第1章

Where we love is home, home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts. A man誷 home is his castle. Not to mean a greeting, not to shy a hug, get close to our families, cherish this extraordinary and noble affection, and that is the most timeless really the most appropriate.

家是我们所爱的地方，双脚可以离开，心却不能。一个人的家就是他的城堡。不要吝啬一个祝福，不要害羞一个拥抱，亲近我们的家人，珍视这平凡而又高贵的亲情，那是此生此世最真最切的永恒。

追忆似水流年

A mother’s voice is the most beautiful sound in the world. Youth fades; love droops; the leaves of friendship fall. A mother’s secret hope outlives them all.

世界上有一种最美丽的声音，那便是母亲的呼唤。青春会逝去；爱情会枯萎；友谊的绿叶也会凋零。而一个母亲内心的希望，比它们都要长久。

For Moms

写给所有的母亲们

This is for all the mothers who didn’t win Mother of the Year last year, all the runners-up and all the wannabes, including the mothers too tired to enter or too busy to care.

This is for all the mothers who froze their buns off on metal bleachers at soccer games on Friday night, instead of watching from cars. So that when their kids asked, “Did you see my goal?” They could say, “Of course, wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” and mean it.

This is for all the mothers who have sat up all night with sick toddlers in their arms, wiping up barf laced with Oscar Mayer wieners and cherry Kool-Aid saying, “It’s OK, honey, Mommy’s here.”

This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they’ll never see, and the mothers who took those babies and made them homes.

This is for all the mothers of the victims of school shootings, and the mothers of the murderers. For the mothers of the survivors, and the mothers who sat in front of their TVs in horror, hugging their child who just came home from school, safely.

This is for all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew Halloween costumes, and all the mothers who don’t.

What makes a good mother anyway? Is it patience? Compassion? Broad hips?

Is it the ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner, and sew a button on a shirt, all at the same time? Or is it heart?

Is it the ache you feel when you watch your son or daughter disappear down the street, walking to school alone for the very first time?

Is it the jolt that takes you from sleep to dread, as you bound from bed to crib at 2 a.m. to put your hand on the back of a sleeping baby?

Is it the need to flee from wherever you are and hug your child when you hear news of a school shooting, a fire, a car accident, or a baby dying?

I think so.

So this is for all the mothers who sat down with their children and explained all about making babies, and for all the mothers who wanted to but just couldn’t.

This is for reading “Goodnight, Moon” twice a night for a year and then reading it again. “Just one more time.”

This is for all the mothers who mess up, who yell at their kids in the grocery store and swat them in despair and stomp their feet like a tired 2-year-old who wants ice cream before dinner.

This is for all the mothers who taught their daughters to tie their shoelaces before they started school. And for all the mothers who opted for Velcro instead.

This is for all the mothers who bite their lips-sometimes until they bleed-when their 14 year olds dye their hair green. Who lock themselves in the bathroom when babies keep crying and won’t stop.

This is for all the mothers who show up at work with spit-up in their hair and milk stains on their blouses and diapers in their purse.

This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to cook and their daughters to sink a jump shot.

This is for all mothers whose heads turn automatically when a little voice calls “Mom?” in a crowd, even though they know their own offspring are at home.

This is for mothers who put pinwheels and teddy bears on their children’s graves.

This is for mothers whose children have gone astray, who can’t find the words to reach them.

This is for all the mothers who sent their sons to school with stomachaches, assuring them they’d be just fine once they got there, only to get calls from the school nurse and hour later asking them to please pick them up, right away.

This is for young mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep deprivation, and mature mothers learning to let go.

This is for working mothers and stay-at-home mothers, single mothers and married mothers, mothers with money, and mothers without.

This is for you all. So hang in there!

Who Gave Me the Ears?

是谁给了我耳朵？

“Can I see my baby?” the happy new mother asked.

When the bundle was nestled in her arms and she moved the fold of cloth to look upon his tiny face, she gasped. The doctor turned quickly and looked out the tall hospital window. The baby had been born without ears.

Time proved that the baby’s hearing was perfect. It was only his appearance that was marred. When he rushed home from school one day and flung himself into his mother’s arms, she sighed, knowing that his life was to be a succession of heartbreaks.

He blurted out the tragedy. “A boy, a big boy... called me a freak.”

