《追夢者》（We Were Deamers) 是加拿大多倫多華裔影星劉思慕2021年出版的自傳回憶錄。之前我並不知曉也不關心，是從菲兒的一篇博文裏看到的，而真正激發我去圖書館借此書並在一星期不到一口氣讀完的，還是源於菲兒轉述書中一句話時用的“imperfect family“兩個字。
在我眼裏，人生、家庭、夫妻、子女，不完美的居多，而真正願意把這不完美呈現給世人的卻不多。劉思慕的移民背景與我女兒相似，他四歲來加拿大，我女兒三歲不到來美，他們都是華二代；劉的父母比我大好多些歲，他的媽媽還是個下過鄉的知青，但是即便如此，我們都還是同一輩人，有著共同的國內生長環境、教育理念和相似的家庭背景，如果我們都犯了錯，那些錯隻會是量上的差別，沒有質的不同。
反觀自己養孩子的這二十多年，走過很多彎路，犯下很多錯，有些錯當時犯時未知未覺，若幹年後等孩子長大離開了才意識到。近幾年我一直在剖析自己，懷疑自己，尋找答案。
讀這本書我最想知道的是作者劉思慕眼中的父母是什麽樣子的？他們的父母在他眼裏是怎樣的不完美，那我呢？
像幾乎所以的華裔父母一樣，思慕從小被送去學鋼琴，去中文學校學中文，踢足球,學這學那的，時間總是排的滿滿的。父母的付出很多，經濟上，時間上，精力上，為了孩子的成長可謂嘔心瀝血。我們再窮再苦不能苦孩子，思慕的父母經濟上再窘迫，也舍得掏錢給他買full price的玩具。思慕上的還是私立高中，每年的學費近一萬，他說父母把他養大至少花費了25萬美元（加幣？）。在他大學一畢業剛剛踏上職場，父母又掏錢給他買房，替他付了首付。華人家長為孩子所做的這一切都是心甘情願，希望下一代不要吃我們吃過的苦，擁有我們不曾擁有的 （My mother was tireless in her efforts to raise me, and often went above and beyond to ensure that I had everything she never did. (p. 95)。書中提到一個細節，他母親剛到加拿大時去餐館打工，碰見一個十七歲白人小孩也在打工，說要賺錢償還欠父母的錢。他母親感慨地說，我們不會這樣。
可為什麽孩子感受不到這樣的愛和付出，相反卻把傷痛牢牢記在心裏呢？書中的劉思慕高中一畢業就恨不能遠走高飛，從此擺脫家庭的桎梏。他甚至說自己不會homesick, homesick是相對於有home的人而言，他沒有家。當我看到他這段原文時，心就像被刺紮了一下。 (見下麵原文 a.)
思慕書中有一段關於她母親的述說，多多少少幫我們找到部分答案-- 哪怕父母在撫養孩子過程中90%所做所為都是好的，也無法彌補因10%的錯誤留給孩子的傷疤。這不是功過相抵的一件事，也不能因為這90%的好而忽略了另外10%的錯。不管錯大錯小，錯就是錯, 傷害就是傷害。（見下麵原文 b.)
