I listened to them while I ate my breakfast，a young boy and a man，apparently father and son，on the other side of the wall in the smokingsection of the restaurant．The boy’S voice seemed small and quiet，in thatawkward range between childhood and puberty．The man’s voiceboomed abnormally loud in contrast．
The man had done nothing during all that time but denigrate hisson，belittling him for wanting tO lift weights，for wanting to read his fa—ther’S newspaper，for every thing he did and said．“Jerk，”I thought，then was overwhelmed by a wash of pity for the boy，always seeking andnever winning his father’S approval．Couldn’t this man see what he wasdoing tO his son？
“I think I can do it，”the boy mumbled in that dull，beaten—downtone．I could visualize him，looking down at the table，maybe blushing．His father laughed，cruelly it seemed to me．It was a laugh that told methat he had no confidence in his son’S abilities as clearly as any wordscould have．
“You ain’t smart enough，”he told the boy disparagingly，and therewas another peal of mocking laughter．
1 wondered then what kind of Ufe that boy would have．He must al—ready have suffered enough disapproval for a li~time．With SO consistenta message that he was a failure，how could he ever be expected to SUC—ceed？
On an aflemoon with nothing but sports on television，my mom andI had watched a documentary on one of the first students who’d shot up a high school，killing his parents beforehand．The documentary pointed out that he had consistently failed at everything he’d tried．but despite his shortcomings his parents had been unflaggingly supportive．He’d simply snapped when he lost his girlfriend，broken under the weight of his fail—ures．In his own words．“1 was tired of letting everyone down．”
If that kid，from a loving，nurturing family could go berserk，what should we expect from boys like the one in the next room，constantly be—littled by his father？
The boy said something else in a low voice．I couldn’t distinguishthe words，but his father began that cruel laughter again，saying“You’11 never make it”．
It made me angry，and I felt a flesh wave of some other emotion I couldn’t easily identify．1 wanted to confront the father，to tell him to give his son a chance，that the boy couldn’t help but fail when all he heard was that he already had．1 wanted to tell him tO give his son some hope，to give him some possibility of pleasing his father．
But in our society，people don’t do that．We mind our own business unless it gets bloody．Nobody says anything until a~agedy strikes．Then we alI crowd in front of the camera to tell the world we’d seen it coming．
By the time I’d finished my breakfast，1 was so depressed 1 wanted to youngsters，we recognize when our parents have treated us un— fairly．We VOW never to make the same mistakes with our children．Yet every one ofUS，when grown with children ofour own can at one time or another identifies our parents’voices emanating from our mouths．We become what we knOW．
