My Father's Music（我父親的音樂）

Wayne Kalyn（韋恩?凱林）

I remember the day Dad first lugged the heavy accordion up our front stoop, taxing his small frame. He gathered my mother and me in the living room and opened the case as if it were a treasure chest. "Here it is," he said. "Once you learn to play, it'll stay with you for life."

記得有一天，身材瘦小的父親背著一架沉重的手風琴，費力地走到前門廊。他把媽媽和我叫進廳里，打開了那只盒子，好象那是一個百寶箱似的。“就這個，”他說，“你一旦學會，它將伴隨你一生。”

If my thin smile didn't match his full-fledged grin, it was because I had prayed for a guitar or a piano. For the next two weeks, the accordion was stored in the hall closet. Then one evening Dad announced that I would start lessons the following week. In disbelief I shot my eyes toward Mom for support. The firm set of her jaw told me I was out of luck.

如果說我勉強的微笑與他發自內心的笑容不和諧的話，那是因為我一直想要一把吉他或一架鋼琴。隨后的兩個星期，那架手風琴一直放在大廳的櫥子里。一天晚上，爸爸宣布下周我開始上琴課。疑惑中，我把視線急忙投向媽媽求助。她緊繃的下巴告訴我：我倒運了。

Spending $300 for an accordion and $5 per lesson was out of character for my father. He was practical always － something he learned growing up on a Pennsylvania farm. Clothes, heat and sometimes even food were scarce.

花300元買一架手風琴，每次上課再花3美元，這可不像父親的作風。他一直是很實際的——這是他在賓夕法尼亞農場成長過程中學來的。那時候，衣服、暖氣，有時甚至連食物都短缺。

Dad was a supervisor in a company that serviced jet engines. Weekends, he tinkered in the cellar, turning scraps of plywood into a utility cabinet or fixing a broken toy with spare parts. Quiet and shy, he was never more comfortable than when at his workbench.

爸爸是一家為噴氣式飛機引擎提供服務的公司的主管。周末，他在地下室里修修補補，把膠合板的邊角料做成一個實用的小柜子，或者用一些零件把壞了的玩具修好。他不喜張揚，不愛說話。最讓他感到舒服的，莫過于在工作臺旁邊。

Only music carried Dad away from his world of tools and projects. On a Sunday drive, he turned the radio on immediately. At red lights, I'd notice his foot tapping in time. He seemed to hang on every note.

只有音樂會讓爸爸遠離他的工具和計劃的世界。一個星期天駕車外出，一上車他就打開了收音機。遇到紅燈時，我注意到他的腳在打著拍子，似乎能跟得上每一個節拍。

Still, I wasn't prepared when, rummaging in a closet, I found a case that looked to me like a tiny guitar's. Opening it, I saw the polished glow of a beautiful violin. "It's your father's," Mom said. "His parents bought it for him. I guess he got too busy on the farm to ever learn to play it." I tried to imagine Dad's rough hands on this delicate instrument － and couldn't.

然而，我還是沒有思想準備，那是我在櫥子里翻找東西時，發現一只像是裝小吉它的盒子。打開一看，是一把锃亮的、漂亮的小提琴。“那是你爸爸的，”媽媽說。“他父母給他買的。我想他在農場里太忙了，沒有時間學。”我試圖想象爸爸粗糙的雙手放在這精致的樂器上的情景——無法想象。

Shortly after, my lessons began with Mr. Zelli. On my first day, with straps straining my shoulders, I felt clumsy in every way. "How did he do?" my father asked when it was over. "Fine for the first lesson," said Mr. Zelli. Dad glowed with hope.

不久，澤利先生開始教我拉手風琴。第一天，手風琴背帶壓著我的肩膀，我感到渾身不自在。“他學得怎么樣？”結束時，父親問。“第一堂課，這已經很不錯。”澤利先生說。爸爸眼中閃著希望的光芒。

I was ordered to practice half an hour every day, and every day I tried to get out of it. My future seemed to be outside playing ball, not in the house mastering songs I would soon forget. But my parents hounded me to practice.

爸爸命令我每天練半個小時，可每天我都想賴掉。我的將來似乎應在戶外打球，而不是在屋內練那些很快就會忘掉的曲子。然而父母不斷地督促我練習。

Gradually, to my surprise, I was able to string notes together and coordinate my hands to play simple songs. Often, after supper, my father would request a tune or two. As he sat in his easy chair, I would fumble through "Lady of Spain" and "Beer Barrel Polka."

