The journey of a woman's life
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我知道這是女兒的一塊心病，但寫出來，對她的情緒會有好處。當然五分鍾的腦風暴，是很難理清他對爸爸的感受的。難怪女兒不輕易下筆。但當我問她會寫爸爸嗎？女兒毫不猶豫的回答：當然要寫，而且是寫書。且在她電腦裏，我看到已有了梗概。 觸目得我驚心不已的是，在書目梗概的最後，女兒發自內心的呼喊道：
Dad, I miss you!
昨天去女兒學校與老師交談，幾乎每個老師都談起女兒的寫作能力，尤其英文老師與社會學老師，更是誇不絕口。英文老師讓我讀了一篇女兒的習作，隻讓我看了兩行，就說，你知道這孩子的文字是多麽的漂亮了。我隻記得頭兩句裏有臉，嘴，根本還沒反應過來，老師就合上了。臨走，老師還在講，這孩子寫過媽媽，弟弟，你們家的故事，真是打動人呐。我回答說，是啊，她是在用寫作抒發她的情感，排解內心的情緒。我自己也愛好寫作，所以我鼓勵她多寫，對她有幫助。老師還再三謝我這個媽媽，我才是要感激你們老師對她的培養呢。
回到家，如此一番對兒女大肆表揚，惹來女兒的熱烈反響。女兒說：媽，上次老師在全班念了我寫你的那篇，還說要見你呢。我說，這不今天就見了嘛。實際上，女兒那篇不是在寫我這個人，而是由我的名字，我的經曆，我的文化背景，而引起了她對美好的聯想。我又問，那你今天那篇什麽臉哪， 嘴哪的，是寫的什麽呀？ 女兒嫣然一笑：媽，那是老師要我們快速的寫篇對芒斯特爾的描寫，我一下就想起爸爸那會兒要離開我們的時候，那種固執，自私，忿懣，張狂的樣子，儼然就是一個芒斯特爾的寫照， 我沒提爸爸的名，但以他為原型。啊，原來這樣。
我知道，我的女兒，兒子，盡管受到了無比的傷害，但他們都與我一起走過來了。就像女兒希望的那樣，我也為世上所有為人父母的祈禱： 留給你的孩子一個美好的印象吧，即使做不了天使，但也不要像芒斯特爾。
Face carved into frank, protruding cheekbones. The selfish curves of a harsh mouth. Always reprimanding, spewing out the poison of a million condemnations. A wide, expansive forehead like the smooth surface of a mirror. The only thing he sees is his own reflection. A lithe, long body. Perfectly made to block out criticism and retorts like a stifling midday heat.
Thrust into the darkness of his desires. Falling through an infinity of hatred, anger and malice. Body permeated by uncontrollable loathing, hating so hard that it sucks out his energy from every pore in his body. Eyes dulled over by narcissism, heart stifled by the cold hand of Satan.
The rage running through his veins leads his hand to strike, his body to run, and his mind to reel with the raging storm in his own mind.
A puny boat thrashing about in the midst of the torment of Poseidon.
Stripped away of money, reverence, freedom and pride, there is only a little shard of something resembling a human left. It’s crouching in the corner, hiding its head in the cradle of its arms, naked and vulnerable to the sin threatening to consume it.
Waiting for redemption, but receiving none, it’s torn apart, piece by piece, until nothing remains.
Eyes mist over in red.
Claws sprout from long fingers.
Teeth molded into daggers.
Biting curses sound as echoing howls.
Skin-turned hair- dark as the eternal night all around him.
A living nightmare that he created.
Body carrying him away from his family, his entire life, from himself.
Now, inhuman.
Monster.
Those left behind pity rather than hate him. That poor, wretched soul. A blind animal searching for a way out of the dark- closed- windowless rooms of his own heart.
May he find peace one day.
謝謝你的品論，我隻希望我的兒女能健康的成長，其他一切都不重要了。
那時才是考驗阿
山口百惠好像就是這個故事
他的爸爸在他不足十歲的時候成了重罪犯在回不來了
他在他以後的回憶錄中寫出了我愛我的爸爸
然而現實使我們必須麵對 不太清楚孩子爸如何能成功的逃脫
法律的懲罰 但從我的經驗來說 孩子長大後 他們對爸爸的感覺是
至少會是淡漠的