儿子长大父亲变老的美文父亲儿子和我英语美文 My father still looks remarkably like I remember him when I was growing up: hair full, body trim, face tanned, eyes ’s different is his gentleness and had remembered neither as a boy, and I wondered which of us had son Matthew and I had flown to Arizona for a visit, and his 67-year-old grandfather was tuning up his guitar to play for the boy.“You know ‘Oh, Give Me a Home Where the Buffalo Roam’?” my father the while, four-year-old Matthew was bouncing on the couch, furtively strumming the guitar he wasn’t supposed to touch and talking father and I were once at great went through all the classic resentful and rebellious teen stuff: shouting matches, my weird friends, clothes and still vividly recall the revelation that finally came to me one day that I was not my father, and that I could stop trying to prove I wasn’ I was a boy, my father wasn’t around worked seven days a week as a even at work he was the task-master in were added up, and at night he dispensed punishment, though rarely beyond a threatening voice or a scolding believed that manhood required that I stand up to him, even if it meant day some friends and I buried our high school’s parking-lot barriers under the woodpile for the annual home-in
