌上，你在面包上抹的黄油太厚。当你开始玩，我去赶火车的时候，你转过来挥手喊着：“爸爸，再见!”我又皱起眉头来回答说：“把胸膛挺起来。”

傍晚的时候，这一切又重新开始了。我从街上回来，发现你跪在地上玩石子，你的袜子磨出了洞。我命令你在我前面走回家去，我使你在你朋友面前蒙受耻辱。“袜子费钱——如果你自己赚钱买它们，你就会更小心了!”试想，孩子，那种话竟由一个做父亲的口中说出来!

你记得吗？后来，当我在书房阅读时，你怎样畏畏缩缩进来，眼中显出一种伤感的神色。当我读完报纸抬起头来盯着你，对你的“打搅”很不耐烦，你在门边犹豫着。

“你要干什么？”我怒喝道。

你没有说什么，而是冲动地一跃，跑过来用两臂抱住我的脖子，给我一个亲吻。你紧紧的两只小手臂让我感到一种热情——上帝如果将花栽在你心中，即使置之不理，这种热情也不会使它枯萎。然后你走了，踏击着楼梯，上楼了。啊，孩子，在那一瞬间，报纸从我手中溜下去，一种可怕的痛苦和恐惧涌到我的身上。我养成了什么习惯？找错的习惯，责备的习惯——这就是我对你做孩子的奖励。并不是因为我不爱你，那是在为我希望你——一个未成年的孩子的太

多，那是用我自己岁数的尺码，来衡量你的。

在你的品格之中，有许多地方是真、善、美的。你小小的心，是同在广大的群山那边的太阳一样大，从你自然地冲动地跑进来给我亲吻可以证明。

孩子，今夜没有其他事了，我在黑暗中来到你的床边，我羞惭地跪在这里!

这是一种微弱的赎罪；我知道如果我在你清醒的时候告诉你，你不能理解这些事。但明天我将是个真实的父亲了!我要与你亲密，你苦、我也苦，你笑、我也笑。当批评的话来到嘴边，我要咬我的舌头。我不断地说：他不过是一个孩子———一个小孩子!

我恐怕自己已经把你想象成为一个成人。

但当我现在看你的时候，孩子，蜷缩在你的床上，我看见你还是一个婴孩。昨天你还在母亲的怀中，你的头倚靠在她的肩上。

我要求得太多，太多了。