漸漸地，讓我吃驚的是，我竟然能把幾個音符連起來了。手指的協調性也好點了，還能拉出幾首簡單的曲子。晚飯后，父親常常會要我拉上一、兩首曲子。他躺在安樂椅里，我則笨拙地拉完“西班牙女郎”和“啤酒桶波爾卡”。

"Very nice, better than last week," he'd say. Then I would follow into a medley of his favorites, "Red River Valley" and "Home on the Range," and he would drift off to sleep, the newspaper folded on his lap. I took it as a compliment that he could relax under the spell of my playing.

他會說，“不錯，比上星期好，”然后我會接著拉他喜歡的曲子“紅河谷”和“山上的家”。聽著聽著，他慢慢睡著了，報紙疊在腿上。我把這看作是一種贊揚：他能在我美妙的演奏中放松。

One July evening I was giving an almost flawless rendition of "Come Back to Sorrento," and my parents called me to an open window. An elderly neighbor, rarely seen outside her house, was leaning against our car humming dreamily to the tune. When I finished, she smiled broadly and called out, "I remember that song as a child in Italy. Beautiful, just beautiful."

七月的一個傍晚，我正在拉“重回索聯托”，拉得幾乎完美無缺。父母突然把我叫到窗前。一位極少出門、上了年紀的老鄰居，正靠在我們的車旁，跟著曲子沉醉地哼唱著。當我拉完時，她咧開嘴笑了，大聲說：“小時候在意大利我聽到過這首歌曲，我還記得。太棒了，真是棒極了。

”Throughout the summer, Mr. Zelli's lessons grew more difficult. It took me a week and a half to master them now. All the while I could hear my buddies outside playing heated games of stickball. I'd also hear an occasional taunt; "Hey, where's your monkey and cup?"

整個夏天，澤利先生的課越來越難。現在要一個半星期才能掌握。練琴時，我總是聽到伙伴們在外面玩棍球的嬉鬧聲。偶爾還聽到奚落：“嗨，你的猴子和獎杯哪里去了？

”Such humiliation paled, though, beside the impending fall recital. I would have to play a solo on a local movie theater's stage. I wanted to skip the whole thing. Emotions boiled over in the car one Sunday afternoon. "I don't want to play a solo." I said. "You have to," replied my father.

不過，這種羞辱與即將來臨的秋季演奏會相比，算不得什么。我得在當地一家影劇院舞臺上獨奏一曲。我想逃避這一切。一個星期天的下午，不滿的情緒終于在車上爆發了。“我不想獨奏，”我說。“你必須去，”父親說。

"Why?" I shouted. "Because you didn't get to play your violin when you were a kid? Why should I have to play this stupid instrument when you never had to play yours?"Dad pulled the car over and pointed at me. "Because you can bring people joy. You can touch their hearts. That's a gift I won't let you throw away." He added softly, "Someday you'll have the chance I never had: you'll play beautiful music for your family. And you'll understand why you've worked so hard."

“為什么？”我叫了起來。“就因為你小時候沒能拉上小提琴？你從來不用拉琴，我為什么必須拉那笨重的玩意？”爸爸把車開到路邊，手指著我。“因為你能給人們帶來快樂。你能撥動他們的心弦。我不會讓你放棄這份才能。”爸爸又心平氣和地說：“有一天你會有我從未有過的機會：你能為你的全家彈奏美妙的音樂。那時你會明白，如此努力到底是為什么。”

I was speechless. I had rarely heard Dad speak with such feeling about anything, much less the accordion. From then on, I practiced without my parents’ making me.

我不吱聲了。我很少聽到爸爸如此語重心長地跟我談事情，更不用說是為了拉手風琴的事。從那以后，我練琴再也不用父母盯著。

The evening of the concert Mom wore glittery earrings and more makeup than I could remember. Dad got out of work early, put on a suit and tie, and slicked down his hair with Vitalis. They were ready an hour early, so we sat in the living room chatting nervously. I got the unspoken message that playing this one song was a dream come true for them.

音樂會那天晚上，媽媽戴上了亮閃閃的耳環，精心打扮一番；爸爸也早早下班回家，穿上西裝，系上領帶，頭上抹了瓦特里斯，油亮亮的。他們提前一個小時就準備好了，我們就坐在廳里，緊張地談論著。我感覺到，上臺演奏這首曲子是他們要實現的一個夢想。

At the theater nervousness overtook me as I realized how much I wanted to make my parents proud. Finally, it was my turn. I walked to the lone chair on stage and performed "Are You Lonesome Tonight?" without a mistake. The applause spilled out, with a few hands still clapping after others had stopped. I was lightheaded, glad my ordeal was over.