如果養孩子可以是一份工作，那它該是世界上最難做好的。世上的家庭各異，孩子各異，不可能有一本universal的養兒手冊，好心可以辦壞事，over or under do, 嚴格圈養或是放養，都可以出錯， 都可以讓人抱憾。
更何況，由於北美文化的不同和長期以來對亞洲人和文化的不認同，形成了一種負麵的stereotype，會讓生活在兩種文化間的華二代迷茫，自卑，缺乏自信心甚至喪失自我，而父母的不理解更加劇兩代人之間的文化溝塹。
其實，在我看來，中國父母是最具有犧牲精神，為了下一代可以舍棄一切。當然，他父母的有些做法值得商榷，我們的很多觀念做法也需要與時俱進, 至少要入鄉隨俗。在這張口閉口“I love you“的北美世界，我們還不習慣對孩子說一聲“I love you“； 當白人孩子常常為微不足道的小事被Ta的父母讚不絕口時，我們依然習慣嚴苛，不習慣讚美表揚， 生怕孩子“驕傲”。又比如，常常以“我所做的一切都是為孩子好” 而不尊重孩子的想法，以“我吃過的鹽比你吃過的飯要多”自居，殊不知，世界變化如此日新月異，我們有可能落伍了。
人類的進步在於下一代不聽上一代的話，這樣才不會走老路，才能開出一條屬於他們自己的新路。因為他們初生牛犢不怕虎，因為他們身上所擁有的untamed spirits,一種尚未被磨滅的狂野精神，不被馴服，不墨守成規，不計較（金錢）得失，不患得患失，才有長江後浪推前浪的發展趨勢，才有生機盎然的新天地。
昨日（2/15）請一位遠房親戚的孩子來家裏吃飯，飯後帶他去海邊走了走聊了聊。孩子書卷氣足，也比較quiet，在加州最頂尖的學校做博士後，學的physics, 現專精quantum這個方向。在人人都想打破頭進花街，在他父母也希望他能進大廠賺大錢時，他依然有心於學術研究。漫步在海邊，我半開玩笑地指著邊上的豪宅豪車問他，你有沒有想過以後賺大錢，買像這樣的豪車豪宅？他說他自己無所謂，但為家人，yes。 當問他，比較牛津的英國教授和美國教授，你覺得他們有什麽不同？他答，他遇見的英國教授做這行業很多是當hobby做, but of course lots of efforts。英國的教授比較淡泊，而美國這邊的教授跟中國人一樣追求成功，追求名利。
其實，追求名利沒什麽不好，名利是很強的驅動力，推動這這個物質世界向前。這世界是一個大染缸，浸潤著常走在河邊走的人，畢竟堅持初心追求夢想的純學術之路很難，競爭非常激烈（他告訴我說，學校一個職位出來，申請的人有600個），能持之以恒走下去的人還是少數。
在回家的路上，孩子的父親打電話過來。他開通地說，一代人有一代人的命運，孩子的前途最後由他自己抉擇。於我，忙碌了整整一天（不止，還有前期的準備），與他們的這些交談就是我的收獲。
做父母的如何適時地引導，何時push and pull,又何時學會放手，是我們做家長要修的一門課。
回歸到這本書。其實，我對劉思慕如何成了受歡迎的影星並不十分感興趣，我更關心他與父母的關係是否重修好合。欣慰的是，他與父母最後冰釋前嫌，他發自內心感激父母的付出。我不知道他的心理治愈是某一刻的醒悟，感觸，還是經曆了長時間的彌補。有人說，一個人童年的滄桑要用一輩子去彌補。思慕寫這書時才二十八歲，為他高興，他心裏的這些洞洞（holes）最後得到修補，他應該是理解和原諒了父母對他的愛的方式，而他父母，我想，也是因為兒子的成功釋然，既往不咎。當然，劉思慕放棄正當職業，走上演藝圈，道路是艱辛曲折的，他的成功也不具備普遍性。
正如作者所說，他感謝他的父母願意重拾那段不愉快的記憶（bad memories)，讓他寫出來，以此警醒更多的家庭避免犯同樣的錯。作為讀者，我更是要感謝作者的勇敢和坦誠-- 我從他父母身上看見自己，從他的心裏路程看到自己孩子成長的心聲。
注：這本自傳讀完好久了。最近挺忙，寫寫停停，再不寫完要歇菜了：）
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
a. And while some of my classmates may have been feeling anxious about leaving home for college, I could not have been more excited. Homesickness was for people who actually had homes; I was an astronaut, after all, whose only home was the eternal vastness of space through which I floated, untethered and unencumbered by any familial attachment.
b. She （his mother) was, by her own admission, 90 percent good and 10 percent bad. What happened in that 10 percent, though, would leave deep emotional scars that couldn’t be reconciled by the other 90.
