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寬恕他人， 你会发现原来一直被困在牢笼里的那个人是你自己。
The dream startled me so much that I woke up gasping， my hand clutching the comforter. My husband’s gentle snore and the familiar shapes in our darkened bedroom reassured me that what I’d seen wasn’t real.
Even so， the image of my father wearing a red shirt， lying on his back on my living room sofa， would not go away.
The clock on the nightstand told me I needed to go back to sleep， but I hesitated to close my eyes. I feared the dream might continue， that Dad would once again say， “ You haven’t forgiven me yet.” Five words that made my stomach churn.
The next day， I told myself it was ridiculous to allow a dream to unsettle me so. And it was only a dream. Dad had died in 1995， so suddenly that there had been no time to say anything to him. In life， my father would never have worn a red shirt or a red tie， not a red anything. He would also never have asked for forgiveness.
LET GO OF THAT GRUDGE AND FORGIVE
My father had been a complicated man， and during all of my adult years， I had a love/hate relationship with him. He provided the necessities of life in my growing-up years. He was fun to be with some of the time. My three brothers and I knew he loved us， but we also knew that he could turn from loving father to a man who belittled and verbally abused us if we moved outside the lines he’d drawn. We were to believe only what he believed， there was no discussion， no difference of opinion， no respect for our thoughts.
He verbally and emotionally abused my mother even while loving her deeply. Having to watch silently hurt me. None of us suffered physical abuse from him， but we bore the scars of the cutting words hurdled at us during his flares of temper.
He raged like a bull in a Spanish bullring when I wanted to leave the Midwest and teach in California. He disowned my youngest brother because the young college student had the nerve to fall in love with someone of a different race. The bitterness I harbored against my father sat inside me like a weighty rock for many years.
The dream brought it all to the surface. All that day， whenever I passed through my living room， I saw my father in the red shirt lying on the sofa and I shivered inwardly. My sensible self knew he wasn’t really there. I only imagined it.
Days， and then weeks， passed and I still had trouble looking at my sofa. No way would I sit on it！ I churned inside. Why the dream？ Why the red shirt？ Why was he asking for my forgiveness？ I couldn’t put it together， didn’t know what I should do， and it felt like a wound that refused to heal. One afternoon， I needed a break while cleaning the house， so I fixed a cup of steaming hot tea， grabbed a freshly-baked sugar cookie and sank into my favorite chair. Suddenly， Dad appeared on the sofa. “You still haven’t forgiven me，” he said so softly I had to strain to hear the words.
Then began an epiphany. Instead of all the negative memories about my father that I’d harbored for so many years， I thought about the positives. My girl-scout troop sponsored a Father-Daughter dance and Dad escorted me， beaming with pride. He taught me to be loyal， to love my country and to believe in God. He encouraged me to go to college when our family really could not afford it.
As I sipped my tea， I remembered the wonderful support Dad gave me when my first child was born with severe birth defects. I had a vision of the secondhand bike he’d fixed up like new as a birthday gift for me. I thought about my wedding day when he’d walked me down the aisle while I held on to his strong， steady arm.
I set my cup of tea on the end table and silently forgave him for all the hurt he’d inflicted over the years. It was time to bring some balance to my memories. Besides that， I finally realized that my forgiving him would afford both of us peace of mind. What good， I asked myself， did holding a grudge all these years do？ It didn’t help anyone， most of all， me. Once it was done， Dad disappeared from the sofa. I never saw him again.
Now， the good times about my life with Dad are remembered more than the dark ones. He came to ask my forgiveness， but the one who felt cleansed and free of bitterness turned out to be me.
