today day is a memorable day, are the annual fathers day!
deep sea motherly love, fatherly love heavy as a mountain. people at the same time to celebrate mothers day and did not forget his fathers achievements. someone start the year on the recommendation of fathers day. years, it is to celebrate the first fathers day. at that time, the late father of all people have to wear a white rose, the father of the people alive while wearing red roses. this custom has been passed so far.
it is said that the selection of fathers day is a month over month because of the sun are the most heated one, a symbol of the father to give their children the love that hot. paternal such as mountains, tall and lofty, let me look timid and afraid to climb health; father such as days,and far-reaching, so that yang and my heart did not dare pity; paternal great deep are pure and not return , but love is a bitter, difficult to understand depression and the unattainable.
father, like a tree, always, let him lush foliage of a solid arm for the tree to create shadeus. years such as the fingers over the water, like, before i knew it, we have grown up, while the tree is gradually aging, and even the new leaves are no longer the hair full of vitality. annually on the third sunday is fathers holiday, let us sincerely say: father, i love you! happy fathers day!
now, the certificate of education examination and the final exams approaching, i suggest that we should seize the time, study hard, with excellent results as to the fathers gift, great father to return, i believe his father at that time are the most beautiful smile! students, come on now! ! !
今天天是个值得纪念的日子，是一年一度的父亲节！
母爱深似海，父爱重如山。人们在庆祝母亲节的同时，并没有忘记父亲的功绩。年就开始有人建议确定父亲节。年月，人们庆祝了第一个父亲节。当时，凡是父亲已故的人都佩戴一朵白玫瑰，父亲在世的人则佩戴红玫瑰。这种习俗一直流传至今。
据说，选定月过父亲节是因为月的阳光是一年之中最炽热的，象征了父亲给予子女的那火热的爱。父爱如山，高大而巍峨，让我望而生怯不敢攀登；父爱如天，粗旷而深远，让我仰而心怜不敢长啸；父爱是深邃的伟大的纯洁而不可回报的，然而父爱又是苦涩的，难懂的忧郁而不可企及的。父亲像是一棵树，总是不言不语，却让他枝叶繁茂的坚实臂膀为树下的我们遮风挡雨制造荫凉。岁月如指间的流水一样滑过，不觉间我们已长大，而树却渐渐老去，甚至新发的树叶都不再充满生机。每年月的第三个星期日是父亲的节日，让我们由衷的说一声：爸爸，我爱你！父亲节快乐！
现在，会考和期末考试将至，我建议我们要抓紧时间，努力学习，用优异的成绩作为送给父亲的礼物，去回报伟大的父爱，我相信那时父亲的笑容是最美的！同学们，加油吧！！！
over the years, i never thought of my father as being very emotional, and he never was, at least not in front of me. even though he was 68 years old and only five-foot-nine, while i was six feet and 260 pounds, he seemed huge to me. i always saw him as being that staunch disciplinarian who rarely cracked a smile. my father never told me he loved me when i was a child, and i never held it against him. i think that all i really wanted was for my dad to be proud of me. in my youth, mom always showered me with i love yous every day. so i really never thought about not hearing it from my dad. i guess deep down i knew that he loved me, he just never said it. come to think of it, i dont think i ever told him that i loved him, either. i never really thought about it much until i faced the reality of death.
on november 9th, 1990, i received word that my national guard unit was being activated for operation desert shield. we would convoy to fort ben harrison, indiana, and then directly to saudi arabia. i had been in the guard for 10 years and never dreamed that we would be activated for a war, even though i knew it was what we trained for. i went to my father and gave him the news. i could sense he was uneasy about me going. we never discussed it much more, and eight days later i was gone.
i have several close relatives who have been in the military during war time. my father and uncle were in world war ii, and two brothers and a sister served in vietnam. while i was extremely uneasy about leaving my family to serve my country in a war zone, i knew it was what i had to do. i prayed that this would make my father proud of me. my father is very involved in the veterans of foreign wars organization and has always been for a strong military. i was not eligible to join the veterans of foreign wars because i had not been in a war zonea fact that always made me feel like i didnt measure up in my fathers eyes. but now here i was, his youngest son, being shipped off to a foreign land 9,000 miles away, to fight a war in a country we had barely heard of before.