在劇場里，當我意識到我是多么想讓父母感到驕傲時，我極為緊張。最后，終于輪到我了。我走向舞臺中央的那張椅子，演奏了一曲“今晚你孤獨嗎？”，一個音符也沒拉錯。頓時，掌聲四起，難以停息。我 頭有點暈暈的，慶幸我的苦難終于結束。

After the concert Mom and Dad came backstage. The way they walked － heads high, faces flushed － I knew they were pleased. My mother gave me a big hug. Dad slipped an arm around me and held me close. "You were just great," he said. Then he shook my hand and was slow to let it go.

音樂會后，爸媽來到后臺。他們走路的樣子，昂著頭，精神煥發--我知道他們很開心。媽媽緊緊地抱住我。爸爸伸出一只手臂，牢牢地摟住我：“你太棒了。”說完，他使勁地握著我的手，不愿松開。

As the years went by, the accordion drifted to the background of my life. Dad asked me to play at family occasions, but the lessons stopped. When I went to college, the accordion stayed behind in the hall closet next to my father's violin.

隨著歲月的流逝，那架手風琴漸漸退至我生活的幕后。只有在家庭聚會上，爸爸還會讓我拉上一曲。但是風琴課不再上了。我上大學時，那架手風琴放進廳里的壁櫥，在爸爸的小提琴旁邊。

A year after my graduation, my parents moved to a house in a nearby town. Dad, at 51, finally owned his own home. On moving day, I didn't have the heart to tell him that he could dispose of the accordion, so I brought it to my own home and put it in the attic.

大學畢業后一年，父母搬到附近城鎮的一棟房子。爸爸在他五十一歲那年終于擁有了自己的家。搬家那天，我不忍 心告訴他，說他可以處理那架手風琴，于是我把它帶回自己家，放在閣樓上。

There it remained, a dusty memory, until one afternoon several years later when my two children discovered it by accident. Scott thought it was a secret treasure; Holly thought a ghost lived inside. They were both right.

手風琴一直放在那里，成了塵封的記憶。直到幾年后的一個下午，我的兩個孩子偶然發現了它。斯科特認為這是一件秘密寶藏。霍莉則認為里面住著一個幽靈。他倆都對。

When I opened the case, they laughed and said, "Play it, play it." Reluctantly, I strapped on the accordion and played some simple songs. I was surprised my skills hadn't rusted away. Soon the kids were dancing in circles and giggling. Even my wife, Terri, was laughing and clapping to the beat. I was amazed at their unbridled glee.

我打開盒子時，他們笑了，叫道“拉一曲，拉一曲。”我不情愿地背上琴帶，拉了幾只簡單的曲子。真沒想到，我拉起來還是那么嫻熟。很快，孩子們圍成圈跳起來，咯咯地笑個不停。甚至連我妻子特麗也笑了，打著拍子。看著他們縱情歡笑，我感到驚異。

My father's words came back to me: "Someday you'll have the chance I never had, Then you'll understand." I finally knew what it meant to work hard and sacrifice for others. Dad had been right all along: the most precious gift is to touch the hearts of those you love. Later I phoned Dad to let him know that, at long last, I understood. Fumbling for the right words, I thanked him for the legacy it took almost 30 years to discover. "You're welcome," he said, his voice choked with emotion.

我的耳邊回響起父親說過的話：“有一天你會有我從未有過的機會，那時你會明白的。”我終于明白，去努力，去為別人作出犧牲意味著什么。爸爸始終是對的：最珍貴的禮物莫過于打動你所愛的人的心。后來，我給爸爸去電話，告訴他我終于懂了。我笨嘴拙舌地找尋合適的詞語，為他給我的寶貴財富表示感謝，這財富我花了差不多三十年才發現。“不用謝，”他激動得說不出話來。

Dad never learned to coax sweet sounds from his violin. Yet he was wrong to think he would never play for his family. On that wonderful evening, as my wife and children laughed and danced, they heard my accordion. But it was my father's music.