More quotes:
Pinching every penny they could save to survive. (p.86)
Despite growing up “poor”, I truly never felt like I was missing anything material in my life. (p.87), full price, Nintendo
“don’t you want to make your parents happy?”
My trust in my parents shattered
I finally realize that my mom’s scolding is considered par for the course in many immigrant families- parents need to discipline their kids, and it’s totally unrealistic to expect them to only ever offer praise and words of affirmation.
That was so shockingly different from the images of Max’s family that had left such a positive impression on me. I couldn’t reconcile how our parents could be so cruel in comparison.
At age 6, he was forced outside just because he bragged
My mother was tireless in her efforts to raise me, and often went above and beyond to ensure that I had everything she never did. (p. 95)
Even in their splurging, my parents never spent frivolously.
In order to truly win, in order to be truly happy… I needed to be free of their control.. Long term, it meant landing a good enough job that would get me as far away from them as possible.
When I say that high school was the worst fucking time of my life, I’m not being hyperbolic. I was a troubled child plagued by insecurity and self-doubt, with massive hole in his heart that he was always trying to fill with the love of other people. (p.139)
Relief after six years of disappointment, unmet expectations, arguments and even physical violence, there would finally be peace.
Given that talking about feelings was exceedingly rare in our household, a cordial relationship was the best we could collectively muster.
Thank you for your willingness to revisit the bad memories with me, and for allowing me to tell our story honestly and openly in the hopes that families today could learn from us and steer themselivves from the same mistakes.
“But what about the experiences of second-generation kids like us—like feeling ashamed of the lunches our parents packed us because they were too “ethnic”? Or having to translate things for our parents because our English was better than theirs? Or struggling to communicate with our relatives in our home country because our Mandarin/Cantonese/Hindi/Korean/Viet was absolute horseshit?”
“Exchanging I love yous was a uniquely Western custom, and I had long ago come to terms with the fact that my parents expressed their love in a very different way—by telling me to put on a jacket, asking if I had eaten yet, or yelling at me when they felt like I wasn’t studying hard enough. The actual words were not a part of our family’s vocabulary at all.”
“In trying to undo what my parents had done, I had become just like them - vindictive, hurtful and cruel.”
“I had only been exposed to the straight-and-narrow way: go to school, get a degree, graduate, get a job, make money, buy a house, and then die.”
“Nobody forced us to come here,” he says. “We made a choice to immigrate. We knew that nothing was going to be handed to us, and we knew we were going to have to work twice as hard as everyone else.”
My parents were not interested in concepts like political activism or social equality; there was only work, and survival.”
better life. As the beneficiaries of their courage, we in the next generation are responsible for keeping their stories alive so
that our great-great-grandchildren will know their roots and, in the face of adversity, will remember that they are descended from wide-eyed dreamers who never gave up on their goal.”
Asian men were frequently depicted in Western media as awkward, nerdy and completely undatable. (p. 104)
The double whammy of being teased on the playground with ching-chong noises and then seeing ourselves ridiculed on the screen robbed us of our natural confidence. Without proper guidance from our parents, who were not terribly concerned with our self-confidence, most of us grew up feeling like we weren’t worthy to be loved or desired. (p. 105)
Disillusioned and embittered, I began to pull away from my parents, my upbringing and my heritage. I started acting out, talking back and refusing to do homework. I didn’t want to be a math genius, or a scientist, or a sidekick.
“Look at everything we’ve invested in you,” they spat. “You’re a spoiled brat who’s squandering all of our effort and money, and wasting time on useless things. You’re nothing but a loser!”
I can’t pinpoint exactly when my parents graduated from spanking to full-on hitting, but I remember that this one particular argument ended with a slap to the face. My cheek stung from where it had been stuck, and I felt my eyes well up immediately.
I didn’t come to Canada by choice, and I would have been just as happy growing up in Harbin with my grandparents. Because I was in Canada, though, I was constantly surrounded by images of what a family ought to be, and mine wasn’t it.
