There is always a brilliant image living in my heart. That is my dear father. Seen through the eyes of many other people, father seems to be a very ordinary person. But he is quite extraordinary in my eyes, I have never lost my wonder at his good-personalities such as diligence, devotion, care, optimism ever since my childhood.
Being a farmer, father works very hard in the fields all the year round. He works from dawn till dusk every day and even till midnight when it is the harvest season. He seldom enjoys leisure with other farmers even if the farm work is not much. He chooses to live a busy life with reluctance to stop for a while.
Father devotes all himself to our family. As we are poor, he always tries his best to support our family and afford the tuitions for my brother and me. For the whole family, for brother and me, he never stops working laboriously in the fields throughout the year. Now he has got a wrinkled face and white hair because of excessive hard work, looking much older and weaker than any other person of his age. In spite of all this, father never complains to us. It is his full devotion that we"re living a better life now. It is his full devotion that both my brother and I are able to study at college.
Father shows much care to us children and my mother as well. Whenever there is any delicious food on the table, he just leaves it to us while he takes the simple one himself. If my brother and I fall ill, he will not hesitate a moment to get some medicine for us or take us to see the doctor. My mother suffers a bad disease. Father looks after her very carefully. He never lets mother do any heavy work both at home and in the field. Mother appreciates him m much that she often praises him as a model husband before others.
Father is a person full of optimism. He never complains about our poor life. He is never frustrated by trouble. He often tells us that everything will be all right if we have enough confidence in life. Due to his optimism, we are all confident to face our life and work.
We all think that father is not in the least an ordinary man. He plays an extraordinary role in my family. We can"t have anything without him. Now I"m pursuing further studies at college far away from father. I miss him very much. And I often see him in my dreams. His great image is deeply carved in my mind.
Today I was at the shopping mall and I spent a lot of time reading the Father’s Day cards. They all had a special message that in some way or another reflected how I feel about you. Yet as I selected and read, and selected and read again, it occurred to me that not a single card said what I really want to say to you.
You’ll soon be 84 years old, Dad, and you and I will have had 55 Father’s Days together. I haven’t always been with you on Father’s Day nor have I been with you for all of your birthdays. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to be with you. I’ve always been with you in my heart but sometimes life gets in the way.
You know, Dad, there was a time when we were not only separated by the generation gap but completely polarized by it. You stood on one side of the Great Divide and I on the other, father and daughter split apart by age and experience, opinions, hairstyles, cosmetics, clothing, curfews, music, and boys.
The Father-Daughter Duel of ’54 shifted into high gear when you taught me to drive the old Dodge and I decided I would drive the ‘54 Chevy whether you liked it or not. The police officer who escorted me home after you reported the Chevy stolen late one evening was too young to understand father-daughter politics and too old to have much tolerance for a snotty 16 year old. You were so decent about it, Dad, and I think that was probably what made it the worst night of my life.
Our relationship improved immensely when I married a man you liked, and things really turned around when we begin making babies right and left. We didn’t have a television set, you know, and we had to entertain ourselves somehow. I didn’t know what to expect of you and Mom as grandparents but I didn’t have to wait long to find out. Those babies adored you then just as they adore you now. When I see you with all your grandchildren, I know you’ve given them the finest gift a grandparent can give. You’ve given them yourself.
Somewhere along the line, the generation gap evaporated. Age separates us now and little else. We agree on most everything, perhaps because we’ve learned there isn’t much worth disagreeing about. However, I would like to mention that fly fishing isn’t all you’ve cracked it up to be, Dad. You can say what you want about wrist action and stance and blah, blah, blah...
I’ve been happily drifting for a lot of years, Dad, and I didn’t see you getting older.
I suppose I saw us and our relationship as aging together, rather like a fine wine. Numbers never seemed important. But the oddest thing happened last week. I was at a stop sign and I watched as you turned the corner in your car. It didn’t immediately occur to me that it was you because the man driving looked so elderly and fragile behind the wheel of that huge car. It was rather like a slap in the face delivered from out of nowhere. Perhaps I saw your age for the first time that day. Or maybe I saw my own.
Fifty years ago this spring we planted kohlrabi together in a garden in Charles City, Iowa.
I didn’t know then that I would remember that day for the rest of my life. This week, we’ll plant kohlrabi together again, perhaps for the last time but I hope not. I don’t understand why planting kohlrabi with you is so important to me but it is. And the funny thing about it is, well, I don’t know quite how to tell you this, Dad...I don’t even like kohlrabi...but I like planting it with you.
