希望一生有你陪伴
Come Along With You
爸爸忘记了 佚名
Father Forgets Anonymous
爱在无语时 佚名
Words from a Father Anonymous
瞧这父子俩 佚名
The Father and the Son Anonymous
父爱无声 佚名
Silent Father-love Anonymous
来自亲情的吻 佚名
A Box Full of Kisses Anonymous
瞬间的崩塌 佚名
The Doll and a White Rose Anonymous
长大成人 辛迪 卡恩 谢尔顿
When Allie Left Home Sandi Kahn Shelton
妈妈的小甜饼 佚名
Cookies, Forgotten and Forgiven Anonymous
与“另一位女人”约会 佚名
That“Other Woman”in My Life Anonymous
母亲的信 佚名
All Mum’s Letters Anonymous
母 爱 佚名
Mother’s Love Anonymous
给女儿的信 佚名
Father’s Day Sentimentality Anonymous
谁是你的天使 佚名
Who Will Be Your Angel Anonymous
爱的奇迹 佚名
Love Lives Forever Anonymous
好运斑马裙 玛丽 安 佩奇 皮尔斯
Well Dressed Mary Ann Pecci Pearce
从来未曾遗忘过
Never Forgotten
慈 父 佚名
A Good Heart to Lean on Anonymous
父亲之间的默契 佚名
The Circus Anonymous
爱之花悄然绽放 佚名
Love in Bloom Anonymous
父亲、儿子和我 佚名
My Father, My Son, Myself Anonymous
她留下了一团糟 杰儿 W. 马努斯
She Left a Mess Behind Jaye W. Manus
亲爱的母亲 克丽斯汀 古尔德
Dear Mom Christine Goold
生日的承诺 安妮 卡特
The Birthday Promise Anne Carter
珍贵的礼物 哈蒂 梅 拉特里夫
The Gift Hattie Mae Ratliff
一段小夜曲 嘉丽 霍华德
A Little Night Music Carrie Howard
为妈妈扮靓 黛安 梅丽蒂斯 弗格尔
Making Mommy Pretty Diane Meredith Vogel
母亲教会了我 瓦蕾丽 斯马特
Things My Mother Taught Me Valerie Smart
黄昏时分 苏珊 福塞特
Twilight Time Susan Fawcett
改变我生活的小女士 佚名
The Little Lady Who Changed My Life Anonymous
无需证明的爱
Love Needs No Proof
母爱的奇迹 佚名
The Miracle of Mother’s Love Anonymous
当女儿发脾气 佚名
The Tantrum Anonymous
给母亲的一份惊喜 萨拉 A. 里弗斯
A Surprise to Mother Sarah A. Rivers
情感午餐袋 罗伯特 富尔古姆
What My Daughter Taught Me about Love Robert Fulghum
父亲的吻 佚名
Dad’s Kiss Anonymous
爱之便条 佚名
Love Notes Anonymous
教 诲 佚名
Things My Father Taught Me Anonymous
女儿结婚了 佚名
Father of the Bride Anonymous
昔为人子，今为人父 W.W.米德
Once the Son, Now the Father W. W. Meade
难忘的腌菜罐 A.W.科布
The Pickle Jar A. W. Cobb
金秋时节 佚名
Altogether Autumn Anonymous
爱上陌生人 桑德 史密斯
To Love a Stranger Sande Smith
躲到一边 佚名
Side Stepping Anonymous
爸爸的秘密 贝蒂 斯坦尼
Father’s Secret Betty Stanley
母亲也曾是个“捣蛋鬼” 佚名
My Mother the Hellion Anonymous
內容試閱：
爸爸忘记了
Father Forgets
佚名 Anonymous
Listen, son: I am saying this as you lie asleep, one little paw
crumpled under your cheek and blond curls stickily wet on your damp
forehead. I have stolen into your room alone. Just a few minutes
ago, as I sat reading my paper in the library, a hot, stifling wave
of remorse swept over me. Guiltily I came to your bedside.
These are the things I was thinking, son: I had been cross to
you. I scolded you as you were dressing for school because you gave
your face merely a dab with a towel. I took you to task for not
cleaning your shoes. I called out angrily when you threw some of
your things on the floor.
At breakfast I found fault, too. You spilled things. You gulped
down your food. You put your elbows on the table. You spread butter
too thick on your bread. And as you started off to play and I made
for my train, you turned and waved a hand and called, “Good-bye,
Daddy!” and I frowned, and said in reply, “Hold your shoulders
back!”
Then it began all over again in the late afternoon. As I came up
the road I spied you, down on your knees, playing marbles. There
were holes in your socks. I humiliated you before your friends by
marching you ahead of me to the house. Socks were expensive, and if
you had to buy them you would be more careful! Imagine that, son,
from a father! It was such a stupid, silly logic.
Do you remember, later, when I was reading in the library, how
you came in, timidly, with a sort of hurt, hunted look in your
eyes? When I glanced up over my paper, impatient at the
interruption, you hesitated at the door.
“What is it you want?” I snapped.
You said nothing, but ran across in one tempestuous plunge, and
threw your arms around my neck and kissed me, and your small arms
tightened with an affection that God had set blooming in your heart
and which even neglect could not wither. And then you were gone,
pattering up the stairs.
