Sound of Home
Author: Unknown
The weather had been unusually warm for May in Brandon, Mississippi. My wife Pat and I were drinking a Sunday morning cup of coffee on our deck and watching thunderheads build rapidly into mountainous clouds on the southern horizon. There was barely any breeze, and the humidity was so thick you could almost roll it in your palms.
By the time we finished our second cup, the sky had turned black. Lightning danced across the horizon, accompanied by low, rumbling thunder. Only seconds after the first drops of rain had driven us inside, the phone rang. When Pat picked up the receiver, her face became the only bright spot in that gloomy day.
It was our son, David, an Army helicopter pilot. Three months earlier, he had earned his silver wings and begun a one-year assignment in South Korea, stationed near the demilitarized zone.
David made a valiant effort to sound cheerful, but we knew better from the tone of his voice. As a man who spent time during World War II on a minuscule South Pacific island, I recognized the symptoms of acute homesickness.
Gradually, the curative powers of conversation made us all feel better, until a booming clap of thunder shook the windows only inches from the phones Pat and I were using.
"What was that?" David asked, "It sounded like an explosion."
"Just thunder," Pat said, "It's been raining here all week."
There were several seconds of silence. "David," I asked, "are you still there?"
"I was thinking about what Mother said -'Just thunder.' Other than the two of you, do you know what I miss most of all -what many of the men say they miss? Thunder. We have rain, wind, snow and some violent storms, but it never thunders.
"Remember, Dad, when I was a boy?" he continued. "How the two of us would stretch out on the floor and listen to the thunder? How you'd laugh to keep me from being afraid?" "I remember," I said, trying to ignore the lump in my throat.
"I wish I were there now to listen with you," he said softly.
As soon as I hung up the phone, I got my tape recorder, my large umbrella and a wooden chair. "I'm going to record our son some thunder," I told Pat. "Bob, the neighbors will think you're crazy."
"David won't," I said, and went outside.
With lightning flickering across the sky like a fireworks display, I sat in the driving rain beneath my umbrella and recorded half an hour of the finest Mississippi thunder a lonesome man could ever want to hear. The next day I mailed the tape to David with a single line: "A special gift."
Three weeks later David called again. This time he was his old self. "Dad," he said, "you won't believe what I did last night. I invited some friends over to my quarters for a thunder party. When we heard the tape, we all reacted the same way. Instant silence, followed by a few minutes of sadness. But once we realized we were listening to the sounds of home, we felt better and enjoyed a great party, like we'd been relieved of a heavy burden. I can't tell you how much that tape meant to me," he continued. "I can make it now. Thanks, Dad! It really was a special gift."
It also became a special gift for Pat and me. For the next eight months, while David was in Korea, we found ourselves looking forward to thunderstorms. Rather than feeling depressed on gloomy days, we came to regard the storms as special. Each rumble seemed to tie us closer to a son so far from home.
And even though it thunders in Minnesota, where David is now instructing Army aviators, the gift of thunder has become a tradition for us. It lets us know that no matter where in the world we may be, we're linked together as a family.