I guess what I’m trying to say, Dad, is what every son and daughter wants to say to their Dad today. Honoring a Father on Father’s Day is about more than a Dad who brings home a paycheck, shares a dinner table, and attends school functions, graduations, and weddings. It isn’t even so much about kohlrabi, ’54 Chevrolets, and fly-fishing. It’s more about unconditionally loving children who are snotty and stubborn, who know everything and won’t listen to anyone. It’s about respect and sharing and acceptance and tolerance and giving and taking. It’s about loving someone more than words can say，and it’s wishing that it never had to end.
I love you, Dad.
Two years before his death, my father gave me a small suitcase filled with his writings, manuscripts1 and notebooks. Assuming his usual joking, mocking2 air, he told me he wanted me to read them after he was gone, by which he meant after he died.
A week after he came to my office and left me his suitcase, my father came to pay me another visit; as always, he brought me a bar of chocolate (he had forgotten I was 48 years old). As always, we chatted and laughed about life, politics and family gossip3. A moment arrived when my father’s eyes went to the corner where he had left his suitcase and saw that I had moved it. We looked each other in the eye. There followed a pressing silence. I did not tell him that I had opened the suitcase and tried to read its contents, instead I looked away. But he understood. Just as I understood that he had understood. Just as he understood that I had understood that he had understood. But all this understanding only went so far as it can go in a few seconds. Because my father was a happy, easygoing4 man who had faith in himself: he smiled at me the way he always did. And as he left the house, he repeated all the lovely and encouraging things that he always said to me, like a father.
As always, I watched him leave, envying5 his happiness, his carefree and unflappable6 temperament. But I remember that on that day there was also a flash of joy inside me that made me ashamed. It was prompted by the thought that maybe I wasn’t as comfortable in life as he was, maybe I had not led as happy or footloose7 a life as he had, but that I had devoted it to writing —you’ve understood... I was ashamed to be thinking such things at my father’s expense. Of all people, my father, who had never been the source of my pain — who had left me free. All this should remind us that writing and literature are intimately linked to a lack at the centre of our lives, and to our feelings of happiness and guilt.
But my story has a symmetry8 that immediately reminded me of something else that day, and that brought me an even deeper sense of guilt. Twenty-three years before my father left me his suitcase, and four years after I had decided, aged 22, to become a novelist, and, abandoning all else, shut myself up in a room, I finished my first novel, Cevdet Bey and Sons;
with trembling hands I had given my father a typescript of the still unpublished novel, so that he could read it and tell me what he thought. This was not simply because I had confidence in his taste and his intellect: his opinion was very important to me, because he, unlike my mother, had not opposed my wish to become a writer. At that point, my father was not with us, but far away. I waited impatiently for his return. When he arrived two weeks later, I ran to open the door. My father said nothing, but he at once threw his arms around me in a way that told me he had liked it very much. For a while, we were plunged9 into the sort of awkward silence that so often accompanies moments of great emotion. Then, when we had calmed down and begun to talk, my father resorted to highly charged and exaggerated language to express his confidence in me or my first novel: he told me that one day I would win the prize that I am here to receive with such great happiness.
He said this not because he was trying to convince me of his good opinion, or to set this prize as a goal; he said it like a Turkish father, giving support to his son, encouraging him by saying, ‘One day you’ll become a pasha10!’ For years, whenever he saw me, he would encourage me with the same words.
My father died in December of 2002.
Today, as I stand before the Swedish Academy and the distinguished11 members who have awarded me this great prize — this great honour — and their distinguished guests, I dearly wish he could be amongst us.
词汇表： 1. manuscript n. 手稿
2. mocking a. 取笑的，嘲弄的
3. gossip n. 闲言碎语
4. easygoing a. 易相处的，随和的
5. envy v. 羡慕，嫉妒
6. unflappable a. 临危不乱的，镇定的
7. footloose a. 自由自在的，无拘无束的
8. symmetry n. 对称，匀称
9. plunge v. 使事物突然陷入
10. pasha a. 帕夏（旧时奥斯曼帝国和北非高级文武官的称号）高级文武官
11. distinguished a. 著名的，高贵的
Over the years, I never thought of my father as being very emotional, and he never was, at least not in front of me. Even though he was 68 years old and only five-foot-nine, while I was six feet and 260 pounds, he seemed huge to me. I always saw him as being that staunch disciplinarian who rarely cracked a smile. My father never told me he loved me when I was a child, and I never held it against him. I think that all I really wanted was for my dad to be proud of me. In my youth, Mom always showered me with “I love you’s” every day. So I really never thought about not hearing it from my dad. I guess deep down I knew that he loved me, he just never said it. Come to think of it, I don’t think I ever told him that I loved him, either. I never really thought about it much until I faced the reality of death.
