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人人都有不足，人人都会犯错。学会了原谅也就学会了爱。懂得了爱，也就走向了成熟。
As I sat perched in the second-floor window of our schoolhouse that afternoon, my heart began to sink further with each passing car. This was a day I’d looked forward to for weeks: Miss Pace’s fourth-grade, end-of-the-year party.
I had happily volunteered my mother when Miss Pace requested cookie volunteers. Mom’s chocolate chip cookies reigned1 supremely2 on our block, and I knew they’d be a hit with my classmates. But two o’clock passed，and most of the other mothers had already come and gone, dropping off their offerings of punch3 and crackers, chips, cupcakes and brownies4. My mother was missing in action.
“Don’t worry, Robbie, she’ll be along soon,” Miss Pace said as I gazed forlornly5 down at the street.
Around me, the noisy party raged on, but I wouldn’t budge6 from my window watch post. Miss Pace did her best to coax7 me away, but I stayed put, holding out hope that the familiar family car would round the corner.
The three o’clock bell soon jolted me from my thoughts and I dejectedly grabbed my book bag from my desk and shuffled out the door for home.
On the four-block walk to our house, I plotted my revenge. I would slam the front door upon entering, refuse to return her hug when she rushed over to me, and vow never to speak to her again.
The house was empty when I arrived and I looked for a note on the refrigerator that might explain my mother’s absence, but found none. My chin quivered with a mixture of heartbreak and rage. For the first time in my life, my mother had let me down.
I was lying face-down on my bed upstairs when I heard her come through the front door.
“Robbie,” she called out a bit urgently. “Where are you?”
I could then hear her darting frantically from room to room, wondering where I could be. I remained silent. In a moment, shemounted the steps—the sounds of her footsteps quickening as she ascended8 the staircase.
When she entered my room and sat beside me on my bed, I didn’t move but instead stared blankly into my pillow refusing to acknowledge her presence.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” she said. “I just forgot. I got busy and forgot—plain and simple.”
I still didn’t move. “Don’t forgive her,” I told myself. “She humiliated you. She forgot you. Make her pay.”
Then my mother did something completely unexpected. She began to cry.
“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed softly.“I let you down. I let my little boy down.”
She sank down on the bed and began to weep like a little girl. I was dumbstruck. I had never seen my mother cry. To my understanding, mothers weren’t supposed to. I wondered if this was how I looked to her when I cried.
I desperately tried to recall her own soothing words from times past when I’d skinned knees or stubbed toes. But in that moment of tearful plight, words of profundity9 abandoned me like a worn-out shoe.
“It’s okay, Mom,” I stammered as I reached out and gently stroked her hair. “We didn’t even need those cookies. There was plenty of stuff to eat. Don’t cry. It’s all right. Really.”
My words, as inadequate as they sounded to me, prompted my mother to sit up. She wiped her eyes, and a slight smile began to crease10 her tear-stained cheeks. I smiled back awkwardly, and she pulled me to her.
We didn’t say another word. We just held each other in a long, silent embrace. When we came to the point where I would usually pull away, I decided that, this time, I could hold on, perhaps, just a little bit longer.
At that moment , I felt I have grown up.
那天下午，坐在我们校舍二层楼上的一个靠近窗口的座位上，我的心开始随着驶过的每一辆汽车一点一点地下沉。这天是几个星期以来我一直在盼望的日子：佩斯小姐的四年级班今天要举行年末聚会。
当佩斯小姐在课堂上寻找愿意提供小甜饼的志愿者时，我高兴地推荐了我的母亲。妈妈做的巧克力甜饼在我们那个街区是首屈一指的，我知道它们一定会让我的同学们吃得直流口水的。可是，两点多了，大多数学生的母亲来了又走了，各自留下了她们提供的伴汁酒、饼干、油炸土豆片、纸托蛋糕和核仁巧克力饼等食品。而我的母亲还没有来。
