自己的小天地解析

身为尽责的父母，我们一直不遗余力地培养孩子的独立性。 但是当他们真的独立时，当你站在那扇门前，看着那面空白 的门板时，你总会感到些许怅然若失。
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It turned out that getting Jeff’s permission to change the room was easy. “Of course,”he said. “It would be selfish of me to hol d on to it.” Then his voice softened. “Mom, I won’t be living at ho me again - you know that.” Behind his glasses, his eyes were lit with all the love that has passed between us over the years. There were no doors closed here - they had all opened up again.
杰夫不假思索地答应了我们改变他房间的布置。“当然可 以，”他说。“如果我还坚持己见的话就显得太自私了。” 随之他用柔和的声音跟我说：“妈妈你知道的，我不会再住 那间屋子了。”镜片后面，他的双眼洋溢着这些年里传递在 我们之间对彼此的爱。再没有一扇又一扇门阻隔我们--它们 又都通通敞开了。
Baidu Nhomakorabea
Then John and I jumped into the task of cleaning out closets and drawers, dispatching all the things Jeff had left behind. Playbills, and snapshots, a withered boutonniere, old report cads that stung me with pride, a stack of homemade thank-you cards from the second-grade Spanish class Jeff volunteered to teach.
不管我们之间曾经多么亲密，这一天还是到来了。杰夫需要 一道隔开我们的门，一个只属于他自己的成长空间。大多数 晚上，他卧室的门都是紧闭着的，房里传来的，有时是听不 太清的收音机声，有时是他在敲击那台二手打字机的哒哒声， 那是他在赶写某一封长长的信件。
I knew those letters to friends must have been filled with thoughts and opinions Jeff did not share with me. His life was spreading into areas that had nothing to do with home and family. I no longer could - or should - know everything about him.
我知道杰夫那些写给朋友的信上一定写满了他没有跟我分 享的想法和意见。他的生活正延伸出与家和家人不相干的 一部分。我再也不能，或者说不应该对关于他的每一件事 都了若指掌了。
As conscientious parents, we strive to foster independence. But when it happens, when you pause outside that door and look at the blank panels it is always a little unsettling.
随后，我和约翰一头扎进了清理杰夫的柜子和抽屉的事上。 我们清理出了杰夫留下来的东西：演出节目单，快照，一朵 枯萎的襟花，还有那些曾让我无比骄傲的杰夫的成绩单以及 一叠自制的感谢卡片，那是杰夫曾经志愿教过的二年级西班 牙语班的学生写的。
Suddenly, amid all the upheaval my throat caught. There, in a pile of assorted sketches, was a pencil drawing of T-Bird - Jeff’s beagle, dead these many years - curled up asleep. Jeff’s renderin g was so evocative I could almost feel the dear old dog’s satiny warm ears. And in that room, with Jeff’s things heaped around m e, I could almost touch the little boy I knew was gone forever.
正在翻箱倒柜时，我突然哽咽住了。我在一堆各式各样的绘 画中找到了一张素描。画上画的是杰夫死去多年的小猎犬TBird，它正蜷缩着打盹。这幅画是那么栩栩如生，让我仿佛 感受到了那老伙计热乎乎又柔软的耳朵。我站在这间房里， 周围都是杰夫的杂物，我仿佛能够触摸到那个我知道再也回 不来的小男孩。
A Room of His Own
Mary E. Potter
As close as we were, though, the time came when Jeff needed a door between us, a space of his own to grow in. The door to that bedroom would be shut most of the evening, behind it was the muffled sound of a radio or the clack of his secondhand manual typewriter as he banged out one of his marathon letters.