父亲节快来到了，女儿给老师交了一篇作文，题为爸爸，这篇作文老师给了100分，学校老师把这篇作文传给她的妈妈，她妈妈又传给我，我看了以后，把它翻译出来，看看孩子17岁的心灵里是怎么看我这个爸爸的！我感到孩子长大了，她有着一颗敏感而聪慧的内心，做父母的言行，从小就会在孩子心灵刻上烙印，我们要用勇毅，坚强，奋斗来带动孩子，教会他们用博大的胸怀和眼光看待事物，他们其实比我们更聪明！
原文 “Baba”
It’s been seventeen years, Baba.
It’s been seventeen years, but I still feel like we’re strangers at times.
Seventeen years, and I still feel like we might be oceans apart.
Years, and I am only now reflecting on who you are.
It’s been seventeen years, and I am only now learning about who I am, myself.
For the first year of my life,you were a cradle and a singsong voice. Your arms brought me up to the 7thfloor balcony of our apartment building in Shenzhen. Your hands gently patted my back with a reassuring rhythm. Your mouth hummed gentle tunes and blew warm air on my cheek. I can still smell the rain-washed, rusty railings of the balcony. It’s been seventeen years and I still associate the feeling of falling asleep with the feeling of your pleasant, petrichor-laced cotton shirt against my cheek.
For the first three years of mylife, you were a powerful, invincible force of being. You were the feeling of being thrown up into the nothingness of the sky, the feeling of my little thumping heart dropping down to my belly, the feeling of being caught just before a frantic wail escaped from my little terrified lungs. Your shoulders were like the strong branches of a tree, and I, settled upon them contentedly, was like the prized fruit they bore. Your magical hands produced colorful marbles and foil-wrapped candy. It’s been seventeen years and I still associate the feeling of childlike wonder with the crow’s feet creases of your eyes.
For the first eight years of my life,you were the man with a suitcase. You flew back and forth. You came and went,stayed and left. You were gifts from China. You were sweaters from Auntie,dolls from Hong Kong, and colorful crayons from the shops at the airport. You were the years upon years of thoughts and longings spoken from my mother’s lips;you were the single most exciting two weeks of each and every one of my childhood years. You were the silly broken English and the scary scoldings in Chinese. You were the forcibly memorized multiplication table and the tears of shame when my memory betrayed me. It’s been seventeen years and I still have a slight but very profound fear of algebraic expressions.
And then, you were the man of China. You transported me across land and sea and even more land. You were the man who hailed countless taxis, the man who spoke confidently and assuredly in Chinese and the man who carried three suitcases at once, while pulling meacross the skybridge at 3 am in the morning after our landing. You were the man with sweat running down his forehead while I had tears of homesickness runningdown my cheek. You were the man who taught me how to swear and bite, kick and punch, outlearn and outsmart all 49 of the Chinese students in my class. They, the overly brash third graders who tried to bully me, the new girl from Canada withthe braces, the foreign girl with the broken Chinese, all backed down as soon as I stood up. You told me simply: “Fight back”. It’s been seventeen years, andI still credit the toughest parts that exist within me to your words.
For the next ten years of my life, you faded into the background as I stepped into the foreground.
Your colorful polo shirts have been exchanged for grey, lint covered sweaters. The skin on your hands has become weather-worn and dry. Your crow’s feet creases have deepened and bags have formed under your eyes. Your words have become harsh and critical, and have often reduced me to tears and fits of rage.
But men are men; the best sometimes forget.
You have aged, and I have grown.You have taught, and I have known.
You taught me to strive, to seek,to find, and not to yield.
You are still the one who sparked within me a scintilla of understanding towards my cultural and personal identity. You are still the one who laid down another layer of meaning to my definition of “home”.
It’s been seventeen years, Baba.Seventeen years have gone by and only now do I understand you as a teacher, a father, a human being. Only now do I extract from you lessons on how to become a young and developing human being, myself.
It’s been seventeen years, Baba,and although oceans have always separated us and still continue to do so, family,culture and love still bind us together.