I caught glimpses of a picture-perfect family through the friends I made and through TV and movies. I felt a pang of sadness whenever I’d visit a friend house; they always seemed so close to their parents, who in turn showered them with love and affection.
I, on the other hand, had grown physically distant from both my parents in the past few years. Even as I struggled to make them proud, I felt myself pulling away from them emotionally. I stopped wanting to rush into their arms, stopped wanting to be held by them and stopped confiding in them.
But they had failed emphatically at creating a home environment that was safe for me—a place filled with warmth, physical affection and unconditional support. (p. 106)
A person with his own lens of the world
Never did they just tell me they loved me, or that they were proud of me. (p. 116)
Despite all of the bumps and bruises that we had been through since, a part of me had always held on to the hope that we would find our way—that my parents would one day sweep me into a deep, powerful embrace that would mend the holes in my heart and melt away all of my doubts and anxieties. But that fantasy was gone now, burnt to ash and replaced with the kind of darkness and rage that My Chemical Romance wrote songs about.
Home was not a place to go to feel comfortable and safe—it was a war zone where violence could break out at any second. (p120)
My parents would always deflect any compliments I received from their colleagues about my appearance. (p.122) 四肢發達
My mother was a constant instigator, as stubborn and unwilling to back down as I was, and ever so quick with her venomous words. (p. 124)
Although he definitely hit harder than my mom, my father’s physical violence paled in comparison to his skill in psychological warfare… He would frequently barge into my room to yell at me, sometimes six or seven times a night, as if to let me know that there was no hiding from him.
It seemed like there was no line my parents weren’t willing to cross. (p. 125)
The truth was that, deep down, there was actually nothing I wanted more than a true moment of reconciliation with him. But my father saw me showing a sliver of vulnerability, and then twisted the knife in the wound. (p.127)
讀劉思慕的自傳《追夢者》(We Were Dreamers)
暖冬cool夏 (2025-02-16 23:19:18) 評論 (87)《追夢者》（We Were Deamers) 是加拿大多倫多華裔影星劉思慕2021年出版的自傳回憶錄。之前我並不知曉也不關心，是從菲兒的一篇博文裏看到的，而真正激發我去圖書館借此書並在一星期不到一口氣讀完的，還是源於菲兒轉述書中一句話時用的“imperfect family“兩個字。
在我眼裏，人生、家庭、夫妻、子女，不完美的居多，而真正願意把這不完美呈現給世人的卻不多。劉思慕的移民背景與我女兒相似，他四歲來加拿大，我女兒三歲不到來美，他們都是華二代；劉的父母比我大好多些歲，他的媽媽還是個下過鄉的知青，但是即便如此，我們都還是同一輩人，有著共同的國內生長環境、教育理念和相似的家庭背景，如果我們都犯了錯，那些錯隻會是量上的差別，沒有質的不同。
反觀自己養孩子的這二十多年，走過很多彎路，犯下很多錯，有些錯當時犯時未知未覺，若幹年後等孩子長大離開了才意識到。近幾年我一直在剖析自己，懷疑自己，尋找答案。
讀這本書我最想知道的是作者劉思慕眼中的父母是什麽樣子的？他們的父母在他眼裏是怎樣的不完美，那我呢？
像幾乎所以的華裔父母一樣，思慕從小被送去學鋼琴，去中文學校學中文，踢足球,學這學那的，時間總是排的滿滿的。父母的付出很多，經濟上，時間上，精力上，為了孩子的成長可謂嘔心瀝血。我們再窮再苦不能苦孩子，思慕的父母經濟上再窘迫，也舍得掏錢給他買full price的玩具。思慕上的還是私立高中，每年的學費近一萬，他說父母把他養大至少花費了25萬美元（加幣？）。在他大學一畢業剛剛踏上職場，父母又掏錢給他買房，替他付了首付。華人家長為孩子所做的這一切都是心甘情願，希望下一代不要吃我們吃過的苦，擁有我們不曾擁有的 （My mother was tireless in her efforts to raise me, and often went above and beyond to ensure that I had everything she never did. (p. 95)。書中提到一個細節，他母親剛到加拿大時去餐館打工，碰見一個十七歲白人小孩也在打工，說要賺錢償還欠父母的錢。他母親感慨地說，我們不會這樣。
可為什麽孩子感受不到這樣的愛和付出，相反卻把傷痛牢牢記在心裏呢？書中的劉思慕高中一畢業就恨不能遠走高飛，從此擺脫家庭的桎梏。他甚至說自己不會homesick, homesick是相對於有home的人而言，他沒有家。當我看到他這段原文時，心就像被刺紮了一下。 (見下麵原文 a.)