This boy was doomed to relate to his children in the same abusive way his father was relating to him．I left money on the table for the bill and the tip，gathered my things and moved to leave through the main res—taurant．I could have should have，probably left through the side door，which was much closer．But it was important to me to see this boy，this father．When I reached the doorway，I made a show of putting op jacket on and zipping it up，taking the time to look around the room for the pair I sought．Then I heard the laugh again．
He was an older man，pudgy and bald，dressed in what appeared to be a mechanic’S uniform．The boy must have been thi~een or so，tall for his age and very thin，wearing glasses and slumped in his seat．
To my surprise，the father had his arnl around his son’S shoulder，and in contradiction to the harshness of his laugh，he smiled at the boy．His son smiled up at him self—deprecatingly．The love between them was obvious．。？
My depression lifted，and I smiled at them when they looked up at me．This boy would be fine，and when he had a son of his own，they’d joke with each other some Saturday morning，having breakfast before he had to go to work，in exactly this same way．It would be a good morning’for both of them．
apparently adv．显然地
pube~y n．青春期；开花期；妙龄
abnormally adv．反常地；不规则地
overwhelm v．战胜；压倒；征服；覆盖
disparagingly adv．以贬抑的口吻
disapproval n．不赞成
consistently adv．一贯地；固守地
distinguish v．区别；辨认出；识别；把……区别分类；区别；辨别；识别
tragedy n．悲剧，悲惨，惨案
doorway n．门口
depression n．不景气，沮丧，消沉
父亲和儿子
在饭店吃早餐时，我听到隔壁吸烟室传来的谈话，是一个年幼的男孩和一个男人的声音，他们显然是父子。男孩的声音又小又轻，听起来是那种刚进入青春发育期的毛头小伙噪音，相比之下那个男人的嗓门显得又粗又响。
男人一直在责骂儿子，无论是孩子想要练举重，还是要读父亲的报纸，孩子要做的每一件事，都会招致男人的讥讽。“愚蠢极了，”我独自想着，心里对那男孩产生了一股怜悯之情，他一次次尝试，想得到父亲的赞赏，但总是失败，这个男人难道不明白他对儿子做了什么吗？
“我想我能做到。”男孩嘟囔着说，声调阴郁，好像受过打击的样子。我可以设想他的样子，低着头，眼睛看着桌子，也许还红着脸。他的父亲大笑起来，在我听来这简直是近乎残忍的笑。这种笑在暗示说，他对儿子的能力没有任何信心，这是不言而喻的。
“你不够聪明。”他轻蔑地告诉男孩，接着又是一阵讥笑。
我真不知道男孩过的是一种什么日子，他一定饱受指责，一次又一次地说他是个失败者，还怎么能指望他成功呢？
有一天下午，电视里播放的都是体育节目，于是母亲和我一起看了一部纪录片，讲述一名中学生，在枪杀了父母后，又在学校开枪杀害同学。纪录片指出，无论他做什么，都一直遭遇失败。但尽管他有这些缺点，他的父母还是一如既往地支持他。在失去女友后，这一系列的失败导致了他最后的崩溃。他自己说：“我一直让别人失望，我已经厌倦了。” 假如那位出生于充满爱心、有良好教育家庭的孩子都会一时冲动做出傻事，那么像隔壁那样总是被父亲轻视的男孩，又能指望他做出什么事来呢？
男孩又在轻声说着别的事，我听不清楚他在说什么，但他的父亲又开始残忍地大笑起来，说：“你永远不可能做到的。”
我非常气愤，有一种说不清的感觉。我想告诉这位父亲，请他给他儿子一个机会，他的儿子听了那么多泄气的话，是注定要失败的。我要请他给他儿子一些希望，给他机会来让父亲高兴高兴。
但在我们这样的社会里，人们不会这么做。如果没有流血事件发生，我们是不会去管别人的闲事的。没有入会站出来说话的，除非发生了悲剧，这时我们才会挤到摄像机前告诉全世界，我们看到了悲剧的发生。
我吃完了早餐后，情绪变得非常恶劣，很想大哭～场。年轻时，我们能够认识到父母对我们不公正的对待，我们发誓不会再对下一代犯同样的错误。然而，我们每个人在对待自己孩子时，却总会时不时地说出当年父母所说过的话。我们成了我们所不愿成为的那类人。
那个男孩注定会用他父亲对待他的方式来对待他的孩子。我把餐费连同小费一起放在桌上，拿了自己的东西，准备从饭店的大门处离开。我也可以从边门离开，而且那门离我近多了，但我要看看这个男孩和他的父亲，这对我来说很重要。我故意走到大门口才穿起外套，拉上拉链，这样我就可以有时间观察整个房间来寻找这对父子。这时，我又听到一阵大笑声。
他是一个上了年纪的人，矮矮胖胖，秃着头，穿着一身机修工的制服。男孩十二三岁左右，比同龄人高一些，非常瘦，戴着一副眼镜，蔫头蔫脑地坐在座位上。
让我感到意外的是，这个父亲手臂搭着儿子的肩膀，与刚才刺耳的大笑声不同的是，他微笑着看着男孩，他的儿子也自我挑战似的微笑着抬头看着他，很明显，彼此充满了爱意。这对父子抬头看着我时，我恶劣的情绪顿时烟消云散，我也微笑着看着他们。男孩会很好的，当他有了自己的孩子时，他们也会在某个星期六的早上互相取笑，上班前共享早餐；就像现在这样。对他们俩来说，那将会是一个美好的早晨。
名人名言A man can do no more than he can．凡事都应量力而行。
