家是由关爱构筑的港湾,是每个人心中的温暖。在本文中这种温暖和血缘无关,只是真情的默默付出。一个从小失去父亲的孩子在17岁时无法承受母亲离世和被亲人遗弃的痛苦,此时母亲生前交往过的迈克出现了……
My childhood was filled with the kinds of activities that were common to every kid in the 1980s but are considered almost death-defying these days: tree climbing, bike riding without a helmet, and daylong road trips spent in the backseat of the family car, where we bounced around like Super Balls[1], nary a seat belt in sight.
Still, my mother was safety-obsessed about some things, like swimming lessons. Year after year, she forced me to take them at our local pool in Iowa City since my mother could not swim and was actually afraid of the water.
My dad was an electrician, and he died in an accident on the job when I was three. I have almost no memories of my father. Instead I remember Mike Fieseler. He was a former industrial-arts[2] teacher whom my mother dated off and on for much of my childhood. Whatever my mother’s affection for him, it didn’t rub off on[3] me. And when they stopped dating, when I was 15, I wasn’t unhappy to see him go.
Then, on February 18, 1991, when I was 17, my mother suddenly died of a brain aneurysm[4]. One minute she was laughing with friends, enjoying an evening out; the next, she was unconscious on the floor. She never woke up. Just 19 hours later, she was dead, leaving Jason, my 15-year-old brother and me orphans.
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