我有很多年沒有去她的墓地了，不過最近我去了。她的墓地上長了一枝野花。我坐下來，看著在風中搖曳的鮮花，明白這就像“古怪精靈”的尾巴一樣，繞著圈搖擺。現在我明白了，這位特別的朋友將會一直陪伴著我。
你是我的陽光
My Father' s Shadow
琳達·欽·斯萊奇 / Linda Ching Sledge
My husband， Gary， and I were flying to Hawaii from New York City to show our five-month-old son， Timmy， to my parents for the first time. But what should have been a mission of joy filled me with apprehension. For five years I' d hardly spoken to my father. Loving but stern in the manner typical of Chinese fathers， he had made particular demands on me， and though we were very much alike， we' d grown very far apart.
When I became a teenager， my father held up my mother as a model of feminine behavior. But she was gregarious and social， while I preferred books to parties. He pressed me to mingle with his friends' children. I insisted on choosing my own companions. He assumed I' d follow in my mother' s footsteps and enroll in the local university to study teaching， and that I' d marry into one of the other long-established Chinese clans on the islands and settle down， as he and my mother had.
But I didn' t settle. As bullheaded as my father， I escaped to the University of California， where I fell in love with a haole， as we called Caucasians from the mainland. Gary had blue haole eyes and sandy haole hair. I announced that we were getting married—in Berkeley， not Hawaii. No huge， clamorous clan wedding for me. My parents came and met Gary just two days before our small， simple wedding. Afterward we moved to New York， as far from the islands as we could get without leaving American soil.
My father' s subsequent silence resonated with disapproval. He didn' t visit； neither did I. When my mother telephoned， he never asked to speak to me， and I never asked for him. We might have gone on like that， the habit of separation hardening into a permanent estrangement. Then Timmy was born， and I felt an unexpected tidal pull back to the islands.
On the long flight to Hawaii， memories of my childhood， when I was my father' s small shadow， came flooding back. I was three years old， running behind him as he walked between the banana trees in the plantation town where he taught high school. When I grew tired， he carried me on his shoulders. From there I could see forever. "You are my sunshine， my only sunshine， " he would sing."You make me happy when skies are gray." I laughed， taking his devotion as my due.
Now the prodigal daughter was returning with the firstborn of the next generation—a hazel-eyed， golden-skinned hapa haole（half-white） child who looked little like his Chinese ancestors. How would my father react？ If he disapproved of Timmy， as he had of me， the breach between us would be complete， I would never return.
The plane landed， and I gratefully placed a crying， hungry Timmy into my mother' s eager arms. Here was instant and unconditional acceptance of a child by his grandmother.
My father' s expression was passive and hard to read. He greeted us politely： "Good trip？" Then he peered cautiously at Timmy， who promptly began to shriek. My father stepped back in alarm. Did he find it unsettling that this squalling stranger might be his own flesh and blood？
After dinner at my parents' house， Gary and I retired to my old bedroom. My mother tucked Timmy into a borrowed crib in a room down the hall.
Four hours later mother instinct pulled me from sleep. This was the time Timmy usually woke for a bottle， but there were no cries of hunger， no fretful wails. Instead， I heard only the sweet， soft gurgle of baby laughter. I tiptoed down the hall.
In the living room， Timmy lay on a pillow on the floor in a circle of light， his plump， tiny fists and feet churning gleefully. He studied the face bent over him， an Asian face burned dark by the Hawaiian sun， with laugh wrinkles at the corners of the eyes. My father was giving Timmy a bottle， tickling his tummy and crooning softly， "You are my sunshine..."
I watched from the darkness， not wanting to break the spell， then crept back to my room. It was then I began to suspect that my father had wanted to mend the breach as much as I had. Awkward and proud， he hadn' t known how， and neither had I. Timmy became the bridge over which we could reach for each other.
For the rest of our stay， the tension slowly melted. My father and I didn' t discuss our rift directly. Thanks to Timmy， we didn' t need to. Having claimed his hapa haole grandson， my father no longer defined our family by uniform set of features. Curly-haired， hazel-eyed Timmy was loved for himself.
We returned to the islands the following summer. Timmy， now a toddler， splashed in the surf with his grandfather. The summer after that， they built a tree house out of scrap lumber and painted it blue.
So pleased was my father with his new grandfather status that he took early retirement when Timmy was four， to spend more time visiting his"New York family." My son and my father made a handsome pair as they walked together—the Chinese grandfather happily trailed by a different， bouncing shadow.
我和丈夫加裏要從紐約乘飛機去夏威夷的父母家，為的是讓五個月大的兒子蒂米與我們的父母見第一次麵。然而，這次本應快樂的旅行，卻讓我憂心忡忡。五年了，我幾乎沒有同父親講過話。中國父親典型的慈愛而又嚴厲的特性，使得父親對我的要求很苛刻。盡管我們父女性格很相像，但是我們還是變得越來越疏遠。
我十幾歲大的時候，父親就把母親樹立成我的女性行為典範。母親擅長社交，而我更喜歡讀書，而不是參加聚會。父親強製要求我與他朋友的孩子們打成一片，而我堅持要自己選擇自己的朋友。他設想著我能步母親的後塵，在當地的大學學習師範專業，之後與一位夏威夷群島上定居已久的某個華人家族的男子結婚，就像他和母親一樣。
但是，我並不安分。像父親一樣倔強的我逃到加利福尼亞大學去讀書，在那裏，我愛上了一個白人，也就是我們所說的外族人。加裏長著白人所特有的藍色眼睛和沙色頭發。我告訴父母，我們馬上就要在伯克利結婚了，而不是在夏威夷。我的婚禮並不盛大，也沒有眾多親友參加。在我們簡單而不盛大的婚禮舉行前兩天，父母過來與加裏見了個麵。後來，我們搬去紐約居住，在沒有離開美國這片土地的前提下，盡可能地遠離了父母。
父親用後來的沉默來表示他對我們婚事的不讚成。他沒有來看望過我，我也沒有去看望過他。母親給我打電話時，他也從來不要求同我講話，而我也從不叫他說話。也許，我們本該會這樣繼續下去的，對分開的習以為常延續成為一種永久的隔閡。可是，蒂米隨後出生了，我感覺到有一股莫名的衝動驅使著我要回到夏威夷。
在飛往夏威夷的漫長旅途中，兒時的記憶湧上心來。那時，我是跟在父親身後的小影子。三歲的時候，父親是移民小鎮的高中老師，我小跑著跟隨他穿過那裏的香蕉林。等我累了的時候，他就讓我騎在他的肩頭。在那裏，我看到了永恒。“你是我的陽光，是我唯一的陽光。”他這樣唱道，“天空陰沉的時候，你仍會讓我快樂。”我笑著，把他的愛視為理所當然。