“不要着急，罗比，她很快就会来的。”当我绝望地凝视着窗外的街道时，佩斯小姐说。
在我周围，聚会正热热闹闹地进行着，可是，我不愿意从我的窗口观察位置上走开。佩斯小姐竭尽全力想哄我离开那里，但我固执地坚守着，希望我家那辆熟悉的汽车会从街道拐角处冒出来。
3点的钟声很快把我从沉思默想中敲醒，我垂头丧气地从书桌抽屉里抓起书包，慢吞吞地走出教室回家去。
在离家还有四个街区的时候，我设计了我的报复计划。我将在走进家门的时候把前门狠狠地关上，将在她冲过来拥抱我的时候拒绝回给她一个拥抱，并且发誓再也不跟她说话了。
当我到家的时候，屋子里空无一人。我在冰箱上寻找一张可能解释母亲没有去学校的原因的字条，但没有找到。我的下巴因心碎和愤怒这两种混合情感而抖动不止。生平第一次，母亲令我非常失望。
当我听到她从前门走进来的时候，我正脸朝下趴在楼上我自己的床上。
“罗比，”她急切地呼唤着我的名字，“你在哪儿？”
接着，我听到她发狂似的从这个房间飞奔到另一个房间寻找我的声音。我保持着沉默。过了一会儿，她开始爬楼梯——当她上楼的时候，她的脚步声听起来似乎比刚才更急促了。
当她走进我的房间，并在我的床边坐下来时，我没有动，而是茫然地注视着我的枕头，不愿承认她的存在。
“我很抱歉，亲爱的，”她说，“我刚才忘了。我很忙，就忘了——就是这样。”
我仍然没有动。“不原谅她，”我告诉自己，“她让你丢脸了。她把你忘了。让她付出代价。”
然后，母亲做了一件完全出乎我意料的事情。她开始哭了。
“我很抱歉，”她轻轻地哭泣着说，“我让你失望了。我让我的小男孩失望了。”
她倒在床上，开始像一个小女孩一样淌眼泪。我被吓懵了。我从没看见母亲哭过。根据我的理解，母亲们是不会哭的。我不知道我哭的时候，在她看来是不是也是这个样子。
我拼命想回忆起过去在我磕烂了膝盖或者碰伤了脚趾的时候，她曾经不止一次说过的那些安慰的话语。但在那样一个泪流满面的伤心时刻，深刻的话语对我来说就像穿旧的鞋子一样听过就忘了。
“没什么，妈妈，”我一边结结巴巴地说着，一边伸手轻轻地摸了摸她的头发，“我们甚至不需要那些甜饼。那里有许多好吃的东西。别哭了。这没什么。真的。”
我的话，虽然自己听起来是那么不适当，却促使母亲坐了起来。她擦去眼角的泪水；一丝微笑弄皱了她那被泪水打湿的面颊。我不自然地回给她一个微笑；她把我拉向她的怀抱。
我们没有再说什么。我们只是静静地拥抱着。当到了我通常会挣脱她的拥抱的时间时，我决定，这一次，我会坚持下去，也许，只是那么一小会儿。
在那一刻，我觉得自己长大了。
塞笛 摘译自 Teenagers
As I sat perched in the second-floor window of our schoolhouse that afternoon, my heart began to sink further with each passing car. This was a day I’d looked forward to for weeks: Miss Pace’s fourth-grade, end-of-the-year party.
I had happily volunteered my mother when Miss Pace requested cookie volunteers. Mom’s chocolate chip cookies reigned1 supremely2 on our block, and I knew they’d be a hit with my classmates. But two o’clock passed，and most of the other mothers had already come and gone, dropping off their offerings of punch3 and crackers, chips, cupcakes and brownies4. My mother was missing in action.
“Don’t worry, Robbie, she’ll be along soon,” Miss Pace said as I gazed forlornly5 down at the street.
Around me, the noisy party raged on, but I wouldn’t budge6 from my window watch post. Miss Pace did her best to coax7 me away, but I stayed put, holding out hope that the familiar family car would round the corner.
The three o’clock bell soon jolted me from my thoughts and I dejectedly grabbed my book bag from my desk and shuffled out the door for home.
On the four-block walk to our house, I plotted my revenge. I would slam the front door upon entering, refuse to return her hug when she rushed over to me, and vow never to speak to her again.
The house was empty when I arrived and I looked for a note on the refrigerator that might explain my mother’s absence, but found none. My chin quivered with a mixture of heartbreak and rage. For the first time in my life, my mother had let me down.
I was lying face-down on my bed upstairs when I heard her come through the front door.
“Robbie,” she called out a bit urgently. “Where are you?”
I could then hear her darting frantically from room to room, wondering where I could be. I remained silent. In a moment, shemounted the steps—the sounds of her footsteps quickening as she ascended8 the staircase.
When she entered my room and sat beside me on my bed, I didn’t move but instead stared blankly into my pillow refusing to acknowledge her presence.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” she said. “I just forgot. I got busy and forgot—plain and simple.”
I still didn’t move. “Don’t forgive her,” I told myself. “She humiliated you. She forgot you. Make her pay.”
Then my mother did something completely unexpected. She began to cry.
“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed softly.“I let you down. I let my little boy down.”
She sank down on the bed and began to weep like a little girl. I was dumbstruck. I had never seen my mother cry. To my understanding, mothers weren’t supposed to. I wondered if this was how I looked to her when I cried.
