A great many people.doc

A great many people, when they speak of home, tend to associate it with a certain atmosphere, certain physical surroundings, and certain emotional attitudes within themselves. This sentimentality toward home is something that has come down to us from the past. Many modern people do not have it, and I think it is a good thing that they do not.许多人在谈到家的时候往往将它和某种气氛,某种环境及内心的某些情感态度联系在一起.这种对家的依恋情感古已有之,代代相传.许多现代人不再有了,我认为这是件好事.In the old days life was difficult. Enemies could attack you and kill or rob you, and you had little protection against them. People did not live in well-built houses where doors could be locked. They did not have the protection of an organized police force or telephones which could summon the police instantly. How did this influence the way people felt about home? Small family groups clung tightly together for protection against beasts and against other men. Only the bravest went beyond the small family area. Even in the Middle Ages only the most daring went to lands beyond sea. The human pursuit of security conditioned men to love their homes. I am sure that this feeling must have been very strong among the early settlers of the United States who were obliged, by famine and oppression, to take the plunge and go to the new land where they knew no one and where they were subject to Indian attack. We can see this even today in the attitudes of minority groups who, because of a feeling of insecurity, still preserve cohesive family ties.在遥远的过去，人们生活十分艰难敌人可能会攻击你，杀害你或抢动你的财富，而你却毫无还手之力人们并不住在可以锁门闭户的构造坚固的房子里他们没有一支有组织的警察队伍的保护，也不能随时打电话报警这些怎样影响人们对于家的感情呢？小小家庭的成员紧密团结，聚在一起，共同抵御野兽和敌人只有最勇敢的人才离开小小的家族管辖区甚至在中世纪也只有最勇敢的人才敢涉足海外人类对安全的追求决定了人们对家的热爱我相信，美国的早期定居者对此一定深有感触他们被饥茺压迫得走投无路，只好毅然决定冒险来到这个举目元亲易爱印第安人攻击的陌生的地方甚至今天，我们从少数民族团体的态度也可以看出这一点由于缺乏安全感，他们仍然保持着富有凝聚力的家庭纽带Today, thanks to modern transportation and well-organized societies, thousands of people willingly and eagerly leave the surroundings where they were born, and the oftener they do so, the less sentiment they are likely to have for those surroundings. I lived in England for three years, and I noticed that boys and girls left their parents homes and lived in dwellings of their own. There they could just telephone and ask an agency to provide them with a house or an apartment, which was their home. How has the meaning of this word home been altered by such activity? What does home mean to those people or to families who often move about, living in first one hotel and then another? I believe that for them home means a place where they can have privacy.今天，由于有了现代交通和组织良好的社会，成千上万的人们愿意并且渴望离开他们出生的环境而且，他们离家外出越频繁，对出生的环境的情感就可能越少我曾经在英国，他们只需拿起电话，要求一家房地产经销处提供一幢房子或一个套间，那就是他们的家了家这个词的意义是如何被这种行为改变的呢？家对于那些经常流动，从一家旅馆到另一家旅馆居住的人们或家庭成员又意味着什么呢？我认为，家对他们来说是一个离群独外不受干扰的地方This idea of home as being a place of privacy is emerging in my country, Saudi Arabia, where the young are abandoning their parents homes to live their own life. As for me, the atmosphere and surroundings of the place where my parents live have no sentimental attachment. Home is where I can shut the door and be by myself. At the moment it is a room in Eaton Hall. When I left my parents several years ago, I was anxious to leave. You might call it unfeeling, but that was the way I felt. On the day of my departure for the United States, my grandmother sobbed and wept. My father, however, indicated that he understood how I felt. “Son,” he said, “I am not sorry that you are leaving us. I only hope that you make the most of your time.在我的国家沙特陈拉伯，年轻人放弃父母的家去过他们自己的生活这种把家作为私人独处这地的看法正在我的国家形成我对父母居住之地的气氛，环境没有眷恋的情感家就是一个我能关起门来独处的地方现在我的家就是伊登宿舍的一个房间几年前当我离开父母时，我没有恋恋不舍，巴不得快快离开你也许会觉得这是无情无义，然而那确实是我的感受我离家去美国寻卫，祖母呜咽，泪流不止但我的父亲却表时他能理解我的心情孩子他说我对于你的离去并觉得悲伤我只希望你能充分利用时间My Mothers GiftI grew up in a small town where the elementary school was a ten-minute walk from my house and in an age , not so long ago , when children could go home for lunch and find their mothers waiting.At the time, I did not consider this a luxury, although today it certainly would be. I took it for granted that mothers were the sandwich-makers, the finger-painting appreciators and the homework monitors. I never questioned that this ambitious, intelligent woman, who had had a career before I was born and would eventually return to a career, would spend almost every lunch hour throughout my elementary school years just with me.I only knew that when the noon bell rang, I would race breathlessly home. My mother would be standing at the top of the stairs, smiling down at me with a look that suggested I was the only important thing she had on her mind. For this, I am forever grateful. Some sounds bring it all back: the highpitched squeal of my mothers teakettle, the rumble of the washing machine in the basement and the jangle of my dogs license tags as she bounded down the stairs to greet me. Our time together seemed devoid of the gerrymandered schedules that now pervade my life.One lunchtime when I was in the third grade will stay with