On November 9th, 1990, I received word that my National Guard unit was being activated for Operation Desert Shield. We would convoy to Fort Ben Harrison, Indiana, and then directly to Saudi Arabia. I had been in the Guard for 10 years and never dreamed that we would be activated for a war, even though I knew it was what we trained for. I went to my father and gave him the news. I could sense he was uneasy about me going. We never discussed it much more, and eight days later I was gone.
I have several close relatives who have been in the military during war time. My father and uncle were in World War II, and two brothers and a sister served in Vietnam. While I was extremely uneasy about leaving my family to serve my country in a war zone, I knew it was what I had to do. I prayed that this would make my father proud of me. My father is very involved in the Veterans of Foreign Wars organization and has always been for a strong military. I was not eligible to join the Veterans of Foreign Wars because I had not been in a war zone—a fact that always made me feel like I didn’t measure up in my father’s eyes. But now here I was, his youngest son, being shipped off to a foreign land 9,000 miles away, to fight a war in a country we had barely heard of before.
On November 17, 1990, our convoy of military vehicles rolled out of rural Greenville, Michigan. The streets were filled with families and well-wishers to see us off. As we approached the edge of town, I looked out the window of my truck and saw my wife, Kim, my children, and Mom and Dad. They were all waving and crying, except for my father. He just stood there, almost like a stone statue. He looked incredibly old at that moment. I don’t know why, he just did.
I was gone for that Thanksgiving and missed our family’s dinner. There was always a crowd, with two of my sisters, their husbands and children, plus my wife and our family. It disturbed me greatly that I couldn’t be there. A few days after Thanksgiving I was able to call my wife, and she told me something that has made me look at my father in a different way ever since.
My wife knew how my father was about his emotions, and I could hear her voice quaver as she spoke to me. She told me that my father recited his usual Thanksgiving prayer. But this time he added one last sentence. As his voice started to crack and a tear ran down his cheek, he said, “Dear Lord, please watch over and guide my son, Rick, with your hand in his time of need as he serves his country, and bring him home to us safely.” At that point he burst into tears. I had never seen my father cry, and when I heard this, I couldn’t help but start to cry myself. My wife asked me what was wrong. After regaining my composure, I said, “I guess my father really does love me.”
Eight months later, when I returned home from the war, I ran over and hugged my wife and children in a flurry of tears. When I came to my father, I embraced him and gave him a huge hug. He whispered in my ear, “I’m very proud of you, Son, and I love you.” I looked that man, my dad, straight in the eyes as I held his head between my hands and I said, “I love you too, Dad,” and we embraced again. And then together, both of us cried.
Ever since that day, my relationship with my father has never been the same. We have had many deep conversations. I learned that he’s always been proud of me, and he’s not afraid to say “I love you” anymore. Neither am I. I’m just sorry it took 29 years and a war to find it out.
The United States is one of the few countries in the world that has an official day on which fathers are honored by their children. On the third Sunday in June, fathers all across the United States are given presents, treated to dinner or otherwise made to feel special. .
The origin of Father"s Day is not clear. Some say that it began with a church service in West Virginia in 1908. Others say the first Father"s Day ceremony was held in Vancouver, Washington.
Regardless of when the first true Father"s Day occurred, the strongest promoter of the holiday was Mrs. Bruce John Dodd of Spokane, Washington. She thought of the idea for Father"s Day while listening to a Mother"s Day sermon in 1909.
Sonora wanted a special day to honor her father, William Smart. Smart, who was a Civil War veteran, was widowed when his wife died while giving birth to their sixth child. Mr. Smart was left to raise the newborn and his other five children by himself on a rural farm in eastern Washington state.
After Sonora became an adult she realized the selflessness her father had shown in raising his children as a single parent. It was her father that made all the parental sacrifices and was, in the eyes of his daughter, a courageous, selfless, and loving man. In 1909, Mrs. Dodd approached her own minister and others in Spokane about having a church service dedicated to fathers on June 5, her father"s birthday.
That date was too soon for her minister to prepare the service, so he spoke a few weeks later on June 19th. From then on, the state of Washington celebrated the third Sunday in June as Father"s Day. Children made special desserts, or visited their fathers if they lived apart.
