美丽英文:穿过爱的时光-第15章
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ks and baby face； he looked younger than his classmates。
In fact； when Al was first introduced to the class two weeks earlier； one student said； “You’re not in the seventh grade。 You’re a baby。 ”
To that； Al quickly responded； “I’m Al Billslington； and I am in the seventh grade。 ”
Despite his obvious courage； Al had been with us for only a short while and was still trying to fit in。 So I was a little surprised when he volunteered to read during author’s chair。 I had one of those teacher moments； when I smiled and nodded for him to read； while inside I said a silent prayer that the other students would not tease4 the new kid after he read。 The room fell silent； and Al began to read。
“If I had one wish； it would be to meet my dad。。。 ” He started out loud and clear and held the attention of my usually restless seventh graders as he read on for what seemed like fifteen minutes。 He told of how he had never known his father； who had left the family when Al was a baby。 He shared the intimate details of his struggles to be the only man in the house at such a young age； of having to mow the lawn and fix broken pipes。 He revealed to us the thoughts that raced through his mind constantly about where his father might be and why he might have left。txt电子书分享平台
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My eyes scanned5 the room for snickering faces of seventh…grade kids who I knew were prone to jump at a weakness and try to crack a joke； but there were no snickers。 There were no rolling eyes or gestures insinuating boredom or pending attacks。 All of my seventh…grade students were listening； really listening。 Their eyes were on Al； and they were absorbing his words like sponges。 My heart was full。
Al continued on； telling of nightmares at night； of never knowing a man so important to him； yet so unreal。 I could hear his voice growing shaky as he read such passionate and honest words； and I saw a tear roll down one of his dimpled cheeks。 I looked to the audience。 There were tears on Jessica’s face and on the faces of a few others seated quietly； intently listening。
They are letting him do this； I thought。 They are allowing him to share something he perhaps has never shared before； and they aren’t judging him or teasing him。 I felt a lump6 in my own throat。
Al finished； struggling now to read his last sentence。 “If l had one wish； it would be to meet my dad； so I wouldn’t。。。 ” His tears were rolling now； and so were ours； “。。。 so I wouldn’t have to close my eyes in bed every night just wondering what he looks like。 ”
Without any cue from me； the class stood up and applauded。 Al smiled from ear to ear as they all rushed him with hugs。 I was floored。
This is why I teach。 I teach because I am allowed to learn the stories behind the faces。 I teach because I can watch kids grow and laugh and learn and love。 I teach because of students like Al。
。。
欢聚一堂
凯西·皮平·哈里斯
感恩节那天，我家的所有亲戚都聚在一起，他们围坐在长桌旁，或是坐在高脚桌上。有的人一边看电视一边调侃着什么。
电视中的一些节目吸引了他们的注意，一个大人喊道：“快听！”另一个人则附和道：“天啊，真棒啊！”
他们的语言简单朴实，不时还夹带一些方言，都是一些有趣的俗语，可以活跃气氛，还可以暖场。
这与学校的老师教我们的语言是不同的，像亲戚那样说话是不允许的。有时，父母说一些学校里不教的话，他们会经常纠正自己，就像改正错误似的。
当然，我们也学会了一些方言，说话时也会冒出一句。这些方言说起来很舒服，也很亲切。
父亲家的亲戚都是来自阿肯色州和俄克拉荷马州，他们说话时都带有当地口音，声音很高、很好听，从我们的谈话中就可以很容易地听出来，我和哥哥经常因为语言跟别人有差异而遭到取笑。
母亲家的亲戚来自伊利诺伊州，他们的说话速度都很快，也有口音，我和哥哥均受到了影响，学校的孩子们有些听不懂我们的话。
父亲家的亲戚很爱笑，日子过得很开心。母亲家的亲戚很严肃，很多时候都是静静地体会和享受自己的快乐。
他们之间的这种差异就像一条五颜六色的文化织棉，给了我和哥哥一个多角度的生活。感恩节通常是逍遥自在的一天，舒适而让人期待，是这个季节的第一个真正的节日，人们会聚在一起，享受一个“极其”快乐的日子。
时光荏苒，越来越多的家人离开了人世，可以聚在一起的人也越来越少。屋内仍然回荡着动听的音乐，并慢慢远去。放着高脚桌和长桌的房间现在也只剩下了一张桌子。食物还很丰盛，但是房间却十分冷清，心情也低落了下来。