思慕書中有一段關於她母親的述說，多多少少幫我們找到部分答案-- 哪怕父母在撫養孩子過程中90%所做所為都是好的，也無法彌補因10%的錯誤留給孩子的傷疤。這不是功過相抵的一件事，也不能因為這90%的好而忽略了另外10%的錯。不管錯大錯小，錯就是錯, 傷害就是傷害。（見下麵原文 b.)
如果養孩子可以是一份工作，那它該是世界上最難做好的。世上的家庭各異，孩子各異，不可能有一本universal的養兒手冊，好心可以辦壞事，over or under do, 嚴格圈養或是放養，都可以出錯， 都可以讓人抱憾。
更何況，由於北美文化的不同和長期以來對亞洲人和文化的不認同，形成了一種負麵的stereotype，會讓生活在兩種文化間的華二代迷茫，自卑，缺乏自信心甚至喪失自我，而父母的不理解更加劇兩代人之間的文化溝塹。
其實，在我看來，中國父母是最具有犧牲精神，為了下一代可以舍棄一切。當然，他父母的有些做法值得商榷，我們的很多觀念做法也需要與時俱進, 至少要入鄉隨俗。在這張口閉口“I love you“的北美世界，我們還不習慣對孩子說一聲“I love you“； 當白人孩子常常為微不足道的小事被Ta的父母讚不絕口時，我們依然習慣嚴苛，不習慣讚美表揚， 生怕孩子“驕傲”。又比如，常常以“我所做的一切都是為孩子好” 而不尊重孩子的想法，以“我吃過的鹽比你吃過的飯要多”自居，殊不知，世界變化如此日新月異，我們有可能落伍了。
人類的進步在於下一代不聽上一代的話，這樣才不會走老路，才能開出一條屬於他們自己的新路。因為他們初生牛犢不怕虎，因為他們身上所擁有的untamed spirits,一種尚未被磨滅的狂野精神，不被馴服，不墨守成規，不計較（金錢）得失，不患得患失，才有長江後浪推前浪的發展趨勢，才有生機盎然的新天地。
昨日（2/15）請一位遠房親戚的孩子來家裏吃飯，飯後帶他去海邊走了走聊了聊。孩子書卷氣足，也比較quiet，在加州最頂尖的學校做博士後，學的physics, 現專精quantum這個方向。在人人都想打破頭進花街，在他父母也希望他能進大廠賺大錢時，他依然有心於學術研究。漫步在海邊，我半開玩笑地指著邊上的豪宅豪車問他，你有沒有想過以後賺大錢，買像這樣的豪車豪宅？他說他自己無所謂，但為家人，yes。 當問他，比較牛津的英國教授和美國教授，你覺得他們有什麽不同？他答，他遇見的英國教授做這行業很多是當hobby做, but of course lots of efforts。英國的教授比較淡泊，而美國這邊的教授跟中國人一樣追求成功，追求名利。
其實，追求名利沒什麽不好，名利是很強的驅動力，推動這這個物質世界向前。這世界是一個大染缸，浸潤著常走在河邊走的人，畢竟堅持初心追求夢想的純學術之路很難，競爭非常激烈（他告訴我說，學校一個職位出來，申請的人有600個），能持之以恒走下去的人還是少數。
在回家的路上，孩子的父親打電話過來。他開通地說，一代人有一代人的命運，孩子的前途最後由他自己抉擇。於我，忙碌了整整一天（不止，還有前期的準備），與他們的這些交談就是我的收獲。
做父母的如何適時地引導，何時push and pull,又何時學會放手，是我們做家長要修的一門課。
回歸到這本書。其實，我對劉思慕如何成了受歡迎的影星並不十分感興趣，我更關心他與父母的關係是否重修好合。欣慰的是，他與父母最後冰釋前嫌，他發自內心感激父母的付出。我不知道他的心理治愈是某一刻的醒悟，感觸，還是經曆了長時間的彌補。有人說，一個人童年的滄桑要用一輩子去彌補。思慕寫這書時才二十八歲，為他高興，他心裏的這些洞洞（holes）最後得到修補，他應該是理解和原諒了父母對他的愛的方式，而他父母，我想，也是因為兒子的成功釋然，既往不咎。當然，劉思慕放棄正當職業，走上演藝圈，道路是艱辛曲折的，他的成功也不具備普遍性。
正如作者所說，他感謝他的父母願意重拾那段不愉快的記憶（bad memories)，讓他寫出來，以此警醒更多的家庭避免犯同樣的錯。作為讀者，我更是要感謝作者的勇敢和坦誠-- 我從他父母身上看見自己，從他的心裏路程看到自己孩子成長的心聲。
注：這本自傳讀完好久了。最近挺忙，寫寫停停，再不寫完要歇菜了：）
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
a. And while some of my classmates may have been feeling anxious about leaving home for college, I could not have been more excited. Homesickness was for people who actually had homes; I was an astronaut, after all, whose only home was the eternal vastness of space through which I floated, untethered and unencumbered by any familial attachment.
b. She （his mother) was, by her own admission, 90 percent good and 10 percent bad. What happened in that 10 percent, though, would leave deep emotional scars that couldn’t be reconciled by the other 90.