on november 17, 1990, our convoy of military vehicles rolled out of rural greenville, michigan. the streets were filled with families and well-wishers to see us off. as we approached the edge of town, i looked out the window of my truck and saw my wife, kim, my children, and mom and dad. they were all waving and crying, except for my father. he just stood there, almost like a stone statue. he looked incredibly old at that moment. i dont know why, he just did.
i was gone for that thanksgiving and missed our familys dinner. there was always a crowd, with two of my sisters, their husbands and children, plus my wife and our family. it disturbed me greatly that i couldnt be there. a few days after thanksgiving i was able to call my wife, and she told me something that has made me look at my father in a different way ever since.
my wife knew how my father was about his emotions, and i could hear her voice quaver as she spoke to me. she told me that my father recited his usual thanksgiving prayer. but this time he added one last sentence. as his voice started to crack and a tear ran down his cheek, he said, dear lord, please watch over and guide my son, rick, with your hand in his time of need as he serves his country, and bring him home to us safely. at that point he burst into tears. i had never seen my father cry, and when i heard this, i couldnt help but start to cry myself. my wife asked me what was wrong. after regaining my composure, i said, i guess my father really does love me.
eight months later, when i returned home from the war, i ran over and hugged my wife and children in a flurry of tears. when i came to my father, i embraced him and gave him a huge hug. he whispered in my ear, im very proud of you, son, and i love you. i looked that man, my dad, straight in the eyes as i held his head between my hands and i said, i love you too, dad, and we embraced again. and then together, both of us cried.
ever since that day, my relationship with my father has never been the same. we have had many deep conversations. i learned that hes always been proud of me, and hes not afraid to say i love you anymore. neither am i. im just sorry it took 29 years and a war to find it out.
two years before his death, my father gave me a small suitcase filled with his writings, manuscripts1 and notebooks. assuming his usual joking, mocking2 air, he told me he wanted me to read them after he was gone, by which he meant after he died.
a week after he came to my office and left me his suitcase, my father came to pay me another visit; as always, he brought me a bar of chocolate (he had forgotten i was 48 years old). as always, we chatted and laughed about life, politics and family gossip3. a moment arrived when my fathers eyes went to the corner where he had left his suitcase and saw that i had moved it. we looked each other in the eye. there followed a pressing silence. i did not tell him that i had opened the suitcase and tried to read its contents, instead i looked away. but he understood. just as i understood that he had understood. just as he understood that i had understood that he had understood. but all this understanding only went so far as it can go in a few seconds. because my father was a happy, easygoing4 man who had faith in himself: he smiled at me the way he always did. and as he left the house, he repeated all the lovely and encouraging things that he always said to me, like a father.
as always, i watched him leave, envying5 his happiness, his carefree and unflappable6 temperament. but i remember that on that day there was also a flash of joy inside me that made me ashamed. it was prompted by the thought that maybe i wasnt as comfortable in life as he was, maybe i had not led as happy or footloose7 a life as he had, but that i had devoted it to writing youve understood... i was ashamed to be thinking such things at my fathers expense. of all people, my father, who had never been the source of my pain who had left me free. all this should remind us that writing and literature are intimately linked to a lack at the centre of our lives, and to our feelings of happiness and guilt.
but my story has a symmetry8 that immediately reminded me of something else that day, and that brought me an even deeper sense of guilt. twenty-three years before my father left me his suitcase, and four years after i had decided, aged 22, to become a novelist, and, abandoning all else, shut myself up in a room, i finished my first novel, cevdet bey and sons;
with trembling hands i had given my father a typescript of the still unpublished novel, so that he could read it and tell me what he thought. this was not simply because i had confidence in his taste and his intellect: his opinion was very important to me, because he, unlike my mother, had not opposed my wish to become a writer. at that point, my father was not with us, but far away. i waited impatiently for his return. when he arrived two weeks later, i ran to open the door. my father said nothing, but he at once threw his arms around me in a way that told me he had liked it very much. for a while, we were plunged9 into the sort of awkward silence that so often accompanies moments of great emotion. then, when we had calmed down and begun to talk, my father resorted to highly charged and exaggerated language to express his confidence in me or my first novel: he told me that one day i would win the prize that i am here to receive with such great happiness.
he said this not because he was trying to convince me of his good opinion, or to set this prize as a goal; he said it like a turkish father, giving support to his son, encouraging him by saying, one day youll become a pasha10! for years, whenever he saw me, he would encourage me with the same words.
my father died in december of xx.
today, as i stand before the swedish academy and the distinguished11 members who have awarded me this great prize this great honour and their distinguished guests, i dearly wish he could be amongst us.
