然而,我还是没有思想准备,那是我在橱子里翻找东西时,发现一只像是装小吉它的盒子。打开一看,是一把锃亮的、漂亮的小提琴。“那是你爸爸的,”妈妈说。“他父母给他买的。我想他在农场里太忙了,没有时间学。”我试图想象爸爸粗糙的双手放在这精致的乐器上的情景——无法想象。
Shortly after, my lessons began with Mr. Zelli. On my first day, with straps straining my shoulders, I felt clumsy in every way. "How did he do?" my father asked when it was over. "Fine for the first lesson," said Mr. Zelli. Dad glowed with hope.
不久,泽利先生开始教我拉手风琴。第一天,手风琴背带压着我的肩膀,我感到浑身不自在。“他学得怎么样?”结束时,父亲问。“第一堂课,这已经很不错。”泽利先生说。爸爸眼中闪着希望的光芒。
I was ordered to practice half an hour every day, and every day I tried to get out of it. My future seemed to be outside playing ball, not in the house mastering songs I would soon forget. But my parents hounded me to practice.
爸爸命令我每天练半个小时,可每天我都想赖掉。我的将来似乎应在户外打球,而不是在屋内练那些很快就会忘掉的曲子。然而父母不断地督促我练习。
Gradually, to my surprise, I was able to string notes together and coordinate my hands to play simple songs. Often, after supper, my father would request a tune or two. As he sat in his easy chair, I would fumble through "Lady of Spain" and "Beer Barrel Polka."
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