英语翻译My old man was the original Silver Lining Guy.As a teena

英语翻译
My old man was the original Silver Lining Guy.As a teenager I called him Opti the Mystic because of his crazy optimism and his imperturbable ability to see any crisis as "an opportunity for growth".For 30 years my father had been a senior representative for one of the world's largest firms.To Opti,hard work was a form of play because work involved solving probledms.This lift view fit the philosophy of his favorite game—golf.He first put a club in my hand when I was ten .I was in such a rush to be good that he would urge me to "relax and enjoy the round.The game ends far too soon."I didn't have a clue what he meant.Eventually when I grew up,golf became much more than a game between Dad and I.It acted as a means of seeing who this funny,oddball philosopher really was,and who I needed to become.Dad was pushing 80.But he always laughed off my concerns.Now the cancer came back.He had a month,two at most,he said,and merely asked me to save my strength for the golf course.We played a course near the English village of Freckleton.During World War II my father had served in an army on the outskirts of the village.A local told us,"There was quite a memorial service because of the bomber."I glanced at Dad."Do you know the bomber?"His complexion had turned pale."Yes.Come with me." I followed him to a burying ground at the rear of a church."How did these folks die "I asked."They weren't folks.They were children.Four and five—year—olds.Thirty—eight in all.One of our bombers crashed into the school."He shut his eyes."God,what a sight!I remember pulling away pieces of the plane,bricks and all these precious kids inside..."

My old man was the original Silver Lining Guy. As a teen-ager I dubbed him, not entirely kindly, Opti the Mystic because of his crazy optimism, his relentless good cheer and his imperturbable knack for seeing any problem or crisis as “an opportunity for growth.”
我老爸与众不同,能在黑暗中看见光明.我十多岁的时候,就不很礼貌地给他起了个绰号,叫“老乐天”,因为他那狂热的乐观,他那执着的快乐性格,以及他那视逆境为良机的沉稳本领.
For 30 years my father had been a senior rep for one of the world’s largest industrial publishing firms. He’d transformed a sleepy advertising backwater into a thriving multimillion-dollar territory. To Opti, hard work was a form of play because work involved solving problems. This life view fit the philosophy of his favorite game－golf－like a glove.
经过30年的奋斗,父亲已成为一家世界最大的工业印刷公司的高级代表.他把一个死气沉沉的广告公司变成朝气蓬勃盈利上百万美金的企业.对于“老乐天”来说,艰苦的工作就是娱乐,因为工作饱含着解决问题的快乐.这种人生观非常符合他信奉的最喜欢的运动——高尔夫哲学——像一只手套.
His first put a club in my hand when I was about ten. I threw a lot of tantrums in the upland hills of North Carolina, and clubs too. I was in such a rush to be good that he would urge me to “relax and enjoy the round. The game ends far too soon.” I didn’t have a clue what he meant.
他第一次把高尔夫球放在我手里的时候,我大约十岁.在北卡罗来纳州高原的山中,我一次次发脾气,一次次把球扔掉,我急于求成,老爸总是劝我“放松点,慢慢打,比赛结束得太快了.”我一点都不明白他的意思.
The real joy of play, he said, was in solving the unique riddle of each golf shot－ an unfair break, a horrendous lie in the rough. To him golf was also a character builder. For that reason, he was a stickler for the rules: you fixed dents in the green; you putted in turn; you congratulated an opponent on a good shot. He believed these courtesies were as essential to game as oxygen, but I suffocated under their constriction.
他说,高尔夫的真正乐趣,就在于如何解决每一杆球的独特谜团——不公平的犯规,球停在可怕的障碍区.于他,高尔夫还铸就了他的性格.因为这个原因,他严守规则：你把球击进了绿地上的球洞；该你推杆进球了；对手击出了个好球,你要由衷地祝贺.他坚信这些游戏的基本礼节,像氧气一样不可或缺,可我却被压抑得喘不过气来.
Eventually when I calmed down and grew up, golf became much more than a game between my old man and me. It acted as my personal entry hatch to my father’s cosmos－a mean of seeing who this funky, funny, oddball philosopher really was, and who I needed to become.