In early times, wearing flowers was a traditional way of celebrating Father"s Day. Mrs. Dodd favored the red rose to honor a father still living, while a white flower honored a deceased dad. J.H. Berringer, who also held Father"s Day celebrations in Washington State as early as 1912, chose a white lilac as the Father"s Day Flower.
States and organizations began lobbying Congress to declare an annual Father"s Day. In 1916, President Woodrow Wilson approved of this idea, but it was not until 1924 when President Calvin Coolidge made it a national event to "establish more intimate relations between fathers and their children and to impress upon fathers the full measure of their obligations."
Since then, fathers had been honored and recognized by their families throughout the country on the third Sunday in June. In 1966 President Lyndon Johnson signed a presidential proclamation declaring the 3rd Sunday of June as Father"s Day and put the official stamp on a celebration that was going on for almost half a century.
When children can"t visit their fathers or take them out to dinner, they send a greeting card. Traditionally, fathers prefer greeting cards that are not too sentimental. Most greeting cards are whimsical(奇形怪状的，异想天开的)so fathers laugh when they open them. Some give heartfelt thanks for being there whenever the child needed Dad.
But somehow those three little words
Are the hardest ones to share.
And fathers say "I love you"
In ways that words can"t match--
With tender bed time stories
Or a friendly game of catch!
You can see the words "I love you"
In a father"s boyish eyes
When he runs home,all excited,
With a poorly wrapped surprise.
A father says "I love you"
With his strong helping hands
With a smile when you"re in trouble
With the way he understands.
He says "I love you" haltingly.
With awkward tenderness--
It"s hard to help a four-year-old into a party dress!
He speaks his love unselfishly
By giving all he can
To make some secret dream come true.
Or follow through a plan.
A father"s seldom-spoken love
Sounds clearly through the years--
Sometimes in peals of laughter,
Sometimes through happy tears.
Perhaps they have to speak their love
In a fashion all their own.
Because the love that fathers feel
Is too big for words alone!
In the doorway of my home, I looked closely at the face of my 23-year-old son, Daniel, his backpack by his side. We were saying good-bye. In a few hours he would be flying to France. He would be staying there for at least a year to learn another language and experience life in a different country.
It was a transitional time in Daniel"s life, a passage, a step from college into the adult world. I wanted to leave him with words that would have some meaning, some significance beyond the moment.
But nothing came from my lips. No sound broke the stillness of my beachside home on Long Island. Outside, I could hear the shrill cries of sea gulls as they circled the ever-changing surf. Inside, I stood frozen and quiet, looking into the searching eyes of my son.
What made it more difficult was that I knew this was not the first time I had let such a moment pass. When Daniel was five, I took him to the school-bus stop on his first day of kindergarten. I felt the tension in his hand holding mine as the bus turned the corner. I saw color flush his cheeks as the bus pulled up. His questioning eyes looked up at mine.
What is it going to be like, Dad? Can I do it? Will I be okay? And then he walked up the steps of the bus and disappeared inside. And the bus drove away. And I had said nothing.
A decade or so later, a similar scene played itself out. With his mother, I drove him to the College of William and Mary in Virginia. His first night, he went out with his new schoolmates. When he met us the next morning, he was sick. He was coming down with mononucleosis, but we could not know that then. We thought he had a hangover.
In his room, Dan lay stretched out on his bed as I started to leave for the trip home. I tried to think of something to say to give him some courage and confidence as he started this new phase of life.
Again, words failed me. I mumbled something like, "Hope you feel better, Dan." And I left.
Now, as I stood before him, I thought of those lost opportunities. How many times have we all let such moments pass?
A parent dies, and, instead of giving a eulogy ourselves, we let a clergyman speak. A child asks if Santa Claus is real, or where babies come from, and, embarrassed, we slough it off. When a daughter graduates or a son is married, we watch them go through the motions of the ceremony. But we don"t seek out our children and find a quiet moment to tell them what they have meant to us. Or what they might expect to face in the years ahead.
How fast the years had passed. Daniel was born in New Orleans, slow to walk and talk, and small of stature. He was the tiniest in his class, but he developed a warm, outgoing nature and was popular with his peers. He was coordinated and agile, and he became adept in sports.
Baseball gave him his earliest challenge. He was an outstanding pitcher in Little League, expecting to make it big in high school. It didn"t happen that way. He failed to move up from the junior varsity team. But he stuck it out. Eventually, as a senior, he moved up to the varsity. He won half the team"s games. At graduation, the coach named Daniel the team"s most valuable player.
His finest hour, though, came at a school science fair. He entered an exhibit showing how the circulatory system works. He sketched it on cardboard. It was primitive and crude, especially compared to the fancy, computerized, blinking-light models entered by other students. My wife, Sara, felt embarrassed for him.