爸爸從未學過從他的小提琴上拉出美妙的聲音。但是他以為自己永遠不會為家人彈奏音樂，這種想法是錯的。那個美妙的夜晚，我的妻子、孩子歡歌笑舞，他們聽到的是我的手風琴，但，那卻是我父親的音樂。

My Father's Music（我父親的音樂）

Wayne Kalyn（韋恩?凱林）

I remember the day Dad first lugged the heavy accordion up our front stoop, taxing his small frame. He gathered my mother and me in the living room and opened the case as if it were a treasure chest. "Here it is," he said. "Once you learn to play, it'll stay with you for life."

記得有一天，身材瘦小的父親背著一架沉重的手風琴，費力地走到前門廊。他把媽媽和我叫進廳里，打開了那只盒子，好象那是一個百寶箱似的。“就這個，”他說，“你一旦學會，它將伴隨你一生。”

If my thin smile didn't match his full-fledged grin, it was because I had prayed for a guitar or a piano. For the next two weeks, the accordion was stored in the hall closet. Then one evening Dad announced that I would start lessons the following week. In disbelief I shot my eyes toward Mom for support. The firm set of her jaw told me I was out of luck.

如果說我勉強的微笑與他發自內心的笑容不和諧的話，那是因為我一直想要一把吉他或一架鋼琴。隨后的兩個星期，那架手風琴一直放在大廳的櫥子里。一天晚上，爸爸宣布下周我開始上琴課。疑惑中，我把視線急忙投向媽媽求助。她緊繃的下巴告訴我：我倒運了。

Spending $300 for an accordion and $5 per lesson was out of character for my father. He was practical always － something he learned growing up on a Pennsylvania farm. Clothes, heat and sometimes even food were scarce.

花300元買一架手風琴，每次上課再花3美元，這可不像父親的作風。他一直是很實際的——這是他在賓夕法尼亞農場成長過程中學來的。那時候，衣服、暖氣，有時甚至連食物都短缺。

Dad was a supervisor in a company that serviced jet engines. Weekends, he tinkered in the cellar, turning scraps of plywood into a utility cabinet or fixing a broken toy with spare parts. Quiet and shy, he was never more comfortable than when at his workbench.

爸爸是一家為噴氣式飛機引擎提供服務的公司的主管。周末，他在地下室里修修補補，把膠合板的邊角料做成一個實用的小柜子，或者用一些零件把壞了的玩具修好。他不喜張揚，不愛說話。最讓他感到舒服的，莫過于在工作臺旁邊。

Only music carried Dad away from his world of tools and projects. On a Sunday drive, he turned the radio on immediately. At red lights, I'd notice his foot tapping in time. He seemed to hang on every note.

只有音樂會讓爸爸遠離他的工具和計劃的世界。一個星期天駕車外出，一上車他就打開了收音機。遇到紅燈時，我注意到他的腳在打著拍子，似乎能跟得上每一個節拍。

Still, I wasn't prepared when, rummaging in a closet, I found a case that looked to me like a tiny guitar's. Opening it, I saw the polished glow of a beautiful violin. "It's your father's," Mom said. "His parents bought it for him. I guess he got too busy on the farm to ever learn to play it." I tried to imagine Dad's rough hands on this delicate instrument － and couldn't.

然而，我還是沒有思想準備，那是我在櫥子里翻找東西時，發現一只像是裝小吉它的盒子。打開一看，是一把锃亮的、漂亮的小提琴。“那是你爸爸的，”媽媽說。“他父母給他買的。我想他在農場里太忙了，沒有時間學。”我試圖想象爸爸粗糙的雙手放在這精致的樂器上的情景——無法想象。

Shortly after, my lessons began with Mr. Zelli. On my first day, with straps straining my shoulders, I felt clumsy in every way. "How did he do?" my father asked when it was over. "Fine for the first lesson," said Mr. Zelli. Dad glowed with hope.

不久，澤利先生開始教我拉手風琴。第一天，手風琴背帶壓著我的肩膀，我感到渾身不自在。“他學得怎么樣？”結束時，父親問。“第一堂課，這已經很不錯。”澤利先生說。爸爸眼中閃著希望的光芒。

I was ordered to practice half an hour every day, and every day I tried to get out of it. My future seemed to be outside playing ball, not in the house mastering songs I would soon forget. But my parents hounded me to practice.

爸爸命令我每天練半個小時，可每天我都想賴掉。我的將來似乎應在戶外打球，而不是在屋內練那些很快就會忘掉的曲子。然而父母不斷地督促我練習。

Gradually, to my surprise, I was able to string notes together and coordinate my hands to play simple songs. Often, after supper, my father would request a tune or two. As he sat in his easy chair, I would fumble through "Lady of Spain" and "Beer Barrel Polka."

