I felt triumphant！ I had scoreda beat on bureaucracy！ And I hadgone on the official records assomeone more distinguished andindispensable to mankind than “justanother mother”.
Motherhood...What a gloriouscareer！ Especially when theres a titleon the door.
Does this make grandmothers“Senior Research Associates inthe field of Child Developmentand Human Relations” and greatgrandmothers “Executive SeniorResearch Associates” ？ I think so！！！
I also think it makes Aunts“Associate Research Assistants”.
永远的情人节
当我还是孩子的时候，每当过传统节日享用精心准备的节日餐时，我们家总是在足球赛时间。在中场休息时，我父亲尽量聊些开心的事儿，并尽力多吃点东西。圣诞节时，他会找时间高兴地喝上一两杯，并做好蝶形领结。不过直到情人节，他才会真正神采飞扬起来的。
我不清楚这是因为他办公室的工作在二月份不那么紧张了，还是因为足球赛季结束了。可情人节这天，是父亲用来对在他生活中占有特别位置的人表示爱心的日子。这么多年，我天真地视他为我“最思念的人”。
他带给我的第一次美妙回忆，是在我六岁那年的情人节。接连几天我都忙着为我的同学准备情人节礼物。我们每个人都要装饰一个“信箱”，然后把它放在桌子上，这样其他人就可以投放贺卡了。这个箱子和里面的东西给我带来了一连串的回忆，苦乐参半：我进入了一个“人缘竞赛”的世界，收到的卡片显示了比赛结果，对于男朋友和女朋友的嘲弄，以及我对班里最聪慧男孩给我的贺卡的精心爱护。
那天早上，我在餐桌上发现了一张贺卡，在我的椅子上发现了一个包裹，用礼品包装纸包装。卡片上的签名是“爱你，爸爸”，礼物是一个镶着一片红色玻璃的戒指，上面的玻璃象征我的诞生石——红宝石。对一个六岁的孩子而言，红玻璃和红宝石之间几乎没区别。我还记得我当时自豪地戴着它，觉得世界上所有的卡片都比不上它。
当我长大一些后，父亲送我的礼物变成了心形的盒子，里面装着我最喜欢的巧克力和一张特别的签名，上面写着“爱你，爸爸”。在那些年，我的“谢谢”更多是一种敷衍的反应。卡片似乎没那么重要了，而且我理所当然地认为情人节会永远存在。那些在我的书桌上放个“信箱”的日子早已远去，我已经把我的希望和梦想都寄托在从“其他重要的人”那里收到贺卡和礼物上面，而“爱你，爸爸”
就似乎不那么重要了。
不知爸爸那时是否明白他已经被取代了，但他从未表现出来过。假如他察觉到我因没收到某些情人节礼物而失望，他就尽量营造出一种欢乐的气氛，多拥抱我一下或是设法让我这一天过得高兴一点。
终于，我的信箱有了一个地址，是乡下的，美国邮政局接管了先前亲手赠送糖果和贺卡的工作。在这十年间，爸爸寄给我的包裹从来不会晚——八年前的情人节父亲送给我的贺卡依然准时到达，只不过贺卡上的笔迹是我母亲的。
这张贺卡价格不贵，是为了给学校的某个项目筹款，小男孩挨家挨户去推销的那种一盒整套买的贺卡。这种贺卡你从前常常从祖母或年老的姑妈那里收到，但是这次却从去世没多久的父亲那儿收到了。它让你嗓子哽咽，眼含泪花，因为你清楚给你寄贺卡的人已没办法外出去买一个真正的情人节礼物了。
这张贺卡表明，从他那儿收到的情人节礼物，这是最后一次了。
这张贺卡的封面是一幅郁金香花的照片，里面是我母亲打印的“情人节快乐”，而下面，是歪歪扭扭难以辨认的字，写着“爱你，爸爸”。
现在，我把他最后一次送给我的这张贺卡保存在我的记事牌上。它提醒我父亲是多么特别、对我多么重要。这么多年，我才知道父亲以他慷慨的胸怀、朴素的理解和一生中向他的亲人表达祝福的能力，来传递着爱的传统。
这些事情永远都不会消失。我不会停止回忆他，他永远是我最想念的人。
My Forever Valentine
The traditional holidays in ourhouse when I was a child were spenttiming elaborate meals around footballgames. My father tried to makepleasant chitchat and eat as much ashe could during halftime. At Christmashe found time to have a cup or two ofholiday cheer and do his holly-shapedbow tie. But he didnt truly shine untilValentines Day.