Well, son, it was shortly afterwards that my paper slipped from
my hands and a terrible sickening fear came over me. When has habit
been doing to me? The habit of complaining, finding fault,
reprimanding—this was my reward to you for being a boy. It was not
that I did not love you; it was that I expected too much of you. I
was measuring you by the yardstick of my own years.
And there was so much that was good and fine and true in your
character. The little heart of yours was as big as the dawn itself
over the wide hills. This was shown by your spontaneous impulse to
rush in and kiss me goodnight. Nothing else matters, tonight, son.
I have come to your bedside in the darkness, and I have knelt here,
choked with emotion and so ashamed!
It is a feeble atonement; I know you would not understand these
things if I told them to you during your waking hours. But tomorrow
I will be a real daddy. I will chum with you, suffer when you
suffer, and laugh when you laugh. I will bite my tongue when
impatient words come. I will keep saying as if it were a ritual,
“He is nothing but a boy, a little boy!”
I am afraid I have visualized you as a man. Yet as I see you now,
son, crumpled and weary in your bed, I see that you are still a
little boy. Yesterday you were in your mother’s arms, your head on
her shoulder. I have asked too much, too much!
Dear boy! Dear little son! A penitent kneels at your infant
shrine, here in the moonlight. I kiss the little fingers, and the
damp forehead, and the yellow curls, and, if it were not for waking
for you, I would snatch you up and crush you to my breast.
Tears came and heartache and remorse and, I think, a greater,
deeper love, when you ran through the library door and wanted to
kiss me!
听着，我的儿子：这是在你熟睡时我对你说的一番话。你的一只小手弯曲着枕在小脸蛋儿下，温湿的金色鬈发贴在额前。我蹑手蹑脚地走进你的房间。之前，我在书房看报，突然，一阵懊悔袭上心头，令我窒息。我忍无可忍，满怀歉意地来到你的床前。
这是我的心里话，儿子：都是爸爸不好，总向你发脾气。当你穿衣准备上学时，只是因为你拿毛巾在脸上胡乱一擦了事，我便责骂了你；只因你没擦干净鞋子，我便训斥你；只因你把东西乱扔在地板上，我也会对你大吵大闹。
在你吃早饭时，我也总和你发脾气。你把食物洒得到处都是；你囫囵吞枣；你将胳膊肘放在桌上；你在面包上抹了太厚的黄油。我匆忙地要赶火车去上班，你也刚好吃完饭要跑出去玩，你转过身，挥手向我喊道：“爸爸，再见！”而我只是皱皱眉头对你说：“把胸挺起来！”
晚上，又上演了同样的事情。当我走上坡时，瞥见你蹲在那儿玩弹子，袜子都磨破了。于是我命令你跟我回家，使你在小伙伴面前很尴尬。我责备你说，袜子很贵的，如果是你自己赚钱买的，你就知道珍惜了。儿子，是不是很难想象，这话是出自一个父亲之口！多么愚蠢的逻辑啊！
还记得吗？后来，有一次我在书房看报，你是如何怯生生地走进去的？眼中充满了受伤害和受压制的胆怯表情。我抬起头来，因看报被你打扰而显得不耐烦，你则迟疑地站在门口。
“你来干什么？”我厉声呵斥道。
你什么也没说，鼓足了勇气，跑向我，突然扑了过来。你用小胳膊搂住我的脖子，不断地亲吻我，一遍又一遍地。爱赋予你的小胳膊以无穷的力量，这爱是上帝对你的恩赐，是盛开在你心间的花朵，即使备受冷落也不会凋零。之后你转身，噔噔噔地跑上了楼。
哦，儿子，不一会儿，报纸从我的手上滑落，一种难以言状的恐惧侵袭着我。霎时间，我看清了自己，我的心有种说不出的痛。我什么时候养成了这些恶习？怨天尤人，吹毛求疵，谩骂连连——这就是我给你的“奖赏”，而你只不过是个孩子。我不是不爱你，只是对你期望太高。我是在用我这个年龄的标准去要求你。
你性格中有许多美好而真实的特质。儿子，我不该对你那样。你幼小的心灵犹如群山之上喷薄而出的曙光一样宽广。你情不自禁地跑来，亲吻我道晚安的事就足以证明了这一点。儿子，今晚，其他任何事情都不再重要，我在黑暗中走来，跪在你的床边，心潮起伏，悔恨不已！
我知道这是于事无补的，如果你醒着，你也不会理解我对你说的这些话。但是确实明天我要成为真正的爸爸，我要做你的好朋友，和你同欢喜，共患难。当无耐心的话溜至嘴边时，我要忍住不说。我要告诫自己：“他不过是个孩子——
一个小男孩！”
我担心自己可能是把你当成大人了。可是，儿子，当我现在看到你柔弱地蜷缩在小床上时，我终于意识到了，你只不过是个孩子。昨天你还躺在妈妈的臂弯里，头靠着她的肩膀撒娇。我对你的要求太多了，简直苛刻！
亲爱的孩子！我可爱的宝贝儿子！月光下一个忏悔者跪在你面前，我亲吻着你的小手、你汗湿的额头和金色的鬈发。若不是怕惊醒你，我真想一把把你抱起，紧紧地贴近我的胸膛。
我痛心和悔恨的泪水顿时涌了出来。我知道，当你跑进我的书房亲吻我向我道晚安时，你心存至真、至纯且至深的爱！
……
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