More quotes:
Pinching every penny they could save to survive. (p.86)
Despite growing up “poor”, I truly never felt like I was missing anything material in my life. (p.87), full price, Nintendo
“don’t you want to make your parents happy?”
My trust in my parents shattered
I finally realize that my mom’s scolding is considered par for the course in many immigrant families- parents need to discipline their kids, and it’s totally unrealistic to expect them to only ever offer praise and words of affirmation.
That was so shockingly different from the images of Max’s family that had left such a positive impression on me. I couldn’t reconcile how our parents could be so cruel in comparison.
At age 6, he was forced outside just because he bragged
My mother was tireless in her efforts to raise me, and often went above and beyond to ensure that I had everything she never did. (p. 95)
Even in their splurging, my parents never spent frivolously.
In order to truly win, in order to be truly happy… I needed to be free of their control.. Long term, it meant landing a good enough job that would get me as far away from them as possible.
When I say that high school was the worst fucking time of my life, I’m not being hyperbolic. I was a troubled child plagued by insecurity and self-doubt, with massive hole in his heart that he was always trying to fill with the love of other people. (p.139)
Relief after six years of disappointment, unmet expectations, arguments and even physical violence, there would finally be peace.
Given that talking about feelings was exceedingly rare in our household, a cordial relationship was the best we could collectively muster.
Thank you for your willingness to revisit the bad memories with me, and for allowing me to tell our story honestly and openly in the hopes that families today could learn from us and steer themselivves from the same mistakes.
“But what about the experiences of second-generation kids like us—like feeling ashamed of the lunches our parents packed us because they were too “ethnic”? Or having to translate things for our parents because our English was better than theirs? Or struggling to communicate with our relatives in our home country because our Mandarin/Cantonese/Hindi/Korean/Viet was absolute horseshit?”