me always. I had been picked to be the princess in the school play, and for weeks my mother had painstakingly rehearsed my lines with me. But no matter how easily I delivered them at home, as soon as I stepped onstage, every word disappeared from my head. Finally, my teacher took me aside. She explained that she had written a narrators part to the play, and asked me to switch roles. Her word, kindly delivered, still stung, especially when I saw my part go to another girl.I didnt tell my mother what had happened when I went home for lunch that day. But she sensed my unease, and instead of suggesting we practice my lines, she asked If I wanted to walk in the yard.It was a lovely spring day and the rose vine on the trellis was turning green. Under the huge elm trees, we could see yellow dandelions popping through the grass in bunches, as if a painter had touched our landscape with dabs of gold .I watched my mother casually bend down by one of the clumps. I think Im going to dig up all these weeds, she said, yanking a blossom up by its roots. From now on, well have only roses in this garden. But I like dandelions, I protested. All flowers are beautiful-even dandelions. My mother looked at me seriously. Yes, every flower gives pleasure in its own way, doesnt it? She asked thoughtfully. I nodded, pleased that I had won her over. And that is true of people too, she added. Not everyone can be a princess, but there is no shame in that.Relieved that she had guessed my pain, I started to cry as I told her what had happened. She listened and smiled reassuringly.But you will be a beautiful narrator, she said , reminding me of how much I loved to read stories aloud to her . The narrators part is every bit as important as the part of a princess. Over the next few weeks, with her constant encouragement, I learned to take pride in the role. Lunchtimes were spent reading over my lines and talking abut what I would wear.Backstage the night of the performance, I felt nervous. A few minutes before the play, my teacher came over to me. Your mother asked me to give this to you, she said, handing me a dandelion. Its edges were already beginning to curl and it flopped lazily from its stem. But just looking at it, knowing my mother was out there and thinking of our lunchtime talk, made me proud .After the play , I took home the flower I had stuffed in the apron of my costume . My mother pressed it between two sheets of paper toweling in a dictionary , laughing as she did it that we were perhaps the only people who would press such a sorry-looking weed . I often look back on our lunchtimes together , bathed in the soft midday light . They were the commas in my childhood , the pauses that told me life is not savored in premeasured increment , but in the sum of daily rituals and small pleasures we casually share with loved ones . Over peanut-butter sandwiches and chocolate-chip cookies , I learned that love , first and foremost , means being there for the little things . A few months ago , my mother came to visit , I took off a day from work and treated her to lunch. The restaurant bustled with noontime activity as businesspeople made deals and glanced at their watches . In the middle of all this sat my mother , now retired , and I . From her face I could see that she relished the pace of the work world .Mom , you must have been terribly bored staying at home when I was a child , I said .Bored? Housework is boring . But you were never boring . I didnt believe her , so I pressed . Surely children are not as stimulating as a career. A career is stimulating , she said . Im glad I had one . But a career is like an open balloon. It remains inflated only as long as you keep pumping . A child is a seed . You water it . You care for it the best you can . And then it grows all by itself into a beautiful flower . Just then , looking at her , I could picture us sitting at her kitchen table once again , and I understood why I kept that flaky brown dandelion in our old family dictionary pressed between two crumpled bits of paper towel. 母亲的礼物我是在一个小镇上长大的，从镇上的小学校到我家， 只需步行10分钟。离当前不算太太久远的那个时代 ， 小学生可以回家吃午饭，而他们的母亲，则会老早在家等候着。这一切对如今的孩子来说，无疑是一种奢望了，可是那时的我，却并不以为然。 我觉得做母亲的给她的孩子制作三明治，鉴赏指画，检查他们的家庭作业，都是理所当然的事。我从来没有想过：像我母亲这样一个颇有抱负又很聪明的女人，在我降生之前，她有一份工作，而且后来她又谋了份差事，可是，在我上小学那几年，她却几乎天天陪着我吃午饭，一同打发午餐时的每一分钟。只记得，每当午时铃声一响，我就一口气地往家里跑。母亲总是站在门前台阶的最高层，笑盈盈地望着我-那神情分明表示：我便是母亲心目中唯一最重要的东西了。为此，我一辈子都要感谢我的母亲。如今，每当我听到一些声音，像母亲那把茶壶水开时发出的尖叫声，地下室洗衣机的隆隆声，还有， 我那条狗蹦下台阶冲我摇头摆尾时它脖子上那牌照发出的撞击声，便会勾起我对往事的回忆。和母亲在一起的岁月，全然没有充斥于我的生活中的、事先排定的虚情假意的日程表。我永远忘不了在我上三年级时的那一顿午饭。在那天之前，我被学校选中，要在一个即将演出的小剧中扮演公主的角色。一连好几个礼拜，母亲总是不辞辛劳地陪着我，一起背诵台词。可是，不管在家里怎么背得滚瓜烂熟，只要一上舞台，我的脑子里就成了一片空白。终于，老师把我叫到了一边。她说剧中旁白这个角色的台词已写好了，想把我替换下来当旁白。尽管老师这些话说得和和气气，可还是刺痛了我的心，特别是当我发觉自己扮演的公主角色让另外一个女孩顶替时，更是如此。那天回家吃午饭时我没有把这事告诉母亲。然而，母亲见我心神不定，因此没有再提练习背台词的事儿，而是问我愿意不愿意到院子里散散步。那真是一个可爱的春日，棚架上蔷薇的藤蔓正在转青。在一些高大的榆树下面，我们可以看到，一丛丛黄色的蒲公英冒出草坪，仿佛是一位画家为了给眼前的美景增色而着意加上的点点金色。我看到母亲在一簇花丛旁漫不经心地弯下身来。我看得把这些野草都拨了，她说着，一边使劲把一丛蒲公英连根拨出。往后咱这园子里只让长蔷薇花。可是我喜欢蒲公