“介意出去散步吗？”哥哥吃完晚饭后问我。
“当然！”
于是我们穿上夹克出去了。
“往哪条路走呢？”我问。
他耸耸肩说：“随便，就这条路吧。”他指着左边，于是我们出发了。
那是一个寒冷的感恩节的下午，天色渐黑了，空气中弥漫着烧过的木头的焦味。我们漫步在曾经玩耍的街道上，如此安静。我们不由地想起了居住在这里的家人。我们穿过一片田地，曾经，我们在这里挖土建造堡垒，两株曾经用来做房屋的大树，一片被洪水淹没的水洼，我们在这里捉蜥蜴和蝌蚪，让我们的狗自由地飞奔。人行道上的一颗枯树上有一只朝鸟响亮而清脆地叫着，打破了周围的孤寂。
哥哥拍着我的肩膀，笑着对我说：“快听！”
我摇了摇头，笑了。我们继续散步，当我听到从满是亲戚的房间里传出的这句话时，我泪眼朦胧……
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快听！
Listen at It
Kathy Pipping Harris
Thanksgiving time and all the relatives were gathered around the long table； or seated behind TV trays。 The television was on and some folks were watching it while visiting with one another。
Something on television got their attention and one of the adults said； “Listen at it！”Someone else replied； “Well； if that don’t beat all。”
Simple phrases were spoken by folks whose language was simple and concise。 They had several idioms that were just as colorful—phrases and words that brightened the room and warmed the conversation。
In school we were taught to speak differently。 The way our relatives spoke was discouraged。 Sometimes our parents would say things we weren’t taught in school。 They’d often correct themselves； as if erasing a mistake。
Of course we learned some of their phrases and used them。 They were fortable words to utter； familiar。
Our father’s side of the family was from Arkansas and Oklahoma and they spoke with the accents native to their birth states。 Their voices musical and often high pitched； it was easy to pick up that inflection in our own speech and at school my brother and I were often teased for the way we spoke。
Our mother’s side of the family came from Illinois and they had a tendency to talk fast。 They had an accent； too； and my brother and I added that to our own speech； confusing the kids at school all the more。
Our father’s side of the family loved to laugh and have a good time。 Our mother’s side of the family was more serious about how they took life in—their joys more silently experienced and enjoyed。
It was a rich tapestry of culture and mores to draw from and it gave my brother and me a multi…faceted perspective at life。
Thanksgiving holiday was always an easygoing day； fortable and anticipated。 It was the first real holiday of the season when everyone came together in one place； and a “durn”good time was had by all。
As the years played out； more of the family passed on and the get…togethers grew smaller and smaller。 The gentle melodious tones that once filled the home during the holiday had thinned out。 Where the room was once filled with TV trays and long tables； now only one table is set。 The food is still great。 But the room is more quiet； the mood subdued。
“Care to walk a spell？” My brother asked me after the meal。
“Sure！”
We put our jackets on and stepped outside。
“Which way？” I said。
He shrugged。“Doesn’t matter。 Down the road a piece。” He pointed to the left and we took off。
It was a chilly Thanksgiving afternoon； late in the day and the air was hazy with wood smoke。 The streets were quiet as we strolled through the neighborhood we once played in。 Remembering the families that once lived in certain homes。 We passed the field where we dug the earth out and created a fort。 The two trees we used for tree houses。 The flood control basin where we caught lizards and tadpoles and took our dogs to let them run free。 Somewhere in the skeletal trees that lined the sidewalk a Mockingbird sang loud and clear； breaking the solitude。
My brother punched me in the shoulder； the trace of a smile breaking on his face。 “Listen at it！”
I shook my