漸漸地，讓我吃驚的是，我竟然能把幾個音符連起來了。手指的協調性也好點了，還能拉出幾首簡單的曲子。晚飯后，父親常常會要我拉上一、兩首曲子。他躺在安樂椅里，我則笨拙地拉完“西班牙女郎”和“啤酒桶波爾卡”。

"Very nice, better than last week," he'd say. Then I would follow into a medley of his favorites, "Red River Valley" and "Home on the Range," and he would drift off to sleep, the newspaper folded on his lap. I took it as a compliment that he could relax under the spell of my playing.

他會說，“不錯，比上星期好，”然后我會接著拉他喜歡的曲子“紅河谷”和“山上的家”。聽著聽著，他慢慢睡著了，報紙疊在腿上。我把這看作是一種贊揚：他能在我美妙的演奏中放松。

One July evening I was giving an almost flawless rendition of "Come Back to Sorrento," and my parents called me to an open window. An elderly neighbor, rarely seen outside her house, was leaning against our car humming dreamily to the tune. When I finished, she smiled broadly and called out, "I remember that song as a child in Italy. Beautiful, just beautiful."

七月的一個傍晚，我正在拉“重回索聯托”，拉得幾乎完美無缺。父母突然把我叫到窗前。一位極少出門、上了年紀的老鄰居，正靠在我們的車旁，跟著曲子沉醉地哼唱著。當我拉完時，她咧開嘴笑了，大聲說：“小時候在意大利我聽到過這首歌曲，我還記得。太棒了，真是棒極了。

”Throughout the summer, Mr. Zelli's lessons grew more difficult. It took me a week and a half to master them now. All the while I could hear my buddies outside playing heated games of stickball. I'd also hear an occasional taunt; "Hey, where's your monkey and cup?"

整個夏天，澤利先生的課越來越難。現在要一個半星期才能掌握。練琴時，我總是聽到伙伴們在外面玩棍球的嬉鬧聲。偶爾還聽到奚落：“嗨，你的猴子和獎杯哪里去了？

”Such humiliation paled, though, beside the impending fall recital. I would have to play a solo on a local movie theater's stage. I wanted to skip the whole thing. Emotions boiled over in the car one Sunday afternoon. "I don't want to play a solo." I said. "You have to," replied my father.

不過，這種羞辱與即將來臨的秋季演奏會相比，算不得什么。我得在當地一家影劇院舞臺上獨奏一曲。我想逃避這一切。一個星期天的下午，不滿的情緒終于在車上爆發了。“我不想獨奏，”我說。“你必須去，”父親說。

"Why?" I shouted. "Because you didn't get to play your violin when you were a kid? Why should I have to play this stupid instrument when you never had to play yours?"Dad pulled the car over and pointed at me. "Because you can bring people joy. You can touch their hearts. That's a gift I won't let you throw away." He added softly, "Someday you'll have the chance I never had: you'll play beautiful music for your family. And you'll understand why you've worked so hard."

“為什么？”我叫了起來。“就因為你小時候沒能拉上小提琴？你從來不用拉琴，我為什么必須拉那笨重的玩意？”爸爸把車開到路邊，手指著我。“因為你能給人們帶來快樂。你能撥動他們的心弦。我不會讓你放棄這份才能。”爸爸又心平氣和地說：“有一天你會有我從未有過的機會：你能為你的全家彈奏美妙的音樂。那時你會明白，如此努力到底是為什么。”

I was speechless. I had rarely heard Dad speak with such feeling about anything, much less the accordion. From then on, I practiced without my parents’ making me.

我不吱聲了。我很少聽到爸爸如此語重心長地跟我談事情，更不用說是為了拉手風琴的事。從那以后，我練琴再也不用父母盯著。

The evening of the concert Mom wore glittery earrings and more makeup than I could remember. Dad got out of work early, put on a suit and tie, and slicked down his hair with Vitalis. They were ready an hour early, so we sat in the living room chatting nervously. I got the unspoken message that playing this one song was a dream come true for them.

音樂會那天晚上，媽媽戴上了亮閃閃的耳環，精心打扮一番；爸爸也早早下班回家，穿上西裝，系上領帶，頭上抹了瓦特里斯，油亮亮的。他們提前一個小時就準備好了，我們就坐在廳里，緊張地談論著。我感覺到，上臺演奏這首曲子是他們要實現的一個夢想。

At the theater nervousness overtook me as I realized how much I wanted to make my parents proud. Finally, it was my turn. I walked to the lone chair on stage and performed "Are You Lonesome Tonight?" without a mistake. The applause spilled out, with a few hands still clapping after others had stopped. I was lightheaded, glad my ordeal was over.

