小时候我相信,即使月亮破了,爸爸都能补。长大后我渐渐觉得,爸爸也不那么值得信任。直到某一天为情所伤,我才发现爸爸的几句话就能修补“我”的心。
“The moon is broken, but Daddy can fix it,” I said at the age of 3, pointing to the rind of a waning moon.[1] If our septic tank backed up or the brutal valley sun curled the windowsill paint,[2] my father always solved the problem. My mother loved repeating my innocent quote, long after I stopped believing it was true.
As a child I often waited for my dad to return from the vineyards, and followed him to his workshop filled with saws, welders’ masks, and nails sorted by size.[3] When I became too old to share a bedroom with my brother, he pounded wooden stakes into the ground to measure the new foundation.[4] With the enthusiasm and skill of a second-grader, I set out to help him build the addition[5].
I smashed my fingers with a hammer, and my father showed me how to pinch the nail with my thumb and forefinger, gently tapping its head until it stood upright by itself.[6]
That summer I got a gold locket[7] for my birthday and cut out a heart-shaped portrait of my dad to wear inside.
By the time I entered junior high, I viewed my father with a more critical eye. When he read aloud from the Bible during family devotions each evening, I noticed his delivery was halting and he sometimes stumbled over words.[8] I winced if he said, “ain’t” in front of my friends.[9]
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