渐渐地,等我平静下来,也长大了,在我和老人之间,高尔夫就不仅仅是一场运动了.它已然成为我探索父亲广阔的内心宇宙的一道必经之门,他真是古怪风趣,言谈充满哲理,我正想成为他那样的智者.
The golf course became the place where we sorted things out. No topic was out of bounds: sex, women, God, career, money. We debated without rancor, found common ground, competed like crazy and took each other’s pocket change.
高尔夫球场是我们交流沟通的地方.在那里我们无话不谈：性、女人、上帝、事业、金钱.我们毫无敌意地争论,最终总能达成共识.父子俩用小钱打赌,竞争相当疯狂,不掏空对方口袋里的零钱决不罢休.
We played the day Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. We played the day before I got married and the day after my son was born. We played through the rain, the wind and the heat. We usually played late in the day, following our shadows in the last of the light.
在尼尔•阿姆斯特朗登上月球的那天,我们打了一场球.我结婚前的那天、儿子出生后的那天,我们也在打球.寒去暑来,风雨无阻.我们常在傍晚打球,直到夕阳的最后一抹余辉拉出我们长长的身影.
But now Dad was pushing 80, and he faced the unpleasant aftereffects of a radical colostomy and a prostatectomy. His knees were weak, his hearing was going and he had a deteriorating cataract. He never mentioned these problems. And if I did, he merely laughed off my concerns.
可是,如今老父年届80,遭遇过结肠完全造口术和前列腺切开术这些不愉快的经历.他的膝盖酸软,听力衰退,还患有日益严重的白内障.他从不把这些放在心上,如果我提及此事,他对我的关心只是一笑置之.
On a wet and cold October day we played at Pinehurst, N.C., one of Dad’s favorite courses. He topped balls and missed putts he could once have made with his eyes shut. At one point I was passing a steep bunker when I heard him sheepishly ask me for a hand up. I took his hand. It was trembling ever so slightly. My heart almost broke. On the drive home I said, “Let’s take the trip we always talked about.”
在十月的一个潮湿寒冷的早晨,我们在北卡罗来纳州的松树谷打球,那是父亲最喜爱的球场之一.他起杆击球,没有击中,而这在以前他闭着眼都能将球击进球洞.路经坡陡的沙洼时,我听到身后父亲难为情地要求我拉他一把,我抓住了他的手；父亲的手竟在微微颤抖,我几乎心碎.开车回家的路上,我说：“我们总是说出去旅行,那就去吧?”
The trip was to St. Andrews, Scotland, the Mecca of golf. We’d both been there before－I as a golf writer, Dad as a sergeant in the Eighth Army Air Force during World WarⅡ－but we hadn’t played there together.
此行的目的地是苏格兰的圣安德鲁,高尔夫运动的圣地.我们都去过那儿——我作为高尔夫记者,而父亲是二战美空军第八军的中士——但我们从未一起在那儿打过球.
Two weeks before we were to leave, he called. “I had some bleeding,” he said. The cancer had come hack, spreading throughout his pelvic region, his back and stomach. He had a month, two at most, he said.
我们出发前的两个星期,父亲打电话来.“我出了一点血.”他说.癌症复发了,扩散到他的骨盆、背部和胃部.他说,他只剩1个月了,最多不超过2个月.
“They can pump me full of poison and buy a few more weeks, but who the hell needs that?” He said he planned to let nature take its course. I told him I admired his courage. He told me to save my lung power for the golf course. “I’m planning to whip your tail at St. Andrews,” he said. “See you at the airport.” Opti the Mystic had spoken.
“他们要用毒药注满我的身体,花钱让我多活几个星期,可是,见鬼,谁需要那样?”他说他打算顺其自然.我告诉他我很佩服他的勇气.他要我保存好肺活量,都用在高尔夫球场上.“我要在圣安德鲁把你打得落花流水.”老乐天说,“机场见!”
We decided to play several courses in England before heading to St. Andrews. The first round would be at Royal Lytham, near the English village of Freckleton. For 13 months during World WarⅡ my father had served as an Army Air Force parachute inspector on the outskirts of the village. On his days off he played golf.
在出发去圣安德鲁之前,我们决定先在英格兰打几场球.第一场是在皇家莱瑟姆,在英国乡村弗雷克尔顿附近.因为二战期间,父亲任美国空军伞兵巡查官,在村庄的郊外驻扎了13个月.业余的时候他就打打高尔夫.
