每当听到滕格尔那首浑厚悠长而又充满沧桑的歌曲《父亲》时,我就会想起我的父亲,想起我和父亲相处的时光。我没有为父亲流过一滴泪,尽管我眼角常常有泪。我曾为素不相识的孤苦老人掉过泪,曾为在寒风中高声叫卖的辛苦小贩掉过泪,我认为他们太可怜,太辛苦了,而面对父亲,这个为生活日夜奔波,对工作倾尽心血,为我不辞辛劳的人,我何尝有过一丝感动? Whenever I heard Tengger’s first long and vicissitudes of the song “Father,” I would remember my father and think of my time with my father. I didn’t have a tear for my father, though I often had tears in my eyes. I once lost my tears for the lonely old people who had never known each other. I once thought that they were too poor and too hard for the hard hawkers who shouted loudly in the cold. I thought that they were too poor and too hard to deal with. With all my heart and soul, for whom I have worked tirelessly, have I ever felt a touch?