He never talked about himself as an object of pity, nor did he show any envy of the more fortunate or able. What he looked for in others was a good heart, and if he found one, the owner was good enough for him.
Now that I am older, I believe that is a proper standard by which to judge people, even though I still don t know precisely what a good heart is. But I know the times I dont have one myself.
Unable to engage in many activities, my father still tried to participate in some way. When a local sandlot baseball team found itself |without a manager, he kept it going. He was a knowledgeable baseball fan and often took me to Ebbets Field to see the Brooklyn Dodgers play. He liked to go to dances and parties, where he could have a good time just sitting and watching.
On one memorable occasion a fight broke out at a beach party, with everyone punching and shoving. He wasnt content to sit and watch, but he couldnt stand unaided on the soft sand. In frustration he began to shout, ll fight anyone who will tit down with me!
Nobody did. But the next day people kidded him by saying it was the first time any fighter was urged to take a dive even before the bout began.
I now know he participated in some things vicariously through me, his only son. When I played ball (poorly), he played too. When I joined the Navy he joined too. And when I came home on leave, he saw to it that I visited his office. Introducing me, he was really saying, This is my son, but it is also me, and I could have done this, too, if things had been different. Those words were never said aloud.
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