He grew up, handsome for his misfortune. A favorite with his fellow students, he might have been class president, but for that. He developed a gift, a talent for literature and music.

“But you might mingle with other young people.” his mother reproved him, but felt a kindness in her heart.

The boy’s father had a session with the family physician... “Could nothing be done?”

“I believe I could graft on a pair of outer ears, if they could be procured.” the doctor decided. Whereupon the search began for a person who would make such a sacrifice for a young man.

Two years went by. One day, his father said to the son, “You’re going to the hospital, son. Mother and I have someone who will donate the ears you need. But it’s a secret.”

The operation was a brilliant success, and a new person emerged. His talents blossomed into genius, and school and college became a series of triumphs.

Later he married and entered the diplomatic service. One day, he asked his father, “Who gave me the ears? Who gave me so much? I could never do enough for him or her.”

“I do not believe you could,” said the father, “but the agreement was that you are not to know... not yet.”

The years kept their profound secret, but the day did come. One of the darkest days that ever pass through a son. He stood with his father over his mother’s casket. Slowly, tenderly, the father stretched forth a hand and raised the thick, reddish brown hair to reveal the mother had no outer ears.

“Mother said she was glad she never let her hair be cut,” his father whispered gently, “and nobody ever thought mother less beautiful, did they?”

Cost of Love

母爱无价

One night when my wife was preparing dinner, our little son took a piece of paper to her which read:

For washing the car...........................................$5.00

For making my own bed this week...................$1.00

Going to the provision shop..............................$0.50

Playing with little sister ...................................$0.25

Taking out the rubbish......................................$1.00

Getting a good report card................................$5.00

And for sweeping the common corridor...........$2.00

Total ...............................................................$14.75

His mother looked at him standing there expecting payment. I could see a thousand memories flashed through her mind. So she picked up the pen and turning the paper over, this is what she wrote:

For 9 months I carried you, growing

inside me.....................................No Charge

For the nights I sat up with you, doctored and

prayed for you..........................No Charge

For the toys, food and clothes and wiping

your nose..................................No Charge

When you add it all up, the full cost of

my love....................................No Charge

Well, when he finished reading, he had great big tears in his eyes. He looked at his mother and said, “Mummy, I love you.” Then he took the pen and in great big letters wrote on the “bill”: “All paid.”

I Love You, Mom

我爱你，妈妈

“I love you, Mom. See you tomorrow.” I said these words every day as I kissed my mom goodbye. Most girls I know don’t tell their mothers they love them when they say goodbye. But I wasn’t like girls I knew.

As a baby, I was adopted by two loving people who were willing to take me into their home. They became not only my parents, but also my best friends. As I was growing up, I learned that my birth mother was very young when she had me and wasn’t able to care for me. I understood and was thankful. After all, I ended up with two people who loved each other very much, and also loved me. Three years later, they adopted another baby, Lori.

Until I was nine, I didn’t understand why my parents didn’t have any children of their own. Then my father explained that they had tried many times, but they were unsuccessful. Part of the reason was that my mom had diabetes. Since I was young, I didn’t really understand what that meant. As I was growing up, I would see my mom give herself shots and wonder why she was the only one who had to do that. All I saw every day was a strong, beautiful, healthy woman, who spent her life helping people.

When I was thirteen, everything changed.

It started with a tiny blister on my mom’s toe. This may seem like no big deal, but she ended up losing her toe. Soon she suffered a stroke, and just as she began to recover from that, her leg had to be amputated.

This all took place over three years. The toll this took on my family was unbelievable. My mom was in and out of five hospitals, each doing their best to help her. Sometimes she was home for a few months, but something always seemed to go wrong. When the holidays came, my father, my sister and I spent the day in her hospital room. One Thanksgiving we ate turkey there, and another Christmas we brought all our presents to the hospital so she could see us open them.

I tried my hardest to make her feel better, but nothing helped. At home, taking care of my little sister became my job, along with cleaning the house, doing the laundry and cooking the meals. I thought it was unfair, and took it out on my father. I hated the fact that all my friends went out on Friday nights, while I had to stay home and play “Mommy”.

It was even harder for me to go to school while my mom was lying in the hospital. By now, I was sixteen. Luckily she was there for my birthday party, and I’ll never forget hugging her as tears fell down both our faces. I’m still thankful for that moment with my mother because it was the happiest I had seen her in four years.