我是在一个小镇上长大的，从镇上的小学校到我家， 只需步行10分钟。离当前不算太太久远的那个时代 ， 小学生可以回家吃午饭，而他们的母亲，则会老早在家等候着。

　　At the time, I did not consider this a luxury, although today it certainly would be. I took it for granted that mothers were the sandwich-makers, the finger-painting appreciators and the homework monitors. I never questioned that this ambitious, intelligent woman, who had had a career before I was born and would eventually return to a career, would spend almost every lunch hour throughout my elementary school years just with me.

　　这一切对如今的孩子来说，无疑是一种奢望了，可是那时的我，却并不以为然。 我觉得做母亲的给她的孩子制作三明治，鉴赏指画，检查他们的家庭作业，都是理所当然的事。我从来没有想过：像我母亲这样一个颇有抱负又很聪明的女人，在我降生之前，她有一份工作，而且后来她又谋了份差事，可是，在我上小学那几年，她却几乎天天陪着我吃午饭，一同打发午餐时的每一分钟。

　　I only knew that when the noon bell rang, I would race breathlessly home. My mother would be standing at the top of the stairs, smiling down at me with a look that suggested I was the only important thing she had on her mind. For this, I am forever grateful.

　　只记得，每当午时铃声一响，我就一口气地往家里跑。母亲总是站在门前台阶的最高层，笑盈盈地望着我--那神情分明表示：我便是母亲心目中唯一最重要的东西了。为此，我一辈子都要感谢我的母亲。

　　Some sounds bring it all back: the high-pitched squeal of my mother's teakettle, the rumble of the washing machine in the basement and the jangle of my dog's license tags as she bounded down the stairs to greet me. Our time together seemed devoid of the gerrymandered schedules that now pervade my life.