I dont know whether it wasbecause work at the office slowedduring February or because the footballseason was over. But Valentines Daywas the time my father chose to showhis love for the special people in hislife. Over the years I fondly thought ofhim as my “Valentine Man”.
My first recollection of the magiche could bring to Valentines Day camewhen I was six. For several days I hadbeen cutting out valentines for myclassmates. Each of us was to decoratea “mailbox” and put it on our desk forothers to give us cards. That box andits contents ushered in a succession ofbittersweet memories of my entranceinto a world of popularity contestsmarked by the number of cardsreceived， the teasing about boyfriends/girlfriends and the tender care I gave tothe card from the cutest boy in class.
That morning at the breakfasttable I found a card and a gift-wrappedpackage at my chair. The card wassigned “Love， Dad”， and the gift wasa ring with a small piece of red glassto represent my birthstone， a ruby.
There is little difference between redglass and rubies to a child of six， andI remember wearing that ring with apride that all the cards in the worldcould not surpass.
As I grew older， the gifts gaveway to heart-shaped boxes filled withmy favorite chocolates and alwaysincluded a special card signed “Love，Dad”. In those years my “thank-you”
became more of a perfunctory response.
The cards seemed less important， andI took for granted the valentine thatwould always be there. Long past thedays of having a “mailbox” on my desk，I had placed my hopes and dreamsin receiving cards and gifts from“significant others” and “Love， Dad”
just didnt seem quite enough.
If my father knew then that hehad been replaced， he never let it show.
If he sensed any disappointment overvalentines that didnt arrive for me， hejust tried that much harder to create apositive atmosphere， giving me an extrahug and doing what he could to makemy day a little brighter.
My mailbox eventually had a ruraladdress， and the job of hand-deliveringcandy and cards was relegated to theU. S. Postal Service. Never in ten yearswas my fathers package late-nor wasit on the Valentines Day eight years agowhen I reached into the mailbox to finda card addressed to me in my mothershandwriting.
It was the kind of card that comesin an inexpensive assortment box soldby a child going door-to-door to try toearn money for a school project. It wasthe kind of card that you used to getfrom a grandmother or an aging auntor， in this case， a dying father. It wasthe kind of card that put a lump in yourthroat and tears in your eyes becauseyou knew the person no longer was ableto go out and buy a real valentine. It wasa card that signaled this would be thelast you receive from him.
The card had a photograph of tulipson the outside， and on the inside mymother had printed “Happy ValentinesDay”. Beneath it， scrawled in barelylegible handwriting， was “Love， Dad”.
His final card remains on mybulletin board today. Its a reminderof how special fathers can be and howimportant it had been to me over theyears to know that I had a father whocontinued a tradition of love witha generosity of spirit， simple acts ofunderstanding and an ability to expresshappiness over the people in his life.
Those things never die， nor doesthe memory of a man who never stoppedbeing my valentine.
母亲的礼物
我成长于一个小镇。从镇上小学到我家，只要步行10分钟。在那个时代，离现在不太久远，孩子们回家吃午餐时就会发现，他们的母亲一直在家等候着。
现在我一定会觉得这是一种奢望，但那时的我并不以为然。我认为母亲给她的孩子制作三明治，鉴赏手指画，检查他们的家庭作业，都是理所应当的事。我从未想过，像我母亲这样雄心勃勃、聪明伶俐的女人，在我出生之前有自己的事业，后来她又做了份工作，但在我上小学的那几年，她却几乎天天陪着我吃午饭。
我只知道，每当中午下课铃一响，我就气喘吁吁地朝家里跑去。母亲会站在楼梯的顶端，微笑地看着我，那神情表明，我是她心中唯一重要的。对此，我永远心存感激。
现在每当我听到一些声音，就会勾起我的回忆：母亲那把茶壶在水开时发出的尖叫声，洗衣机在地下室发出的隆隆声，还有我的那条狗下台阶欢迎我时脖子上牌照发出的撞击声。和母亲在一起的时间，根本没有现在充斥在我生活中那些事先排定的虚情假意的日程表。
