英语翻译Night after night,she came to tuck me in,even long after my childhood years.Following her longstanding custom,she'd lean down and push my long hair out of the way,then kiss my forehead.I don't remember when it first started annoying me

英语翻译Night after night,she came to tuck me in,even long after my childhood years.Following her longstanding custom,she'd lean down and push my long hair out of the way,then kiss my forehead.I don't remember when it first started annoying me
英语翻译
Night after night,she came to tuck me in,even long after my childhood years.Following her longstanding custom,she'd lean down and push my long hair out of the way,then kiss my forehead.
I don't remember when it first started annoying me — her hands pushing my hair that way.But it did annoy me,for they felt work-worn and rough against my young skin.Finally,one night,I shouted out at her,"Don't do that anymore —your hands are too rough!" She didn't say anything in reply.But never again did my mother close out my day with that familiar expression of her love.
Time after time,with the passing years,my thoughts returned to that night.By then I missed my mother's hands,missed her goodnight kiss on my forehead.Sometimes the incident seemed very close,sometimes far away.But always it lurked,in the back of my mind.
Well,the years have passed,and I'm not a little girl anymore.Mom is in her mid-seventies,and those hands I once thought to be so rough are still doing things for me and my family.She's been our doctor,reaching into a medicine cabinet for the remedy to calm a young girl's stomach or soothe the boy's scraped knee.She cooks the best fried chicken in the world...gets stains out of blue jeans like I never could...
Now,my own children are grown and gone.Mom no longer has Dad,and on special occasions,I find myself drawn next door to spend the night with her.So it was late on Thanksgiving Eve,as I slept in the bedroom of my youth,a familiar hand hesitantly run across my face to brush the hair from my forehead.Then a kiss,ever so gently,touched my brow.
In my memory,for the thousandth time,I recalled the night my young voice complained,"Don't do that anymore — your hands are too rough!" Catching Mom's hand in hand,I blurted out how sorry I was for that night.I thought she'd remember,as I did.But Mom didn't know what I was talking about.She had forgotten — and forgiven — long ago.
That night,I fell asleep with a new appreciation for my gentle mother and her caring hands.And the guilt that I had carried around for so long was nowhere to be found.

英语翻译Night after night,she came to tuck me in,even long after my childhood years.Following her longstanding custom,she'd lean down and push my long hair out of the way,then kiss my forehead.I don't remember when it first started annoying me
母亲总是在我入睡之后,为我掖好被子,然后俯下身子,轻轻拨开覆在我脸上的长发,亲吻我的前额.日复一日,母亲一直保持着这个习惯,即使我已不再是小孩子了,这一切却依然故我.
不知从什么时候开始,母亲的这种习惯渐渐让我感到不悦----我不喜欢她那双布满老茧的手就这样划过我细嫩的皮肤.终于,在一个夜晚,我忍不住冲她吼了起来：“你不要再这样了,你的手好粗糙!”母亲无言以对.但从此却再没有用这种我熟悉的表达爱的方式来为我的一天画上句号.
日子一天天过去,随着时间的流逝,我却总是不由得想起那一夜.我开始想念母亲的那双手,想念她印在我前额上的“晚安”.这种渴望忽远忽近,但始终潜藏在我心灵深处的某个角落.
若干年后,我成熟了,已不再是个小女孩了.母亲也已到了古稀之年,可她却始终没有停止过操劳,用她那双曾经被我视为“粗糙”的手为我和我的家庭做着力所能及的事情.她是我们的家庭医生,小姑娘胃痛时,她会从药箱里找出胃药来,小男孩擦伤的膝盖时,她会去安抚他的伤痛.她能做出世界上最好吃的炸鸡,能把蓝色牛仔裤上的污渍去得毫无痕迹.
现在,我自己的孩子也已长大,有了自己的生活,母亲却没有了父亲的陪伴.有一次,恰好是感恩节前夜,我决定就睡在母亲旁边的卧室里,陪她度过这一夜.这是我儿时的卧室,一切都是那么的熟悉,还有一只熟悉的手犹豫着从我的脸上掠过,梳理着我前额的头发,然后,一个吻,带着一如往日的温柔,轻轻落在了我的额头.
在我的记忆里,曾几千次再现那晚的情景和我那稚嫩的抱怨声：“你不要再这样了,你的手好粗糙!”我一把抓住母亲的手,一股脑说出我对那一晚深深的愧疚.我想,她一定和我一样,对那晚的事历历在目.然而,母亲却不知我再说些什么-----她早忘了,早已原谅我了.
那天晚上,我带着对母亲新的感激安然入睡,我感激她的温柔,和她那呵护的双手.多年来压在我心头的负罪感也随之烟消云散.
,感觉楼上翻译器翻译的?好好比较下哟!

夜复一夜,她来到达克,即使我在童年时期,之后很长一段时间。证明她的长期的习惯,她就会瘦下来,推我的长头发,然后亲吻我的前额。
我不记得从何时起,我开始讨厌她用手拨开我的头发。但它确实很让我恼火,因为他们觉得work-worn和粗糙的攻击我的幼滑肌肤。终于,一天晚上,我冲她嚷道:“别再这样了——你的手太粗糙了!”她什么也没说的答复。但妈妈再也没有象关闭这样对我表达她的爱。
一次又一次...

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夜复一夜,她来到达克,即使我在童年时期,之后很长一段时间。证明她的长期的习惯,她就会瘦下来,推我的长头发,然后亲吻我的前额。
我不记得从何时起,我开始讨厌她用手拨开我的头发。但它确实很让我恼火,因为他们觉得work-worn和粗糙的攻击我的幼滑肌肤。终于,一天晚上,我冲她嚷道:“别再这样了——你的手太粗糙了!”她什么也没说的答复。但妈妈再也没有象关闭这样对我表达她的爱。
一次又一次,随着岁月的流逝,我的思绪又回到了那个晚上。那时我想念我妈*手,想念她晚上留在我额头上的亲吻。有时这幕情景似乎很近,有时又似乎很遥远。但它总是潜伏着,时常浮现,出现在我的脑海后面。
嗯,年过去了,我不再是一个小女孩。妈妈在她70年代中期,双手我曾经认为是很粗糙的仍然是做事情对我和我的家人。她是我家的医生,延伸至医药内阁的救济冷静了小女孩的胃或心灵的擦伤的膝盖上敷药。她烧菜烧出世界上最美味的鸡……将渍去掉蓝色牛仔裤就如同我过去不能够……
现在,我自己的孩子已经长大了,已经过去了。不再有爸爸,妈妈,在特殊的场合,我发现自己画的隔壁和她度过这个夜晚。所以在感恩节前夕迟到,因为我睡在卧室里我对青年,一个熟悉的手毫不犹豫地跑着穿过我的脸刷头发从我的前额。然后一个吻,曾经那样的柔和,摸我的眉毛。
在我的记忆中,为千分之一的时间,我回想起那个晚上我年轻的声音抱怨道:“别再这样了——你的手太粗糙了!”抓住妈妈的手,我冲口而出我是多么难过的那个晚上。我以为她会记得,就像我所做的。但妈妈不知道自己在说些什么。她忘记了——和原谅,很久以前。
那天晚上,我睡着了,一种新的对温柔母亲和体贴双手。我”和“内疚”,随身携带在消失无踪。

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