“Exchanging I love yous was a uniquely Western custom, and I had long ago come to terms with the fact that my parents expressed their love in a very different way—by telling me to put on a jacket, asking if I had eaten yet, or yelling at me when they felt like I wasn’t studying hard enough. The actual words were not a part of our family’s vocabulary at all.”
“In trying to undo what my parents had done, I had become just like them - vindictive, hurtful and cruel.”
“I had only been exposed to the straight-and-narrow way: go to school, get a degree, graduate, get a job, make money, buy a house, and then die.”
“Nobody forced us to come here,” he says. “We made a choice to immigrate. We knew that nothing was going to be handed to us, and we knew we were going to have to work twice as hard as everyone else.”
My parents were not interested in concepts like political activism or social equality; there was only work, and survival.”
better life. As the beneficiaries of their courage, we in the next generation are responsible for keeping their stories alive so
that our great-great-grandchildren will know their roots and, in the face of adversity, will remember that they are descended from wide-eyed dreamers who never gave up on their goal.”
Asian men were frequently depicted in Western media as awkward, nerdy and completely undatable. (p. 104)
The double whammy of being teased on the playground with ching-chong noises and then seeing ourselves ridiculed on the screen robbed us of our natural confidence. Without proper guidance from our parents, who were not terribly concerned with our self-confidence, most of us grew up feeling like we weren’t worthy to be loved or desired. (p. 105)
Disillusioned and embittered, I began to pull away from my parents, my upbringing and my heritage. I started acting out, talking back and refusing to do homework. I didn’t want to be a math genius, or a scientist, or a sidekick.
“Look at everything we’ve invested in you,” they spat. “You’re a spoiled brat who’s squandering all of our effort and money, and wasting time on useless things. You’re nothing but a loser!”
I can’t pinpoint exactly when my parents graduated from spanking to full-on hitting, but I remember that this one particular argument ended with a slap to the face. My cheek stung from where it had been stuck, and I felt my eyes well up immediately.
I didn’t come to Canada by choice, and I would have been just as happy growing up in Harbin with my grandparents. Because I was in Canada, though, I was constantly surrounded by images of what a family ought to be, and mine wasn’t it.
I caught glimpses of a picture-perfect family through the friends I made and through TV and movies. I felt a pang of sadness whenever I’d visit a friend house; they always seemed so close to their parents, who in turn showered them with love and affection.
I, on the other hand, had grown physically distant from both my parents in the past few years. Even as I struggled to make them proud, I felt myself pulling away from them emotionally. I stopped wanting to rush into their arms, stopped wanting to be held by them and stopped confiding in them.
But they had failed emphatically at creating a home environment that was safe for me—a place filled with warmth, physical affection and unconditional support. (p. 106)
A person with his own lens of the world
Never did they just tell me they loved me, or that they were proud of me. (p. 116)
Despite all of the bumps and bruises that we had been through since, a part of me had always held on to the hope that we would find our way—that my parents would one day sweep me into a deep, powerful embrace that would mend the holes in my heart and melt away all of my doubts and anxieties. But that fantasy was gone now, burnt to ash and replaced with the kind of darkness and rage that My Chemical Romance wrote songs about.
Home was not a place to go to feel comfortable and safe—it was a war zone where violence could break out at any second. (p120)
My parents would always deflect any compliments I received from their colleagues about my appearance. (p.122) 四肢發達
My mother was a constant instigator, as stubborn and unwilling to back down as I was, and ever so quick with her venomous words. (p. 124)
Although he definitely hit harder than my mom, my father’s physical violence paled in comparison to his skill in psychological warfare… He would frequently barge into my room to yell at me, sometimes six or seven times a night, as if to let me know that there was no hiding from him.
It seemed like there was no line my parents weren’t willing to cross. (p. 125)
The truth was that, deep down, there was actually nothing I wanted more than a true moment of reconciliation with him. But my father saw me showing a sliver of vulnerability, and then twisted the knife in the wound. (p.127)