In the early  ’60s, when I was fourteen years old and living in a small town in southern Indiana, my father died. While my mother and I were out of town visiting relatives, an unexpected and very sudden heart attack took him. We returned home to find that he was gone. No chance to say “I love you” or even “Good-bye”. He was just gone, forever. With my older sister going away to college, our home went from a bustling, happy family of four to a house where two stunned people lived in quiet grief. 

I struggled terribly with the pain and loneliness of my loss, but I was also very worried about my mother. I feared that if she saw me crying for my father, her pain would be even more intense. And, as the new “man” of the house, I felt a responsibility to protect her from greater hurt. So I devised a plan that would allow me to grieve without causing more pain for my mother. In our town, people rook the trash from their houses out to large barrels in the alleys behind their backyards. There, it would de burned or picked up by the trash men once a week. Every evening after dinner, I would volunteer to take out the trash. I would rush around the house with a bag, collecting scraps of paper or whatever else I could find, and then go out to the alley and put it in the trash barrel.  I’d hide in the shadows of the dark bushes, and that’s where I would stay until I had cried myself out. After recovering enough to be certain that my mother couldn’t tell what I’d been doing, I would return to the house and get ready for bed. 

   This subterfuge went on for weeks. One evening after dinner, when it was time for chores, I collected trash and went out to my usual hiding place in the bushes. I didn’t stay very long. When I returned to the house, I went to find my mother to ask if she needed me to do anything else. After searching through the entire house, I finally found her. She was in darkened basement, behind the washer and dryer, crying by herself. She was hiding her pain, to protect me. 

  I’m not sure which is greater: the pain you suffer openly or the pain you endure alone to protect someone you love. I do know that on that night, in the basement, we held each other and poured out the misery that had driven us both to our separate, lonely, crying places. And we never felt the need to cry alone again. 

  咬词嚼字 

1. trash n 垃圾，废料 

2. bustling adj.熙熙攘攘的, 忙乱的 

3. stunned adj.目瞪口呆的，发愣的 

4. barrel n大桶   

5. alley n. 小路, 巷 

6. subterfuge n. 托词 

7. chore n. 家务杂事 

【英语美文】The Crying Place

六十年代初，我的父亲去世了。当时我十四岁，住在印第安纳州南部的一个小镇上。在我和母亲离开小镇去看望亲戚时，一次始料不及突如其来的心脏病发作夺去了他的生命。我们回到家时，发现他已离我们而去了。没有机会说声“我爱你”，甚至来不及说“再见”。他就那么永远地走了。姐姐离家去上了大学，原本热闹的四口之家只剩下两个饱受打击的人，在悲伤中默默度日。 

我在丧父之后的痛苦与孤独中竭力挣扎，同时也为母亲忧心忡忡。我担心他看到我为父亲哭泣而更加痛苦。并且作为家里新的“男子汉”，我有责任保护她，不让她受到更大的伤害。于是我制定了一个计划，可以让自己悲伤，却不会给母亲带来痛苦。在我们这个小镇，人们把垃圾从家里拿出来，放到后院外小巷的大垃圾桶里。垃圾在那里会被焚烧掉，或者由清洁工每周收一次。每天晚上吃过饭，我都会主动去倒垃圾。我会拿着一个袋子飞快地在屋里到处收集纸屑或其他任何能找到的东西，然后拿到巷子里，把它倒进垃圾桶。接下来我就躲进漆黑的树丛影子里。我会呆在那里，哭到筋疲力尽为止。等到恢复过来，肯定不会被母亲发觉我在做什么事情，我就回到家里，准备睡觉。 

这个借口持续了几个星期。有一天吃过晚饭该做家务时，我收集好垃圾，出门来到树丛里我一贯藏身的地方。我没有待多久。回到家里我去找母亲，问她是否需要我做其他什么事情。我寻遍了整个房子，最后找到了她。她在漆黑的地下室里，躲在洗衣机和烘干机后面独自啜泣。她在掩藏自己的痛苦，以便保护我。 

在公开遭受的痛苦和为了保护心爱的人而独自承受的痛苦这两者中，我不道那种痛苦更强烈。但我知道，那天晚上，就在地下室里，我们互相拥抱，让那曾使我们两个分处异处、独自垂泪的痛楚倾泻一空。我们再也不用孤零零地哭泣了。