A good heart to lean on

winday

A good heart to lean on
      When I was growing up,i was embarrassed to seen with my father. He was
severely crippled and very short,and when we would walk together,his hand on my
arm for blance,people would stare.I would be ashamed of the unwanted attention.
If he ever noticed or was bothered,he never let on.
      It wan 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.It was a matter of pride for him.
      When snow or ice was on the ground,it was impossible for him to walk,even
with help.At such times,my sister or I would pull him through the streets of Brooklyn,
N.Y.,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 warmmer 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 i marvel at how he did
it-without bitterness or complaint.
      He never talked 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'tknow 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 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 paly.He liked to go to dances and parties,where he could have a good
time just sitting and watching.
      On a 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 will fight anyone who will sit
down with me!I will fight anyone who will sit 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 the participated in some things vicariously through me,his only son.
When I played the 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."

purple

太长了....

winday

西西  我无聊打课文

winday

是的
不过一次够了
很少那么无聊的又不想浪费时间

恒温17℃

LZ的签名真是。。。。。。