7-5 如果有毅力

If There’s a Will

I am my mother’s third child, born when she was 20. When I was delivered, nurses took me from the room before she could see me. Her doctor gently explained that my left arm was missing, below the elbow. Then he gave her some advice: “Don’t treat her differently than the other girls. Demand more.” And she did.

Even before my father left us, my mother had to go back to work to support our family. There were five of us girls in our Modesto, California, home, and we all had to help out1. Once when I was about seven, I came out of the kitchen, whining 1, “Mom, I can’t peel potatoes. I only have one hand.”

Mom never looked up from sewing. “You get yourself into that kitchen and peel those potatoes,” she told me. “And don’t use that as an excuse for anything again!”

Of course I could peel potatoes--with my good hand, while holding them down with my other arm. There was always a way, and Mom knew it. “If you try hard enough,” she’d say, “you can do anything.”

In second grade, our teacher lined up my class on the playground and had each of us race across the monkey bars2, swing from one high rod to the next. When it was my turn, I shook my head. Some kids behind me laughed. I went home crying.

That night I told Mom about it. She hugged me, and I saw her “we’ll see about that” look. When she got off work the next afternoon, she took me back to school. At the deserted 33 playground, Mom looked carefully at the bars.

“Now, pull up with your right arm,” she advised. She stood by as I struggled to lift myself with my right hand until I could hook 2 the bar with my other elbow. Day after day we practiced, and she praised me for every rung4 I reached.

I’ll never forget the next time my class lined up at the monkey bars. Crossing the rungs, I looked down at the kids who’d made fun of me. Now they were standing 4 with their mouths open.

It was that way with everything: instead of doing things for me, or excusing me, my mother insisted I find a way to do them myself. At times I resented5 her. She doesn’t know what it’s like, I thought. She doesn’t care how hard it is. But one night, after a dance at my new junior high, I lay in bed sobbing 6. I could hear Mom come into my room.

 “What’s the matter?” she asked gently.

 “Mom,” I answered, weeping, “none of the boys would dance with me because of my arm.”

For a long time I didn’t hear anything. Then she said, “Oh, honey, someday you’ll be beating those boys off with a bat6. You’ll see.” Her voice was faint and cracking. I peeked7 out from my covers to see tears running down her cheeks. Then I knew how much she suffered on my behalf. She had never let me see her tears, though, because she didn’t want me to feel sorry for myself.

Later, I married the first guy I thought accepted me. But he turned out to be immature 8 and irresponsible. When my daughter Jessica was born, I wanted to protect her from my unhappy marriage, and I broke free.

During the five years I was a single mother, Mom was my rock. If I needed to cry, she’d hold me. If I complained about chasing a toddler8 around after working and going to school, she’d laugh. But if I ever started feeling sorry for myself, I’d look at her and then remember, she did it with five!

I remarried, and my husband Tim and I have a loving family that includes four children. Perhaps because Mom missed so much time with her own kids, she made it up9 with her grandchildren. Many times I watched her rock Jessica, stroking her hair. “I’m going to spoil her rotten and then give her back to her mother for some discipline,” she’d tell me. “That’s my privilege now.” She didn’t, though. She just gave the children infinite 910 patience and love.

In 1991, Mom was found to have lung cancer and given six months to a year to live. She was still with us more than three years later. Doctors said it was a miracle; I think it was her love for her grandchildren that kept her fighting right up to the last. Mom died five days after her 53rd birthday. Even now, it hurts me to think that someone who had so much hardship in life should have suffered so at the end.

But she taught me the answer to that, too. As a child, I wondered why I had to struggle so. Now I know -- it’s hardship that makes us the people we become. I feel Mom with me always. Sometimes, when I fear I can’t handle things, I see her radiant 1011 smile again. She had the heart to face anything. And she taught me I could, too.

注释：

1. help out  帮助(……)摆脱困难(或解决问题)；(临时)做帮手

2. monkey bars  [复] 猴架(一种供孩子悬荡玩耍的由横竖杠构成的架子)

3. deserted [dI`ztId] a. 空寂无人的

4. rung [rQN] n. 梯子横档，梯级

5. resent 5 [ri5zent] vt. (尤指因受委屈、伤害等而)对……怀恨，怨恨

6. bat [bAt] n. (棒球)球棒

7. peek 7 [pi:k] vi. 偷看，窥视

8. toddler [5tCdlE] n. 学步的儿童(通常指1至2岁半的孩子)