那个梦惊得我整个人弹了起来，抓着床罩喘气连连。黑暗的卧室里，丈夫轻轻的鼾声以及熟悉的摆设让我放下心来：我看到的一切都不是真的。
尽管如此，父亲穿着红色衬衫躺在客厅沙发上的画面却一直在我脑海里挥之不去。
床头几上的钟告诉我，我得重新入睡，但我不敢闭上眼睛。我害怕那个梦会继续，爸爸又会再次说出那句话：“你没原谅我。”这五个字令我脾胃翻腾。
第二天，我告诉自己，被一个梦弄得如此心神不宁是件非常荒谬的事。这只是一个梦。爸爸在1995年就去世了，他走得那么突然，都没有时间和他说再见。爸爸在世时，从不会穿红衬衫或打红领带，他不会穿任何红色的东西。他也从来不会请求原谅。
原谅别人，放过自己
爸爸是个多重性格的人。在我成年后，我和他的关系可以说是爱恨交织。在我的成长过程中，他给我提供了所有的生活必需品。他有时候也很风趣。我和三个兄弟都知道他很爱我们，但一旦我们做出他无法容忍的事情，他就会从慈父变成一个用语言辱骂、贬低我们的人。他的信仰就是我们的信仰，没有任何商量的余地，也不允许任何不同的意见，我们的想法得不到任何尊重。
尽管他深爱着妈妈，他也会对她进行言辞激烈的辱骂。而我只能在一旁沉默地看着，这让我很受伤。他没有对我们任何一个人使用过暴力，但是当他大发雷霆时，我们都受过他那锥心之言所带来的伤害。
当我提出想离开中西部去加州教书时，他像西班牙斗牛场里的公牛一样暴跳如雷。他和我最小的弟弟脱离了父子关系，因为这个年轻的大学生竟敢胆大包天地和其他种族的人谈恋爱。对爸爸怀着的怨恨如沉重的大石般在我心里埋藏多年。
那个梦把这股怨恨又重新勾了起来。那一整天，每当我经过客厅时，我都看到爸爸穿着红色衬衫躺在沙发上，我的内心止不住地打颤。我的理智知道他不是真的在那里，这只是我的想象。
一天又一天，一个星期又一个星期，我依然不敢看我的沙发，更别提坐在上面！我的内心在翻腾。为什么会做这个梦？为什么会穿着那件红衬衫？为什么他在请求我的原谅？我理不清这一切，不知道该怎么办，这就像是一個不愿痊愈的伤口。
一天下午，在收拾房子时，我想休息一下，于是弄来一杯热气腾腾的茶，拿着一块新鲜出炉的糖屑饼干坐在了我最喜欢的椅子上。突然，爸爸出现在了沙发上。“你还是没有原谅我，”他很小声地说道，我紧绷神经才听得出他在说什么。
然后，我开始有了新的想法。我不再想爸爸的不好，不再想那么多年来让我一直耿耿于怀的一切，我想到他好的方面。我参加的女童子军要举办一场父女共舞，爸爸满脸自豪地陪我赴会。他教我学会忠诚、爱国、相信上帝。在我们家无法负担起我的学费时，他鼓励我上大学。
我一边喝茶，一边想起，在我第一个出生的孩子带有严重的先天缺陷时，爸爸给了我很大的支持;想起在我生日时，他把一辆二手单车翻新，送给我作生日礼物;想起在我结婚那天，他带着我走过红地毯，而我则挽着他那强壮结实的手臂。
我把茶放在茶几上，默默地原谅了他这些年来造成的伤害。我的回忆不该再那么偏颇了。此外，我最后终于意识到，原谅他，我们两人都能得到安宁。积怨在心这么多年，何必呢？我问自己。这对谁都没有好处，尤其是对我自己。我这么做后，爸爸就从沙发上消失了。我再也没见过他。
如今，对爸爸的记忆，美好的总是比苦涩的要多。他来请求我的原谅，但从痛苦中解脱出来的那个人反倒是我。
The dream startled me so much that I woke up gasping， my hand clutching the comforter. My husband’s gentle snore and the familiar shapes in our darkened bedroom reassured me that what I’d seen wasn’t real.
Even so， the image of my father wearing a red shirt， lying on his back on my living room sofa， would not go away.
The clock on the nightstand told me I needed to go back to sleep， but I hesitated to close my eyes. I feared the dream might continue， that Dad would once again say， “ You haven’t forgiven me yet.” Five words that made my stomach churn.
The next day， I told myself it was ridiculous to allow a dream to unsettle me so. And it was only a dream. Dad had died in 1995， so suddenly that there had been no time to say anything to him. In life， my father would never have worn a red shirt or a red tie， not a red anything. He would also never have asked for forgiveness.
LET GO OF THAT GRUDGE AND FORGIVE
My father had been a complicated man， and during all of my adult years， I had a love/hate relationship with him. He provided the necessities of life in my growing-up years. He was fun to be with some of the time. My three brothers and I knew he loved us， but we also knew that he could turn from loving father to a man who belittled and verbally abused us if we moved outside the lines he’d drawn. We were to believe only what he believed， there was no discussion， no difference of opinion， no respect for our thoughts.
He verbally and emotionally abused my mother even while loving her deeply. Having to watch silently hurt me. None of us suffered physical abuse from him， but we bore the scars of the cutting words hurdled at us during his flares of temper.
He raged like a bull in a Spanish bullring when I wanted to leave the Midwest and teach in California. He disowned my youngest brother because the young college student had the nerve to fall in love with someone of a different race. The bitterness I harbored against my father sat inside me like a weighty rock for many years.
The dream brought it all to the surface. All that day， whenever I passed through my living room， I saw my father in the red shirt lying on the sofa and I shivered inwardly. My sensible self knew he wasn’t really there. I only imagined it.
Days， and then weeks， passed and I still had trouble looking at my sofa. No way would I sit on it！ I churned inside. Why the dream？ Why the red shirt？ Why was he asking for my forgiveness？ I couldn’t put it together， didn’t know what I should do， and it felt like a wound that refused to heal. One afternoon， I needed a break while cleaning the house， so I fixed a cup of steaming hot tea， grabbed a freshly-baked sugar cookie and sank into my favorite chair. Suddenly， Dad appeared on the sofa. “You still haven’t forgiven me，” he said so softly I had to strain to hear the words.
