Unit 3B - When Father Doesn't Know Best
Unlike the father in the play which began this unit, here we have a father who is far better at seeing things from his son's point of view. As Merton shows, however, this does not always come easy.
WHEN FATHER DOESN'T KNOW BEST
Andrew Merton
On November 25, 1983, the prizefighter Marvis Frazier, 23 and inexperienced, was knocked out by the heavyweight champion of the world, Larry Holmes, after 2 minutes and 57 seconds of the first round. Holmes pretended to come in with a left punch and Frazier went for it, leaving himself open for a right. Frazier managed to stay on his feet while Holmes rained down 19 blows in a row. Finally, with three seconds left in the round, the referee stopped the fight. At that moment, Marvis Frazier's father and manager, the former heavyweight champion Joe Frazier, embraced his son and repeated over and over: "It's all right. It's all right. I love you."
Later, responding to criticism that he had overestimated his son's abilities, Joe Frazier said, "I knew what I was doing." (1) In the face of clear evidence to the contrary, Joe Frazier was unable to give up the notion that Marvis would succeed him as champion, that he would continue to hold the crown through his son. (2) It is a disturbing business, this drive for immortality, usually much more subtle than thrusting one's son naked into the ring. Often it is simply a matter of expecting the boy to repeat one's own boyhood, step for step.
In July 1983, my son Gabriel was 4 and extremely conscious of it. In fact, he defined and justified much of his behavior by his age:" Four-year-olds can put on their own clothes." Or "I can run faster than Mike. That's because I'm 4 and he's only 3." A 4-year-old, I thought, was ready for a major-league baseball game. So on Saturday, July 16, I drove him to Boston to see the Red Sox play the Oakland A's.
It was a clear, hot day -- very hot, in fact, setting a record for Boston on that date at 97 degrees - but, rare for Boston, it was dry. I had packed a bag with fruit and vegetables. Gabe slept through the entire 90-minute drive to Boston, a good sign, he'd be fresh for the game. Another good sign: I found a free, legal parking space. And as we entered the ball park, Gabe seemed excited. Gravely he accepted my advice to go to the bathroom now, so we would not have to move from our seat during the action.
As we walked through the tunnel beneath the stadium, I remembered my own first game, in Yankee Stadium in 1952. As my father and I emerged into the sun, I was overwhelmed by the vast, green outfield. A pitcher named Vic Raschi fired strike after strike, A Yankee named Joe Collins hit a home run and the Yankees won, 3-2. The opponent had been the old Philadelphia Athletics, direct ancestors of the Oakland team. I felt joy and anticipation as Gabe and I now emerged into the sun for his first look at the field. Gabe said nothing, but he must have felt the excitement.
We found our seats, on the right-field side of the park. Good seats, from which we could see every part of the playing field. We were about a half-hour early, and we settled down to watch the end of batting practice. Gabe said he was hungry. I gave him a carrot stick, which he chewed happily. When he finished that, he asked what else I had in the bag. I gave him some grapes, then an apple. Within 15 minutes he had polished off most of the contents of the bag. And then he said "I think I've had enough baseball. I want to go home now."
"But the game hasn't started yet," I said. "You haven't seen any baseball."
"Yes, I have. And I want to go home."
"That was only batting practice. Don't you want to see the real game?"
"No."
I considered staying anyway. It was my day with my son that was being ruined here, wasn't it?
But I knew better. I knew now that if I insisted on staying, it would be his day that would be ruined so Dad could watch a ball game. In a rotten mood, I carried him out of the park on my shoulders just as the Red Sox took the field.
"Daddy? Can I have an ice-cream?"
Without much grace, I bought him an ice-cream. Then we got in the car, and I drove away from my precious parking space, still in a bad temper. He was well aware that I was upset; I could see the troubled look on his face, a combination of fear and pain. I hated that look. But I could not shake my mood. I was not looking forward to the drive back to New Hampshire.
Then on Storrow Drive, I spotted the Boston Museum of Science, just across the Charles River. Gabe had been there before, and he had loved it, although he still referred to it, quite seriously, as the "Museum of Silence." Still angry, I managed to say," Gabe, would you like to go to the museum?"
"Yeah," he said.
We had the museum nearly to ourselves. As we walked through the wonderfully cool exhibition halls, I acknowledged to myself how much I wanted Gabe to be like me. He was supposed to like the baseball game, not for his sake, but for mine, and I had gotten angry at him when he didn't measure up to my expectations. It was those expectations, and not Gabe's actions, that were out of line. And it was those expectations that had to change.
I also thought about the competition between us: what had happened at the ball park was, after all, a battle of wills. He had won. He had stood up for what he thought was right.
We spent three quick hours at the museum, viewing the life-sized tyrannosaurus rex from different angles, trying out the space capsule, making waves and viewing exhibits on everything imaginable. And I was excited.
Son and father, together, had saved the day -- he by holding out for something he enjoyed and I by having the sense, finally, to realize that he was right, and to let go of my dream of how things should be.
This time, anyway.
And then I remembered something else. When my own father took me to Yankee Stadium, I was 6 years old, not 4.
Maybe in a couple of years...