9. make up 偿还；弥补

10. infinite [5infinit] a. 无限的；极大的

11. radiant [5reidjEnt] a. 光辉灿烂的；(面容)洋溢着幸福的

如果有毅力

我是我妈妈的第三个孩子，生我时她20岁。我刚出生，护士就把我从产房里抱走了，她未能看到我。她的医生温和地解释说，我左肘以下没有手臂。随后他建议：“对待她就像对待其他女儿一样，不要有所不同。要求她更多些。”她照办了。

即使在我父亲离开我们之前，我妈妈就不得不重返工作来养家糊口。在加利福尼亚州莫德斯托的家中有我们5个女孩，我们都得帮着干活。我大约7岁时，有一回，我从厨房里出来，哼哼唧唧地说道：“妈，我没法削土豆皮，我只有一只手。”

妈妈连头都没抬，继续缝纫。“你进厨房削土豆去，”她对我说。“再不要拿这个做挡箭牌！”

当然，我能削土豆皮--用左胳臂按着，用好的手削。总会有办法的，这我妈妈清楚。她总是说：“只要你尽力设法去做，什么事都能办到。”

上二年级时，我们的老师叫我们班同学列队在操场上进行猴架比赛，从一个高杠悬荡到下一个杠。轮到我的时候，我摇摇头。身后有些同学发出笑声。我哭着回到家。

那天晚上我告诉妈妈这件事。她紧抱着我，我看见她那“我们等着瞧”的表情。第二天下午她工作完后带着我回到学校。在空无一人的操场上，她仔细地瞧着猴架的杠子。

“现在用你的右胳臂拽自己上去，”她给我出主意。她在一旁站着，我奋力用右手把自己拉上去，直到我能用左肘弯勾住杠子。一天又一天这么练着，我每荡过一个杠子她都表扬我。

我永远不会忘记全班再次列队站在猴架旁的情景。我荡过一个又一个杠子，朝下看着那些曾经耻笑过我的同学。他们这回可都目瞪口呆地站着。

做什么事都这样：我妈妈从不替我干，也不放任我，坚持要我自己设法去做。有时候我怨恨她。她不知道那是什么滋味，我心想。她不在乎那有多么难。但是，一天晚上，我刚入学的初中学校举行的舞会结束后，我躺在床上哭泣。我听见妈妈走进了我的房间。

“怎么啦？”她温和地问道。

“妈妈，”我哭着回答，“因为我的胳臂，没有一个男孩子愿意跟我跳舞。”

很长时间她没吭声。然后她说：“啊，宝贝，有一天你会用球棒把那些男孩子赶走。你瞧着吧！”她的声音微弱、急促。我从被子下面偷偷张望，看见她面颊上流淌着眼泪。我这才知道她为我忍受着多大的痛苦，但是她从不让我看见她流泪，因为她不愿意我为自己感到难过。

后来，我跟我认为接受我的第一个男人结了婚。但结果他是个不成熟和不负责任的人。我的女儿杰西卡出生后，为了保护她不受不幸福婚姻的伤害，我挣脱了这一婚姻。

在我作为单身母亲的5年中，妈妈是我的支柱。如果我需要哭，她就抱着我。如果我埋怨下班或放学后得到处追着一个学步的孩子，她就放声大笑。但是如果我要为自己感到难过，我就看着她，然后想起她拉扯过5个孩子！

我又结了婚。我和我丈夫蒂姆有个4个孩子的充满爱意的家庭。或许我妈妈错过了太多与她自己的孩子在一起的时间，因此她在孙辈中找到补偿。很多次我看见她摇晃着杰西卡，抚摸着她的头发。“我要狠狠地宠坏她，然后归还给她妈妈好好地管教，”她这么对我说。“这是我现在的特权。”然而，她没有这么做。她只是给了孩子们无限的耐心和爱。

1991年妈妈被诊断患有肺癌，还能活半年到一年。可3年多过去了，她仍然和我们在一起。医生说这是个奇迹。我认为是她对孙子、孙女们的爱使她斗争到最后一刻。她53岁生日过后5天故去了。甚至现在，一想到一个在生活中经历了那么多艰难的人到头来竟然还要经受如此苦难，我就非常难过。

    但是她也将这个问题的答案教给了我。幼年时我纳闷为什么我非得如此刻苦努力。现在我领悟了--是苦难造就了我们这些人。我感觉妈妈永远与我同在。有时候，当我担心没有能力处理好事情时，便又看到她那灿烂的笑容。她有决心面对任何事情，她教我认识到我也能面对任何事情。