I desperately tried to recall her own soothing words from times past when I’d skinned knees or stubbed toes. But in that moment of tearful plight, words of profundity9 abandoned me like a worn-out shoe.
“It’s okay, Mom,” I stammered as I reached out and gently stroked her hair. “We didn’t even need those cookies. There was plenty of stuff to eat. Don’t cry. It’s all right. Really.”
My words, as inadequate as they sounded to me, prompted my mother to sit up. She wiped her eyes, and a slight smile began to crease10 her tear-stained cheeks. I smiled back awkwardly, and she pulled me to her.
We didn’t say another word. We just held each other in a long, silent embrace. When we came to the point where I would usually pull away, I decided that, this time, I could hold on, perhaps, just a little bit longer.
At that moment , I felt I have grown up.
那天下午，坐在我们校舍二层楼上的一个靠近窗口的座位上，我的心开始随着驶过的每一辆汽车一点一点地下沉。这天是几个星期以来我一直在盼望的日子：佩斯小姐的四年级班今天要举行年末聚会。
当佩斯小姐在课堂上寻找愿意提供小甜饼的志愿者时，我高兴地推荐了我的母亲。妈妈做的巧克力甜饼在我们那个街区是首屈一指的，我知道它们一定会让我的同学们吃得直流口水的。可是，两点多了，大多数学生的母亲来了又走了，各自留下了她们提供的伴汁酒、饼干、油炸土豆片、纸托蛋糕和核仁巧克力饼等食品。而我的母亲还没有来。
“不要着急，罗比，她很快就会来的。”当我绝望地凝视着窗外的街道时，佩斯小姐说。
在我周围，聚会正热热闹闹地进行着，可是，我不愿意从我的窗口观察位置上走开。佩斯小姐竭尽全力想哄我离开那里，但我固执地坚守着，希望我家那辆熟悉的汽车会从街道拐角处冒出来。
3点的钟声很快把我从沉思默想中敲醒，我垂头丧气地从书桌抽屉里抓起书包，慢吞吞地走出教室回家去。
在离家还有四个街区的时候，我设计了我的报复计划。我将在走进家门的时候把前门狠狠地关上，将在她冲过来拥抱我的时候拒绝回给她一个拥抱，并且发誓再也不跟她说话了。
当我到家的时候，屋子里空无一人。我在冰箱上寻找一张可能解释母亲没有去学校的原因的字条，但没有找到。我的下巴因心碎和愤怒这两种混合情感而抖动不止。生平第一次，母亲令我非常失望。
当我听到她从前门走进来的时候，我正脸朝下趴在楼上我自己的床上。
“罗比，”她急切地呼唤着我的名字，“你在哪儿？”
接着，我听到她发狂似的从这个房间飞奔到另一个房间寻找我的声音。我保持着沉默。过了一会儿，她开始爬楼梯——当她上楼的时候，她的脚步声听起来似乎比刚才更急促了。
当她走进我的房间，并在我的床边坐下来时，我没有动，而是茫然地注视着我的枕头，不愿承认她的存在。
“我很抱歉，亲爱的，”她说，“我刚才忘了。我很忙，就忘了——就是这样。”
我仍然没有动。“不原谅她，”我告诉自己，“她让你丢脸了。她把你忘了。让她付出代价。”
然后，母亲做了一件完全出乎我意料的事情。她开始哭了。
“我很抱歉，”她轻轻地哭泣着说，“我让你失望了。我让我的小男孩失望了。”
她倒在床上，开始像一个小女孩一样淌眼泪。我被吓懵了。我从没看见母亲哭过。根据我的理解，母亲们是不会哭的。我不知道我哭的时候，在她看来是不是也是这个样子。
我拼命想回忆起过去在我磕烂了膝盖或者碰伤了脚趾的时候，她曾经不止一次说过的那些安慰的话语。但在那样一个泪流满面的伤心时刻，深刻的话语对我来说就像穿旧的鞋子一样听过就忘了。
“没什么，妈妈，”我一边结结巴巴地说着，一边伸手轻轻地摸了摸她的头发，“我们甚至不需要那些甜饼。那里有许多好吃的东西。别哭了。这没什么。真的。”
我的话，虽然自己听起来是那么不适当，却促使母亲坐了起来。她擦去眼角的泪水；一丝微笑弄皱了她那被泪水打湿的面颊。我不自然地回给她一个微笑；她把我拉向她的怀抱。
我们没有再说什么。我们只是静静地拥抱着。当到了我通常会挣脱她的拥抱的时间时，我决定，这一次，我会坚持下去，也许，只是那么一小会儿。
在那一刻，我觉得自己长大了。
塞笛 摘译自 Teenagers