Then began an epiphany. Instead of all the negative memories about my father that I’d harbored for so many years， I thought about the positives. My girl-scout troop sponsored a Father-Daughter dance and Dad escorted me， beaming with pride. He taught me to be loyal， to love my country and to believe in God. He encouraged me to go to college when our family really could not afford it.
As I sipped my tea， I remembered the wonderful support Dad gave me when my first child was born with severe birth defects. I had a vision of the secondhand bike he’d fixed up like new as a birthday gift for me. I thought about my wedding day when he’d walked me down the aisle while I held on to his strong， steady arm.
I set my cup of tea on the end table and silently forgave him for all the hurt he’d inflicted over the years. It was time to bring some balance to my memories. Besides that， I finally realized that my forgiving him would afford both of us peace of mind. What good， I asked myself， did holding a grudge all these years do？ It didn’t help anyone， most of all， me. Once it was done， Dad disappeared from the sofa. I never saw him again.
Now， the good times about my life with Dad are remembered more than the dark ones. He came to ask my forgiveness， but the one who felt cleansed and free of bitterness turned out to be me.
那个梦惊得我整个人弹了起来，抓着床罩喘气连连。黑暗的卧室里，丈夫轻轻的鼾声以及熟悉的摆设让我放下心来：我看到的一切都不是真的。
尽管如此，父亲穿着红色衬衫躺在客厅沙发上的画面却一直在我脑海里挥之不去。
床头几上的钟告诉我，我得重新入睡，但我不敢闭上眼睛。我害怕那个梦会继续，爸爸又会再次说出那句话：“你没原谅我。”这五个字令我脾胃翻腾。
第二天，我告诉自己，被一个梦弄得如此心神不宁是件非常荒谬的事。这只是一个梦。爸爸在1995年就去世了，他走得那么突然，都没有时间和他说再见。爸爸在世时，从不会穿红衬衫或打红领带，他不会穿任何红色的东西。他也从来不会请求原谅。
原谅别人，放过自己
爸爸是个多重性格的人。在我成年后，我和他的关系可以说是爱恨交织。在我的成长过程中，他给我提供了所有的生活必需品。他有时候也很风趣。我和三个兄弟都知道他很爱我们，但一旦我们做出他无法容忍的事情，他就会从慈父变成一个用语言辱骂、贬低我们的人。他的信仰就是我们的信仰，没有任何商量的余地，也不允许任何不同的意见，我们的想法得不到任何尊重。
尽管他深爱着妈妈，他也会对她进行言辞激烈的辱骂。而我只能在一旁沉默地看着，这让我很受伤。他没有对我们任何一个人使用过暴力，但是当他大发雷霆时，我们都受过他那锥心之言所带来的伤害。
当我提出想离开中西部去加州教书时，他像西班牙斗牛场里的公牛一样暴跳如雷。他和我最小的弟弟脱离了父子关系，因为这个年轻的大学生竟敢胆大包天地和其他种族的人谈恋爱。对爸爸怀着的怨恨如沉重的大石般在我心里埋藏多年。
那个梦把这股怨恨又重新勾了起来。那一整天，每当我经过客厅时，我都看到爸爸穿着红色衬衫躺在沙发上，我的内心止不住地打颤。我的理智知道他不是真的在那里，这只是我的想象。
一天又一天，一个星期又一个星期，我依然不敢看我的沙发，更别提坐在上面！我的内心在翻腾。为什么会做这个梦？为什么会穿着那件红衬衫？为什么他在请求我的原谅？我理不清这一切，不知道该怎么办，这就像是一個不愿痊愈的伤口。
一天下午，在收拾房子时，我想休息一下，于是弄来一杯热气腾腾的茶，拿着一块新鲜出炉的糖屑饼干坐在了我最喜欢的椅子上。突然，爸爸出现在了沙发上。“你还是没有原谅我，”他很小声地说道，我紧绷神经才听得出他在说什么。
然后，我开始有了新的想法。我不再想爸爸的不好，不再想那么多年来让我一直耿耿于怀的一切，我想到他好的方面。我参加的女童子军要举办一场父女共舞，爸爸满脸自豪地陪我赴会。他教我学会忠诚、爱国、相信上帝。在我们家无法负担起我的学费时，他鼓励我上大学。
我一边喝茶，一边想起，在我第一个出生的孩子带有严重的先天缺陷时，爸爸给了我很大的支持;想起在我生日时，他把一辆二手单车翻新，送给我作生日礼物;想起在我结婚那天，他带着我走过红地毯，而我则挽着他那强壮结实的手臂。
我把茶放在茶几上，默默地原谅了他这些年来造成的伤害。我的回忆不该再那么偏颇了。此外，我最后终于意识到，原谅他，我们两人都能得到安宁。积怨在心这么多年，何必呢？我问自己。这对谁都没有好处，尤其是对我自己。我这么做后，爸爸就从沙发上消失了。我再也没见过他。
如今，对爸爸的记忆，美好的总是比苦涩的要多。他来请求我的原谅，但从痛苦中解脱出来的那个人反倒是我。