我的伤疤故事

By+Helise+Chen

“Every scar has a story，” people say. A glimpse of those blemishes in my legs will help you to refute this argument.1 I am prone to physical scars which actually offer me nothing to brag about， since most of them were left from mosquito bites.2 I believe， however， every hurt will leave a scar， a body scar or even worse， a soul scar.

With penitence and prayer for forgiveness， I hereby share my scar story.3 It is not a story of me， but a story about how I caused hurt， leaving a scar here， in my own heart and a scar there， in his heart.

“How dare you？ Im fed up with you doing this！”My anger finally burst out4 when my son refused to go to the painting classes for the third time that day， after I believed that I had talked him over his reluctance earlier. He responded with nothing but an attitude of rolling his eyes at me. And it was this unexplained， unanticipated bold spirit of defiance that escalated my fury and blurred my sober mind.5 To resume my authority， I played bitter sarcasm， “OK， if you wanna be a good-for-nothing， then move your butt back to bed for that useless sleep.”6 It turned out that my strategy was a total disaster. Seemingly， he took it willingly. I lost complete control of my temper. Bang！ Bang！ Bang！ I made a dart and spanked at him.7 “I pay for your food， your drink， your clothes and work hard every day to pay for the best education I can afford for you. This is how you pay me back？” I screamed at the top of my lungs8. Unexpectedly， he didnt cry or talk back to me. There was something like a scare and terror in his eyes. Shortly， he responded in silence with a strange look， a look of helplessness that I had never seen before. This wasnt the first time I had cried out the malicious9 screams and curses at him. He used to wail10 violently and beg me to pardon him. The innocence shining in his big round eyes would beat that hottempered monster in me away in the end. But this time…

“You are such a disgrace11. Bad boy！ Shame on you. I am sick of all of it！” I was doing another bombard12 of cries and curses when my elder sister came visiting us to check if we were okay. He jumped right out of bed as soon as he heard his aunt to welcome her， as if he hadnt noticed that I was bitterly angry. At the sight of the flare-up13 of tension between us， my sister offered him a trip to her place. When I used to be crotchety14， my son would always stay for me to cool down. But this offer， he took with a light heart and a relief. “Enough！ Get out of my house！ You are not my boy anymore！” My yelling had reached the farthest and I had mixed feelings.

They left， abandoning me in absolute solitude15. Physical exhaustion came upon me from nowhere， paralyzing16 my ability to do anything else. I had to throw myself to bed as the night fell. Into this darkness I sank， pulling my mind down to a state of activity.17 Was what he had done really an irritating case？ Negative. Had I ever given it a chance to listen to and understand him？ Negative. Did such a rage come solely from his misbehavior18？ Negative. My job， the endless demanding work， my family life， the monotonous house chores， my kid， his pious hope for my full companionship and my guilt of sacrificing the time with him for the illusive completion of work all framed a minefield， for the explosion of which， all that was needed was a fuse.19 I was a bad， terrible， horrible， awful， and evil mother. My son was the victim， I had to confess.

My sister phoned to inform me of the latest news about him. He declined an outdoor walk， a ride in the park， and even his favorite toys and games. “What do ya wanna do， my dear？” asked his aunt gently. Aimlessly moving alongside the walls around the room， he answered， “Nothing. I just wanna be alone.” My sister blamed me for such a premature20 reply from a 4-year-old boy. “Come. Correct your fault. Make up for his heartbroken loss.” My sister gave me the irresistible command.

Shame was upon an adult like me. I didnt have the courage to admit my own fault before a kid. When I saw him avoiding my presence the moment I stepped into his shelter， I felt hurt and frustrated. So I turned back and was about to leave when my son dashed to the front door in a sudden and grabbed my leg， holding me back hard with his two arms， pleading wildly for my mercy.21 “Mom， dont go. Mom， dont leave me. I wanna be your boy. Mom， please. Mom， please， I am your boy…” I could read the greatest sorrow and the most genuine innocence in his crying big round eyes. I stooped down， holding this tiny shivering creature tight in my arms， tears coursing down my face.22

For those who believe “Sticks and stones may break the bone， but words can never hurt anyone”， I have a piece of heartfelt23 advice. Do not ever try this most powerful weapon against the people you love. It is sharp enough to cut the deepest into a soul and bleed the most delicate part.24 I have tried， and caused hurt， leaving a scar here， in my own heart and a scar there， in my little boys heart.

1. blemish： 疤痕；refute： 驳斥，反驳。

2. 我很自然就会想到自己身上那些不值一提的疤痕，绝大部分都是被蚊子咬之后留下的。be prone （to）： 有……倾向的，易于……；brag： 吹嘘。

3. penitence： 忏悔，悔过；hereby：以此，特此。

4. burst out： 突然发出，爆发。

5. defiance： 违抗，蔑视；escalate：（使）变得更糟，（使）变得更严重；blur：（使）模糊，（使）看不清。

6. resume：（中断后）继续；bitter：尖刻的，讽刺的；sarcasm： 讽刺，挖苦；good-for-nothing： 无用的人，懒惰的人。

7. dart： 猛冲，飞奔；spank： 打（尤指小孩的）屁股。

8. at the top of ones lungs： 用某人最大的声音喊叫。

9. malicious： 恶意的，恶毒的。

10. wail： 恸哭，嚎啕大哭。

11. disgrace： 耻辱。

12. bombard： 连续攻击（某人或某物），这里作名词。

13. flare-up：（怒气或暴力行为的）突然发作。

14. crotchety： 脾气坏的，易怒的。

15. solitude： 独处，孤独。

16. paralyze： 使不能正常运作，使陷入瘫痪。

17. 我在黑暗中心情低落，各种想法在脑袋里不停地转着。

18. misbehavior： 不礼貌，冒犯。

19. 我的工作没完没了，费时费力；我的家庭生活沉闷单调，全是家务；我的孩子希望我寸步不离地陪伴他，但这却不可能实现；而我为了根本完不成的工作牺牲了亲子时间，感到万分愧疚，这一切都构成了一个雷区，只需要一個导火索，便会将我引爆。monotonous： 单调的，乏味的；pious hope： 不切实际的希望，空中楼阁；illusive： 虚假的，错觉的；minefield： 雷区；fuse：导火索。

20. premature： 不成熟的，仓促的。

21. dash： 猛冲，飞奔；plead： 恳求，请求。

22. stoop： 俯身，弯腰；course： v. 流淌，流动。

23. heartfelt： 衷心的，诚挚的。

24. 它锋利到足以刺伤内心最深处那最柔弱的地方，令人血流不止。delicate： 娇弱的，易受损的。