参考译文——父亲未必英明
与本单元开始的那场戏里的那位父亲不同，这里我们读到的是一位颇能设身处地为儿子着想的父亲。然而，正如默顿所描述的那样，要做到这点往往并非易事。
父亲未必英明
安德鲁·默顿
1983年11月25日，年仅23岁、缺乏临场经验的职业拳击手马维斯·弗雷泽在第一回合比赛打到2分57秒时被重量级世界冠军拉里·霍姆斯击倒。霍姆斯出左拳佯攻，弗雷泽防卫时右侧暴露。霍姆斯重拳出击，雨点般地连打19拳，弗雷泽挺着没有倒下。最后，在第一回合只剩三秒钟时，裁判叫停。当时，马维斯·弗雷泽的父亲兼经纪人、前重量级冠军乔·弗雷泽搂抱着儿子一遍遍地说：“没事儿。没事儿。我爱你。”
后来，有人批评他对儿子的实力估计过高，乔·弗雷泽回答说：“我知道自己在做什么。” 尽管事实清楚表明并非如此，但乔·弗雷泽还是坚信马维斯能继承他的衣钵成为冠军，他的荣耀能通过儿子继续下去。
这种通常比硬把儿子推上拳坛要微妙得多的对不朽的追求是一件让人苦恼的事。这常常不过是在期待孩子亦步亦趋地重复自己的童年。
1983年7月，我儿子加布里埃尔4岁，并且已经有了强烈的年龄意识。事实上，他的许多行为是以年龄来界定的：“4岁的孩子会自己穿衣服。”或是：“我能比迈克跑得快。因为我4岁了，他才3岁。” 当时我想，一个4岁的孩子可以去看全美职业棒球赛了。于是，7月16日星期六，我开车带他去波士顿看红袜队与奥克兰A队的比赛。
那是个晴朗、炎热的日子——事实上那一天非常炎热，气温达到97度，创下了波士顿当天的最高纪录——但没有下雨，这在波士顿是极为罕见的。我装了一大袋果蔬。加布在前往波士顿的90分钟的车程里一直在睡觉，这是个好征兆，看球时他就会有精神了。还有一个好征兆：我找到一个合法的免费泊车位。我俩进场时，加布显得兴致勃勃。他郑重其事地接受了我的建议先去厕所方便，这样在球赛当中我们就不必离开座位了。
当我们穿过体育场下的通道时，我想起了1952年在扬基体育场自己第一次看球赛的情景。当我和父亲走进阳光下的体育场时，那绿茵茵的巨大外场令我惊喜万分。一位名叫维克·拉希的投球手投出了一个又一个好球，扬基队球员乔·柯林斯击出一个本垒打，最后扬基队以3 ：2获胜。对手是历史悠久的费城竞技队，就是奥克兰队的前身。此刻，当我和加布走到阳光下，他第一次见到赛场时，我心中不由充满了喜悦与期待。加布没说话，但他一定也感受到了那份激动。
我俩找到了座位，在右外场侧面。位置不错，我们能看清场上的每一个部位。我俩提前了半小时入场，坐了下来看差不多就要结束的击球练习。加布说他
但我还是比较明智，放弃了呆下去的念头，我很明白如果我坚持呆着不走，那他的一天就会因为爸爸想看球赛而过得十分扫兴。 我情绪糟透了，让他骑在我的肩上，就在红袜队上场击球时走出了体育场。
“可比赛还没开始呢，”我说，“你一点比赛还没看到呢。”
“看到了，我已经看到了。我想回家了。”
“那只是击球练习。你不想看正式比赛吗？”
“不想看。”
我想怎么着都得呆下去。难道我和儿子的这一天就这么毁了不成？
但我还是比较明智，放弃了呆下去的念头，我很明白如果我坚持呆着不走，那他的一天就会因为爸爸想看球赛而过得十分扫兴。 我情绪糟透了，让他骑在我的肩上，就在红袜队上场击球时走出了体育场。
“爸爸，我想吃冰淇淋，行吗？”
我不很情愿地给他买了个冰淇淋。我俩上了车，我开车退出那个宝贵的车位，仍然没有好气。他也很明白我不高兴；我能看到他脸上不安的神情，恐惧中夹杂着痛苦。我讨厌那副神情。可我没法摆脱自己恶劣的心境。我一点都不想开车回新罕布什尔去。
随后，在斯托罗街上，我瞥见波士顿科学博物馆，就在查尔斯河对岸。加布以前去过，而且很喜欢那个地方，不过一直到现在他还郑重其事地把它叫做“静默博物馆”。我压着一肚子火，勉强问了一句：“加布，你想不想去博物馆？”
“想，”他说。
博物馆里几乎就我们俩。当我俩穿过一个个凉爽舒适的展厅时，我心里不得不承认，自己是多么希望加布能像我一样。他应该为了我，而不是为了他自己喜欢这场棒球赛，当他辜负了我的期望的时候，我便对他生气了。不是加布的行为不当，而是这种期待不近情理。因此，必须改变的是这种期待。
我还反思了我俩刚才的对峙：球场上所发生的一切，归根到底，是两种意志的对峙。他赢了。他坚持了自己认为是正确的做法。
我俩在博物馆里浏览，三个小时转眼就过去了，我们从不同的角度观看与实物一样大小的霸王龙，尝试宇航舱，造波浪，观看各种各样想象得出的展品。我也感到兴致勃勃。
儿子和父亲，两个人共同挽救了这一天——他坚持不放弃自己所喜欢的事物，而我，总算明智，最终认识到他是对的，并放弃了自己不切实际的幻想。
至少这一次是这样的。
后来我还想起了另一件事。我父亲带我去扬基体育场看棒球的时候，我是6岁，不是4岁。
也许再过一两年。
参考资料：
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