It turned out that the other kids had not done their own work--their parents had made their exhibits. As the judges went on their rounds, they found that these other kids couldn"t answer their questions. Daniel answered every one. When the judges awarded the Albert Einstein Plaque for the best exhibit, they gave it to him.
By the time Daniel left for college he stood six feet tall and weighed 170 pounds. He was muscular and in superb condition. But he never pitched another inning. He found that he could not combine athletics with academics. He gave up baseball for English literature. I was sorry that he would not develop his athletic talent, but proud that he had made such a mature decision. He graduated with a "B" average.
One day, I told Daniel that the great failing in my life had been that I didn"t take a year or two off to travel when I finished college.
This is the best way, to my way of thinking, to broaden oneself and develop a larger perspective on life. Once I had married and begun working, I found that the dream of living in another culture had vanished.
Daniel thought about this. His Yuppie friends said that he would be insane to put his career on hold. But he decided it wasn"t so crazy. After graduation, he worked as a waiter, a bike messenger, and a house painter. With the money he earned, he had enough to go to Paris.
The night before he was to leave, I tossed in bed. I was trying to figure out something to say. Nothing came to mind. Maybe, I thought, it wasn"t necessary to say anything.
What does it matter in the course of a lifetime if a father never tells a son what he really thinks of him? But as I stood before Daniel, I knew that it does matter. My father and I loved each other. Yet, I always regretted never hearing him put his feelings into words and never having the memory of that moment.
Now, I could feel my palms sweat and my throat tighten. Why is it so hard to tell a son something from the heart? My mouth turned dry. I knew I would be able to get out only a few words clearly.
"Daniel," I said, "if I could have picked, I would have picked you."
That"s all I could say. I wasn"t sure he understood what I meant. Then he came toward me and threw his arms around me. For a moment, the world and all its people vanished, and there was just Daniel and me.
He was saying something, but my eyes misted over, and I couldn"t understand what he was saying. All I was aware of was the stubble on his chin as his face pressed against mine. And then, the moment ended, and Daniel left for France.
I think about him when I walk along the beach on weekends. Thousands of miles away, somewhere out past the ocean waves breaking on the deserted shore, he might be scurrying across Boulevard Saint Germain, strolling through a musty hallway of the Louvre, bending an elbow in a Left Bank café.
What I said to Daniel was clumsy and trite. It was nothing. And yet, it was everything.
Today day is a memorable day, are the annual Father"s Day!
Deep sea motherly love, fatherly love heavy as a mountain. People at the same time to celebrate Mother"s Day and did not forget his father"s achievements. Someone start the year on the recommendation of Father"s Day. Years, it is to celebrate the first Father"s Day. At that time, the late father of all people have to wear a white rose, the father of the people alive while wearing red roses. This custom has been passed so far.
It is said that the selection of Father"s Day is a month over month because of the sun are the most heated one, a symbol of the father to give their children the love that hot. Paternal such as mountains, tall and lofty, let me look timid and afraid to climb Health; father such as days,and far-reaching, so that Yang and my heart did not dare pity; paternal great deep are pure and not return , but love is a bitter, difficult to understand depression and the unattainable.
Father, like a tree, always, let him lush foliage of a solid arm for the tree to create shadeus. Years such as the fingers over the water, like, before I knew it, we have grown up, while the tree is gradually aging, and even the new leaves are no longer the hair full of vitality. Annually on the third Sunday is father"s holiday, let us sincerely say: Father, I love you! Happy Father"s Day!
Now, the Certificate of Education Examination and the final exams approaching, I suggest that we should seize the time, study hard, with excellent results as to the father"s gift, great father to return, I believe his father at that time are the most beautiful smile! Students, come on now! ! !
1、On this special day, i want to say i"m proud of you,appreciate all you"ve done for me and i love you.
1、You"ve been father, friend, adviser, all of these and more.
1、Words can"t tell how much you mean to us.we wish you happiness on this special day.
1、Over the years we have had our differences, but i always love you.
1、Thanks for holding my hand when i needed it.
1、Happy father"s day to an extraordinary father!i love you so much!
1、I owe all of my skills of fatherhood to you dad. happy father"s day.
1、I didn"t realize that being a father would be so difficult. It makes me appreci ate you all the more.
1、Now that i am a father, i can see what a good job you did in raising us.
1、I didn"t see what a good father you were to us before, but i do now.
1、I hope you know how proud i am of you, father.happy father"s day! happiness always!
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