美文：鄉音
作者：佚名 翻譯：佚名
在密西西比州的布蘭登，五月的天 氣異常悶熱。禮拜天的早上，我和妻子帕特坐在露天平台上，一邊悠閑地品著咖啡，一邊看著南邊地平線上正迅速堆積成雲山的雷雨雲砧。沒有一絲風，空氣潮濕得幾乎可以把它放在掌心滾搓。
喝完第二杯咖啡時，天開始黑起來。閃電劃過天邊，伴著低沉的隆隆雷聲。雨下了起來，我們隻好回到屋裏。剛進屋，電話鈴響了。帕特拿起話筒，她燦爛的笑臉成了陰沉天氣裏惟一的亮點。
電話是我們的兒子大衛打來的，他是一名軍用直升機駕駛員。三個月前他獲得了銀色空軍飛行胸章，隨後被派往韓國，駐紮在非軍事區附近，為期一年。
大衛拚命想顯得很快活，但從他的聲音，我們聽出可不是這麽回事。 作為一個二戰期間曾在南太平洋小島上服過役的老兵，我聽得出他非常想家。
談話就像一劑良藥，漸漸地，我們都覺得好受些了。突然，一聲霹靂把電話機近旁的窗戶震得嘩嘩作響。
“什麽聲音？”大衛問，“像是爆炸聲。”
“是雷聲，”帕特說，“咱們這兒一禮拜都在下雨。”
那邊一陣沉默。“大衛，”我問道，“你在那兒聽嗎？”
“我在想媽媽剛才說的話——‘是雷聲’。除了您和媽媽，你知道我最想念什麽？——這兒的許多軍人最想念什麽嗎？雷聲。這裏有雨、風、雪，有時還有猛烈的暴風雨，可就是從不打雷。”
“還記得我小時候的事嗎，爸爸？咱倆攤開手腳、躺在地板上聽雷聲？為了不讓我害怕，你還會哈哈大笑。”他接著說。
“記得，”我說，盡量克製住嗓子裏的哽咽。
“我多麽希望現在能和你們一起聽雷聲啊。”他輕輕地說。
一掛上電話，我就拿起錄音機、一把大傘和一張木椅，對帕特說，“我去給兒子錄些雷聲。”
“鮑勃，鄰居們會覺得你瘋了。”
“大衛不會。”我邊說邊向外走去。
閃電像煙花一樣在天際忽隱忽現。傾盆大雨中，我坐在傘下，把寂寞的人最想聽的最動聽的密西西比雷聲錄了下來，整整半個小時。第二天，我把磁帶寄給了大衛，上麵隻寫著一行字：“特別的禮物”。
三個星期後，大衛又打來電話。這次他恢複到了從前的樣子。他說：“爸爸，你肯定沒法相信，我昨天晚上做了什麽。我請了一些戰友到我的營房，舉行了一個雷聲晚會。聽到磁帶後我們的反應都一樣，大家一下子安靜了下來，接著難過了一陣子。但當我們意識到這是來自家鄉的聲音時，就好受多了。這場晚會棒極了，我們好像從重負下解脫出來一樣。你不知道，這盤磁帶對我有多重要。”他接著說。“我現在挺過來了，謝謝你，爸爸！這真是件特別的禮物。”
對我和帕特而言，這同樣也是件特別的禮物。大衛在韓國剩下的8個月裏，我們發現自己總是盼望著雷暴的出現。在那些陰沉的日子裏，我們不再感到壓抑沮喪，而是把暴風雨視作一件有特殊意義的東西。每一陣隆隆的雷聲都似乎把我們和遠在他鄉的兒子拉近了一些。
大衛現在已經在明尼蘇達州擔任軍隊飛行教練。雖然那裏也有雷聲，但是把家鄉的雷聲作為禮物寄給他，已成了我們的傳統。它讓我們明白，無論身處何方，我們永遠是心身相係的一家人。 
林貝卡 2010年8月22日 夏 於美國
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It is a very special and touching gift, isn't it?
家鄉的雷聲，恰如鄉音．
http://blog.wenxuecity.com/blogview.php?date=201107&postID=7393
John Denver
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Henry John Deutschendorf, Jr. (December 31, 1943 – October 12, 1997), known professionally as John Denver, was an American singer/songwriter, activist, and humanitarian. After growing up in numerous locations with his military family, Denver began his music career in folk music groups in the late 1960s. His signature songs include "Take Me Home, Country Roads", "Rocky Mountain High", "Annie's Song" and "Calypso". Denver was one of the most popular acoustic artists of the 1970s. His renown in the state of Colorado, which he sang about numerous times and where he lived in Aspen, influenced the governor to name him Poet Laureate of the state in 1974, and for the state legislature to adopt "Rocky Mountain High" as one of its state songs in 2007.