在父亲去世的两年前，他给了我一个小小的手提箱，里面装满了他的作品、手稿和笔记本。他用平常那种搞笑调侃的口吻要我在他走后再看，这个走当然说的是他永远走了以后。
在父亲把箱子留到我办公室一个星期后，他又来看我了；和以往一样，他给我买了巧克力（他忘了我都48岁了）。亦如以往，我们笑谈生活、政治和家庭琐事。后来他的目光落到了他曾放箱子的那个角落，发现箱子被我移动过了。我们四目相对，陷入了令人压抑的沉默。我并没有告诉他我打开了箱子，去看里面的内容，而只是把视线移开了。然而他明白了一切。就像我明白他明白了一样。就像他明白我明白他明白了一样。但所有的明白就在几秒钟之内明白了。因为父亲是一个快乐、随和、心怀信念的人他只是照例冲我笑了笑。当他离开时，没忘记把他作为父亲该说的那一席亲切的鼓励之词又重复了一遍。
我也同往日一样，注视着他的离开，无比羡慕他的快乐，他的无忧无虑和他处世不惊的脾气。然而，那天曾闪现在我心头，令我自愧无比的片刻的窃喜依旧记忆犹新。那是由我的这种感觉引起的可能我没有过父亲那样舒适惬意的生活，也没有他那如此快乐、无拘无束的生活，但我献身于写作了你明白想到父亲为这一切所付出的代价，我惭愧极了。在所有的人中，父亲从来不曾给我带来痛苦他完全让我自由发展。所有这些都应该让我们记住写作和文字都与我们生活中心所缺失的东西紧密相联，与我们的幸福感与负疚感息息相关。
我的故事同时也相应地提醒我那天还有让我更加内疚的一件事。在父亲留给我他的手提箱的二十三年前，在我从22岁开始决心成为一名小说家而放弃其它一切，把自己关在房间里写作之后的第四年，我完成了第一部小说《杰夫德贝伊与其子》。我用颤抖的手将未出版书的打印稿拿给父亲看，想听取一点他的读后感言。这并不仅仅是因为我对他的品位和智慧深信不已，他的看法对我如此重要，也是因为他不像母亲那样，反对我成为一名作家。在这一点上，父亲比我们看得更远。我迫不及待的等着他的回答。两个星期之后他来了，我跑过去开门。父亲没有说任何话，只是张开手臂给了我一个拥抱，用这种方式告诉我他非常非常喜欢这部作品。一时之间，我们陷入了那种令人尴尬的沉默中，那种时常伴随着重大情绪或起或落的沉默。后来，等我们平静下来开始说话，他用了一种情感激荡而夸张的语言对我和我的小说表达了他强烈的信心：他告诉我，终将会有一天，我会像在此时此地一样，带着如此巨大的喜悦接受奖项。
他说这话并不是为了试图要我相信他对我的好评，或是把这个奖项作为我的目标；他说这翻话就像一位土耳其父亲那样给予儿子支持，并鼓励我说：总有一天，你会成为帕夏的！许多年来，无论何时，他看到我都以同样的话语鼓励我。
xx年12月，父亲永远的走了。
今天，我站在瑞士文学院，站在给予我这无尚光荣奖项的各位尊敬的院士面前，我衷心地希望此刻我的父亲就在我们中间。
词汇表：
1. manuscript n. 手稿
2. mocking a. 取笑的，嘲弄的
3. gossip n. 闲言碎语
4. easygoing a. 易相处的，随和的
5. envy v. 羡慕，嫉妒
6. unflappable a. 临危不乱的，镇定的
7. footloose a. 自由自在的，无拘无束的
8. symmetry n. 对称，匀称
9. plunge v. 使事物突然陷入
10. pasha a. 帕夏（旧时奥斯曼帝国和北非高级文武官的称号）高级文武官
11. distinguished a. 著名的，高贵的