译文 ： 爸爸
时光流过了十七年，爸爸！
十七年了，可是此时此刻，我依然觉得我们形同陌生人！
十七年了，可我依然觉得我们远隔重洋！
十七年了， 仅仅现在，我才开始回想，你是谁！
十七年了，仅仅现在，我才开始了解 我自己，我到底是谁？
在我生命中的第一年，你是一个摇篮和一个唱着歌的声音！你的手臂抱着我到我们深圳住房的七楼阳台上 ，你的手和着让我安心的节拍，温柔地轻拍着我的后背。你的嘴里哼着温柔的曲调，热气呼在我的脸颊上！我现在依然能闻到雨后阳台上那生锈的栏杆上铁锈的气味。十七年了，我现在依然能够联想起我熟睡时，你的带有潮湿气味的棉短袖衣服贴在我脸颊上的舒服的感觉。
在我生命中的第三年，我感到 你是一股强大的不可战胜的力量。你把我抛向空中，让我的心紧缩地狂跳，在我感到就要掉在地上的一刹那，你一下把我接住。你的肩膀就像强壮的树枝，我稳稳地坐在你的肩上，就像挂在树上的果子。你总是用你的像魔术一般的手，在我的面前为我变出许多用彩色锡纸包着的糖果。十七年了，我依然用我孩子气的好奇心，看着你眼角的鱼尾纹渐起。
在我生命中的第八年，你是一个提着手提箱的男人，你飞来飞去，你来了又走了，你住下又离开。你代表着从中国带来礼物，你带来姑姑们织的毛衣，你意味着香港的玩具娃娃，你意味着机场购物店的五彩蜡笔。你意味着年复一年的思念，意味着妈妈口中日日不停的念叨。你代表的是我童年生活中每年的那最高兴激动的两个星期，你代表的是蹩脚的英语，你代表的是可怕的中文的斥责，你代表着强迫我记忆乘法口诀表，你也代表着我忘记背下口诀表以后羞愧的眼泪！十七年了，我今天依然还对你教我学习数学怀有一些小小的恐惧。
然后，你是我眼中的一个中国男人。你带我们远涉重洋，还有更多的地方。你是那个带着我在路边招呼出租车的人，那个用中文自信地侃侃而谈的人，那个一次带着三个行李箱的人，那个在我们着陆以后，在午夜三点拉着行李箱，带我们走过人行天桥的人，你是那个当我思乡的泪流在脸颊的时候，额头流着汗水走在最前头的人，你是那个教我如何反击别人欺负，如何打败对手，如何用智慧和勤奋在短时间超过全班49名中国同学的人。当时，在我回到中国就读三年级的时候，他们总是不断地欺负我这个说着蹩脚中文、戴着牙套、刚从国外回到深圳的女孩，只要我一站起来，他们就从背后把我推倒！我哭着回到家，你简单地告诉我：“反击他们，你也把他们推倒！”十七年了，多亏了你当时对我说的这句强硬的话语，我依然受益非浅！
在我生命中随后的十年里，你的背影在消失，而我走向前台！你多彩的球衣渐渐变成暗灰色，磨起的 小绒球覆盖住了你的毛衣，你的皮肤和双手被风雨侵蚀得干燥了，你眼角的鱼尾纹在加深，你的眼脸也起了眼袋，你的话语有时候变得生硬和刺伤人，这有时使得我伤心泪流和愤怒！
可是人就是人，好在我们会忘却不快！
你已渐老，我在长大；你所教的，我已知晓！
你教我奋斗、追求、寻找，而不是退缩！
你依然是那个点燃我内心的、深谙我自己的文化底蕴和个性特质的火花的那个人！
你依然是那个为我铺垫关于家的另一层含义的那个人！
十七年了，爸爸，十七年过去了，只是到了现在我才明白，你就是一个老师，一个父亲，一个男人！仅仅在现在，我从你的课堂里终于知道我自己如何变成一个年轻人、一个不断进步的人！
十七年了，爸爸，虽然广阔的海洋总是将我们分开，而且继续地分开我们，可是，家庭、文化和关爱，还是将我们紧密地联在一起！