在劇場里，當我意識到我是多么想讓父母感到驕傲時，我極為緊張。最后，終于輪到我了。我走向舞臺中央的那張椅子，演奏了一曲“今晚你孤獨嗎？”，一個音符也沒拉錯。頓時，掌聲四起，難以停息。我 頭有點暈暈的，慶幸我的苦難終于結束。

After the concert Mom and Dad came backstage. The way they walked － heads high, faces flushed － I knew they were pleased. My mother gave me a big hug. Dad slipped an arm around me and held me close. "You were just great," he said. Then he shook my hand and was slow to let it go.

音樂會后，爸媽來到后臺。他們走路的樣子，昂著頭，精神煥發--我知道他們很開心。媽媽緊緊地抱住我。爸爸伸出一只手臂，牢牢地摟住我：“你太棒了。”說完，他使勁地握著我的手，不愿松開。

As the years went by, the accordion drifted to the background of my life. Dad asked me to play at family occasions, but the lessons stopped. When I went to college, the accordion stayed behind in the hall closet next to my father's violin.

隨著歲月的流逝，那架手風琴漸漸退至我生活的幕后。只有在家庭聚會上，爸爸還會讓我拉上一曲。但是風琴課不再上了。我上大學時，那架手風琴放進廳里的壁櫥，在爸爸的小提琴旁邊。

A year after my graduation, my parents moved to a house in a nearby town. Dad, at 51, finally owned his own home. On moving day, I didn't have the heart to tell him that he could dispose of the accordion, so I brought it to my own home and put it in the attic.

大學畢業后一年，父母搬到附近城鎮的一棟房子。爸爸在他五十一歲那年終于擁有了自己的家。搬家那天，我不忍 心告訴他，說他可以處理那架手風琴，于是我把它帶回自己家，放在閣樓上。

There it remained, a dusty memory, until one afternoon several years later when my two children discovered it by accident. Scott thought it was a secret treasure; Holly thought a ghost lived inside. They were both right.

手風琴一直放在那里，成了塵封的記憶。直到幾年后的一個下午，我的兩個孩子偶然發現了它。斯科特認為這是一件秘密寶藏。霍莉則認為里面住著一個幽靈。他倆都對。

When I opened the case, they laughed and said, "Play it, play it." Reluctantly, I strapped on the accordion and played some simple songs. I was surprised my skills hadn't rusted away. Soon the kids were dancing in circles and giggling. Even my wife, Terri, was laughing and clapping to the beat. I was amazed at their unbridled glee.

我打開盒子時，他們笑了，叫道“拉一曲，拉一曲。”我不情愿地背上琴帶，拉了幾只簡單的曲子。真沒想到，我拉起來還是那么嫻熟。很快，孩子們圍成圈跳起來，咯咯地笑個不停。甚至連我妻子特麗也笑了，打著拍子。看著他們縱情歡笑，我感到驚異。

My father's words came back to me: "Someday you'll have the chance I never had, Then you'll understand." I finally knew what it meant to work hard and sacrifice for others. Dad had been right all along: the most precious gift is to touch the hearts of those you love. Later I phoned Dad to let him know that, at long last, I understood. Fumbling for the right words, I thanked him for the legacy it took almost 30 years to discover. "You're welcome," he said, his voice choked with emotion.

我的耳邊回響起父親說過的話：“有一天你會有我從未有過的機會，那時你會明白的。”我終于明白，去努力，去為別人作出犧牲意味著什么。爸爸始終是對的：最珍貴的禮物莫過于打動你所愛的人的心。后來，我給爸爸去電話，告訴他我終于懂了。我笨嘴拙舌地找尋合適的詞語，為他給我的寶貴財富表示感謝，這財富我花了差不多三十年才發現。“不用謝，”他激動得說不出話來。

Dad never learned to coax sweet sounds from his violin. Yet he was wrong to think he would never play for his family. On that wonderful evening, as my wife and children laughed and danced, they heard my accordion. But it was my father's music.

爸爸從未學過從他的小提琴上拉出美妙的聲音。但是他以為自己永遠不會為家人彈奏音樂，這種想法是錯的。那個美妙的夜晚，我的妻子、孩子歡歌笑舞，他們聽到的是我的手風琴，但，那卻是我父親的音樂。