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There were little things that showed it. When I was a kid I had a real sweet tooth—we all did. My favorite food was glazed doughnuts and my father knew that. So every few weeks I would come downstairs in the morning and there on the kitchen counter was a bag of glazed doughnuts—no note, no explanation—just the doughnuts. It was like Santa Claus.
這從一些小事就可以看出來，我小時候非常喜歡吃甜食——孩子們都這樣。我父親知道我喜歡吃甜面包圈。于是每隔幾個星期，當我早上從樓上下來時，都會在櫥柜上發現一袋面包圈——沒有字條、沒有說明——只有面包圈，就像圣誕老人送來的禮物。
Sometimes I would think about staying up late at night, so I could see him leave them there, but just like with Santa Claus, I didn't want to ruin the magic for fear that he would never do it again. My father had to leave them secretly at night, so as no one might catch him with his guard down. He was scared of human emotion, he didn't understand it or know how to deal with it. But he did know doughnuts.
有時我想待到深夜，希望能看見他把甜面包圈放在那兒。但就像圣誕老人一樣，我不想破壞那種奇跡，唯恐他不再那樣做。我父親得在晚上悄悄地把它們留在那里，不想讓任何人知道。他害怕提及人類的情感，他不懂也不知道怎么處理感情，但他懂得甜面包圈對我的意義。
And when I allow the floodgates to open up, there are other memories that come rushing back, memories of other tiny gestures, however imperfect, that showed that he did what he could. So tonight, rather than focusing on what my father didn't do, I want to focus on all the things he did do and on his own personal challenges. I want to stop judging him.
當我打開記憶的閘門時，更多的回憶涌現出來，那些關于一些微妙舉動的記憶，盡管已經不太清晰，但也足以表明他在盡力而為。所以今晚，我不想專注于我父親所沒有做到的，我想專注于所有他歷盡艱難盡力做到的事情。我想停止對他的判斷。
