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That may have been the end of the anecdote （軼事）—but not of its significance for me. A few years later I took a second look at the first poem, and reluctantly I had to agree with my father's harsh judgment. It was a pretty lousy poem. After a while, I worked up the courage to show him something new, a short story. My father thought it was overwritten but not hopeless. I was learning to rewrite. And my mother was learning that she could criticize me without crushing me. You might say we were all learning. I was going on 12.
這件生活小事也許到此為止了，可對我來說，其意義遠不止于此。幾年后我重讀這首處女作，雖然很不情愿，但不得不同意父親的無情判斷。這的確是首很糟糕的歪詩。過了些日子，我鼓起勇氣給他看了新的習作——一個短篇小說。父親說寫得過火了點，可并非一無是處。我漸漸學會修改稿子。母親也漸漸學會對我加以批評而不致讓我一蹶不振。你可以說，我們大家都學有所獲。那時我就要12歲了。
As I worked my way into other books and plays and films, it became clearer and clearer to me how fortunate I had been. I had a mother who said, "Buddy, did you really write this? I think it's wonderful!" and a father who shook his head no and drove me to tears with, "I think it's lousy." A writer—in fact every one of us in life — needs that mother force, the loving force from which all creation flows; and yet the mother force alone is incomplete, even misleading, finally destructive. It needs the balance of the force that cautions, "Watch. Listen. Review. Improve."
當我漸漸涉足其他作品以及戲劇、電影的寫作時，我越來越體會到自己是何等的幸運。我有個會說“巴迪，真是你寫的？太棒了!”的母親，還有個大搖其頭、一句“我看糟透了”就說得我哭鼻子的父親。一個作家——事實上是生活中的每一個人——需要那種母親的力量，所有創造皆從中產生的那股愛的力量；然而，僅有母親的力量是不完全的，甚至會使人誤入歧途并最終導致毀滅。還需要另一種力量的平衡，它告誡你：“要觀察、傾聽、反思、提高。”
Those conflicting but complementary （互相補充的）voices of my child-hood echo down through the years — wonderful... lousy ... wonderful... lousy — like two opposing winds battering （連續猛擊）me. I try to steer my small boat so as not to turn over before either. Between the two poles of affirmation （肯定）and doubt, both in the name of love, I try to follow my true course.
我童年時的這兩種既相互沖突又相互補充的聲音多年來一直在我耳邊回響——妙極了……糟透了……妙極了……糟透了——就像方向相反的兩股勁風，不停地在吹打著我。我努力把握住我的生活小舟，不讓它被來自任何一方的風掀翻。在同樣出于愛心的肯定與否定的兩極之間，我努力把握住自己的正確航向。
