When I was growing up, I was embarrassed to be seen with my father. He was severely crippled and very short, and when we would walk together, his hand on my arm for balance, people would stare. I would inwardly squirm at the unwanted attention. If he ever noticed or was bothered, he never let on.
It was difficult to coordinate our steps —— his halting, mine impatient —— and because of that, we didn＇t say much as we went along. But as we started out, he always said, "You set the pace. I will try to adjust to you. "
Our usual walk was to or from the subway, which was how he got to work. He went to work sick, and despite nasty weather. He almost never missed a day, and would make it to the office even if others could not. A matter of pride.
When snow or ice was on the ground, it was impossible for him to walk, even with help. At such times my sisters or I would pull him through the streets of Brooklyn, NY, on a child＇s sleigh to the subway entrance. Once there, he would cling to the handrail until he reached the lower steps that the warmer tunnel air kept ice-free. In Manhattan the subway station was the basement of his office building, and he would not have to go outside again until we met him in Brooklyn＇ on his way home.
When I think of it now, I marvel at how much courage it must have taken for a grown man to subject himself to such indignity and stress. And at how he did it —— without bitterness or complaint .
He never talked about himself as an object of pity, nor did he show any envy of the more fortunate or able. What he looked for in others was a "good heart", and if he found one, the owner was good enough for him.
Now that I am older, I believe that is a proper standard by which to judge people, even though I still don＇ t know precisely what a "good heart" is. But I know the times I don’t have one myself.
Unable to engage in many activities, my father still tried to participate in some way. When a local sandlot baseball team found itself |without a manager, he kept it going. He was a knowledgeable baseball fan and often took me to Ebbets Field to see the Brooklyn Dodgers play. He liked to go to dances and parties, where he could have a good time just sitting and watching.
On one memorable occasion a fight broke out at a beach party, with everyone punching and shoving. He wasn＇t content to sit and watch, but he couldn＇t stand unaided on the soft sand. In frustration he began to shout, "I＇ ll fight anyone who will tit down with me!"
Nobody did. But the next day people kidded him by saying it was the first time any fighter was urged to take a dive even before the bout began.
I now know he participated in some things vicariously through me, his only son. When I played ball (poorly), he "played" too. When I joined the Navy he "joined" too. And when I came home on leave, he saw to it that " I visited his office. Introducing me, he was really saying, "This is my son, but it is also me, and I could have done this, too, if things had been different." Those words were never said aloud.
He has been gone many years now, but I think of him often. I wonder if he sensed my reluctance to be seen with him during our walks. If he did, I am sorry I never told him how sorry I was, how unworthy I was, how I regretted it. I think of him when I complain about trifles, when I am envious of another＇s good fortune, when I don＇t have a "good heart".
At such times I put my hand on his arm to regain my balance, and say, "You set the pace, I will try to adjust to you."
当我长大时,我很尴尬,与我父亲同在一样。他严重受损,很短,我们会走在一起的时候,他的手放在我的胳膊保持平衡,人们就会盯着看。在un-我会内心不安;要注意。如果他注意到了这些,不管他从不让。
很难协调我们的步骤——他停止,我不耐烦了,正因为如此,我们没有说太多。但是我们一开始,他总是说,“你的速度。我会试着适应你。”
我们常常往返于从地铁,到他上班。他有病也要上班,哪怕天气恶劣。他几乎从未误过一天工,将使其办公室,即使别人不可能。的骄傲。
雪或冰在地面上的时候,是不可能让他走,即使有帮助。在这种时候我或我的姐妹们就把他拉过纽约布鲁克林区的街道,NY,孩子的雪橇sub-入口。到,他便手抓扶手一直走到底下的台阶时才放开手,因为那里通道的空气暖和些,地面上没有结冰。在曼哈顿地铁车站是他的办公大楼的地下室,他就不会再出去,直到我们在布鲁克林的在回家的路上遇见了他。
现在当我想到,我惊叹于它必须采取多大的勇气,一个成年人对自己这种侮辱和压力。和他如何做到这一点,没有痛苦和抱怨。
他从不谈论自己是同情的对象,他也没有表现出任何嫉妒的幸运或能力。他所期望的是人家"善良的心",如果他找到了一个,老板对他来说就够不错的了。
现在我老了,我相信这是一个适当的标准来判断人,尽管我还不知道准确的“善良的心”是什么。但我知道我没有我自己。
不能从事很多活动,我父亲仍然试图以某种方式参与。当一个地方业余棒球队发现自己|没有经理,他便做了领队。他是一个棒球迷,有丰富的棒球知识,他过去常带我地埃比茨棒球场观看布鲁克林的鬼精灵队的比赛。他喜欢参加舞会和晚会,在那里他可以有一个好的时间只是坐着看。
一个令人难忘的一次战斗爆发在沙滩派对,每个人都冲,推推搡搡。坐着看他没有内容,但他不能独立在松软的沙滩上站着。在失望之下,他吼了起来,“我”会谁想坐下和我打?”
没有人做。但是第二天,人们都取笑他说比赛还没说这是第一次,拳击手就被劝认输之前开始。
现在我知道一些事情他参与通过我,他的儿子。当我打球时(差),他也在"打球"。当我参加海军时,他也"参加"。当我回家休假时,他看到,“我去他办公室拜访。在介绍我时,他真的说,“这是我儿子,但也是我,我可以做到这一点,同样,如果情况已经不同了。”这些话从来没有大声说。
他已经许多年了,但是我时常想起他。我不知道他是否感觉到我的不愿意和他走在一起的。如果他这么做了,我很遗憾,因为我从没告诉过他我是多么愧疚、多么不孝、多么悔恨。我觉得他当我抱怨琐事,当我羡慕别人的好运气,当我没有“善良的心”。
在这种时候我把我的手放在他的胳膊恢复平衡,然后说,“你定速度,我会试着适应你。”