As we rolled into Freckleton, schoolchildren jostled along the side-walks. “We had kids just like hanging around the base,” my father said. “I took photos of a lot of them. We had one PX all covered with their pictures.”
当我们开车驶进弗雷克尔顿,上学的孩子们在路边推推搡搡地嬉闹.“当时也有许多孩子来我们基地溜达,”父亲说,“我给他们拍了很多照片,军营小卖部里挂满了他们的照片.”
On the course that day, Dad showed a discernible lilt in his step. I could picture him swinging a club in his staff sergeant’s uniform.
那天在球场,父亲的脚步明显迈出轻快韵律.我可以想象他身着中士军装在俱乐部里挥杆的飒爽英姿.
We sat down to rest on the grass at the tenth tee. “Our scores are awful,” I said.
我们在第十个球座草坪上坐下休息.“我们的得分太糟了.”我说.
“No matter. This is so delightful. Look at those birds.”
“没关系.我倒觉得玩得很痛快.快看那些鸟.”
I glanced up at several white birds darting over the peaked red rooftops. The moment really was delightful, proving, as someone once said, that golf is mostly about who you choose to play with.
我抬头看见几只白色的鸟儿从尖耸的红色屋顶俯冲下来.此情此景,真是温馨愉快.这正验证了有人曾说过的,高尔夫的乐趣很大程度上取决于你选择的玩伴.
During an exchange with some locals the next evening, a woman spoke of a recent D-Day reunion at the former base. “There was quiet a memorial service because of the bomber.” She said.
第二天傍晚,在与当地人交流中,一位妇人聊起了在前基地举行的二战盟军在法国北部的进攻纪念日.“由于那轰炸机,有许多值得回忆的纪念仪式.”
“What bomber?” I asked.
“什么轰炸机?”我问道.
“Why, the bomber that crashed,” she replied.
“怎么,你不知道那轰炸机的事?”她回答.
I glanced at Dad. “Do you know the bomber they’re talking about?”
我看了爸爸一眼.“你知道他们谈论的轰炸机吗?”
His complexion had turned pale. “Yes,” His voice was scarcely more than a whisper “Come with me.”
他脸色变得惨白.“是,我知道.”声音低得几乎听不见.“跟我来.”
We walked to a burying ground at the rear of a church in the center of the village. I followed him to a large polished granite cross. I read some of the names inscribed on the stone border surrounding the plot: Gillian and June Parkinson. George Preston. Michael Probert. Annie Harrington…
我们走进村子中心教堂后面的一片墓地.我跟随父亲来到一个磨光大理石的大十字架前,看到那块空地的墓碑上镌刻着几个名字：吉莉恩与琼•帕金森、乔治•普雷斯顿、迈克尔•普罗伯特、安妮•哈林顿……
Thirty-eight names in all. A mass grave.
总共38个名字.那么大的一片墓地.
“How did these folks die?” I asked.
“这些战士是怎么死的?”我问.
“They weren’t folks,” he replied. “They were children. Four-and five-year-olds. They went to school here at the church. One of our bombers crashed into the school.” He shut his eyes, and I wondered if he was praying or reliving scenes I couldn’t begin to imagine.
“他们不是战士,”他回答,“他们全都是孩子,才四、五岁大.他们来教堂上学.我们的一架轰炸机冲进了学校.”他闭上双眼,我不知道他是在祈祷,还是在重温那悲惨的一幕,难以想象的悲惨.
“It was about 10:30 in the morning I’d just stretched out on my cot to steal some shut-eye when I heard a big roar overhead followed by an explosion. I was one of the first to reach the school. God, what a sight. Burning fuel was running down the street. I remember pulling away pieces of the plane, bricks and mortar, and all these precious little kids inside, buried alive.”
“那是大约早上10：30,我刚刚打开行军床,准备偷偷睡一会儿,突然听到头顶一阵震耳的呼啸,紧接着就是爆炸.我是其中一个最早跑到学校的.天哪!那是一幅怎样的情景啊!燃烧着的汽油顺着街道流淌.我记得我们搬开飞机残骸、砖块和迫击炮,这才看到可爱的小孩子,被活活埋在了下面.”