[父亲节征文]Reflections of a Newlywed Daughter --Amy Liu Dauphinais

本文作者Amy 是Bay Echo Association 的第一个Adviser。她对硅谷回音和我们的孩子们有很深的影响。希望有朋友能帮助翻译成中文。

 Reflections of a Newlywed Daughter

 
By Amy Liu Dauphinais

Each time I break open a pistachio, I think of my dad. Just this evening I was polishing off a bag he had given me a year ago, before I had moved to the South with my new husband. “For your in-laws – a special gift from California!” He insisted. I remember growing up, we used to eat them after dinner, cracking the shells all over the kitchen counter, chatting late into the evening. Perhaps they were our Americanized version of the popular Asian dark watermelon seeds, seasoned and split between the front teeth, a staple of afternoon teatimes in Taiwan. I saw these served on the coffee table of his childhood home the few times we’d visited Taiwan, after our family moved to the States when I was 5. I also saw the at-home pharmacy that my grandmother ran, and marveled at how many bedrooms fit in their high-rise home, with accompanying squatty potties on several floors. “We didn’t get a flushing toilet until the 5th grade,” my dad explained to my sister and I. Our noses would crinkle at the thought of the seemingly different worlds we grew up in, especially how vastly the technological landscape varied. During his teen years – color TV became standard, and later, at his job in the hospital, he worked with a computer that filled up an entire room. For me – we were streaming movies on laptops by high school, and iPhones soon made its way into the hands of parents and teens alike.
 
Visiting Taiwan also meant hearing fascinating childhood stories from my aunts. “He used to have a horrible temper,” one of his older sisters would tell us. “Really?!” came my incredulous reply. “Oh yes – he was the naughtiest child.” Perhaps it was because he was the baby of the family, or, as my dad himself later admitted, he was rather proud in his younger days. But based on memories growing up, I had an entirely different image of my father…
 
Starting in first grade, my dad would read Chinese books to me each night. I knew it was part of my mom’s plan for Mandarin immersion, now that we were living Stateside, but those became special times. My dad would sit on the edge of my squeaky bed, and I would snuggle up with a colorful quilt that an old missionary friend of his had made. Gazing past his horn-rimmed glasses into eyes that were weary after a long day’s work, I’d become lost in those tales of naughty children and the humorous lessons they learned. At times, his monotone manner would break. That meant he was nodding off. “Dad!” I’d protest, and he’d rouse himself, find his place again, and continue. After patiently finishing each story, he’d wish me goodnight. His was the last face I saw each day.
 
I remember the last quarter of 8th grade when I brought home a report card bearing comments about my talkative habits and “being a distraction” in class. It was the third consecutive card with such feedback from teachers. Fearing the consequences, I hid that card in my backpack for days. I wasn’t the most honest child, but I would not risk forging a parents’ signature. One afternoon my dad took me to practice piano in a private room of the housing suites we lived in. Before we left, I stalled. “Um…dad? Could you sign something?” Feeling the lump in my throat grow, I took the crinkled manila folder out of my backpack and with trembling hands, handed it to him. Perhaps my hot tears betrayed how ashamed I felt, but my dad did not feel the need to say anything. He sighed and I could read the disappointment written all over his face. “Let the next report card be different.” He said softly, and got up to leave. Fresh resolve stirred in my soul. I will not disappoint you again, dad. And interestingly, things did change, after that day.
 
Later in high school, I witnessed a situation where he was being treated cruelly by a close friend. Hot indignation rose in my chest, and he ushered me into the front of his golden Honda Accord, to allow my angry tears to flow in privacy. “That wasn’t fair! Why don’t you fight back?” I protested. After a long pause, he replied in his characteristic calm manner, “In light of how much God has forgiven me, I can’t help but forgive this person.” I was floored. That comment disarmed me, and often rises to my memory again when I am facing unjust situations.  
 
My parents pinched and saved for my sister and I to go to college. From thrift store shopping and ordering $20 meals (shared family style) when we ate out, I quickly learned to respect them as frugality experts. My sister and I didn’t expect birthday gifts or lush vacations, but also never lacked meaningful time as a family. My dad rarely spent money on himself, unless it was on books at the local used bookstore. He was a man of simple pleasures, who loved reading and learning. In high school he would recommend philosophy and theology books, which I would brush off as being too “heady”. Yet something changed freshman year of college, where I began to ask deeper questions about life and faith. Suddenly I was asking him about the very same “boring” books I had snubbed a year ago. He was enthused at the change, and our conversations grew deeper. “Prioritize time to read,” he advised as I wrestled with a hundred different social and service opportunities at college. “You won’t have another season in life where you can dedicate yourself so fully to learning and thinking critically.” After juggling grad school while working full time for 5 years after college, he was definitely right.
 
            Almost 3 years ago, my mom had an unexpected stroke and lost use of the right side of her body. My dad’s role changed drastically – in addition to his full-time job, he now served as her primary caretaker and oversaw the household affairs. In addition to hiring part-time help, I also moved home to provide support. For the next 2 years, I personally witnessed how my father rose to the challenge and took on these new responsibilities without a single complaint. He managed her at-home exercises, acupuncture, appointments, in addition to preparing her three fresh meals a day. “You’re quite a chef now, dad.” I remarked as I watched his thin frame zipping around the kitchen, and the colorful bowls of organic greens and lean meats he toted to my mom upstairs. It was humbling watching him bear this new role of caretaker not as a burden, but as a joy. I realized then that true love is demonstrated in these small, daily moments of life.
 
2 years later, I met my husband. It was my dad’s same caring nature, as well as his deep convictions and faithfulness that attracted me to him. I was proud to not only have my husband ask for my dad’s blessing before he proposed, but that the two of them talked over Skype throughout our long-distance relationship. As he was Caucasian, I knew my dad had to go the extra mile to overcome language barriers. I was touched at how my dad genuinely made an effort to build a relationship, and a year later – to welcome him into our family like his own son.
 
Someone once said, “Children learn what they live. When they grow up, they live what they’ve learned.” So what would I like to tell my dad now? Perhaps “thank you” for the many lessons I learned – the best of which were caught, not necessarily taught:
 
Dad – from bedtime reading as a little girl, to pistachio chats as a young woman, thank you for always making time for me, even when it wasn’t convenient.
 
Thank you for forgiving me when I didn’t deserve it, and making it safe to fail, to know that I didn’t have to hide my mistakes.
 
Thank you for providing for our family, not just financially, but being emotionally available. You gave me the security of knowing that your love did not rest on my status or accomplishments, but just in being your daughter.
 
Thank you for showing me how to treat my enemies, and modeling a passion to seek after wisdom and Truth. 
 
Thank you for your example of faithfulness in your marriage, and loving mom more than you love yourself. You set the bar for the kind of man I wanted to marry, and I am blessed to now have a husband who loves me more than I deserve.  
 
Dad, you are undoubtedly one of my greatest gifts in life. I cannot thank God enough for you.  
Share the joy
  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  

发表回复