English Original
"But what if I break my arm again?" My five-year-old daughter asked, her lower lip trembling. I knelt, holding onto her bike, and looked her right in the eyes. I knew how much she wanted to learn to ride. How often she felt left out when her friends pedaled by our house. Yet ever since she'd fallen off her bike and broken her arm, she'd been afraid.
"Oh honey," I said. "I don't think you'll break another arm."
"But I could, couldn't I?"
"Yes," I admitted, and found myself struggling for the right thing to say. At times like this, I wished I had a partner to turn to. Someone who might help find the right words to make my little girl's problems disappear. But after a disastrous marriage and a painful divorce, I'd welcomed the hardships of being a single parent and had been adamant in telling anyone who tried to fix me up that I was terminally single.
"I don't think I want to ride," she said and got off her bike.
We walked away and sat down beside a tree.
"Don't you want to ride with your friends?" I asked.
"And I thought you were hoping to start riding your bike to school next year," I added.
"I was," she said, her voice almost a quiver.
"I know, hon," I said. "Most everything you do comes with risks. You could get a broken arm in a car wreck and then be afraid to ever ride in a car again. You could break your arm jumping rope. You could break your arm at gymnastics. Do you want to stop going to gymnastics?"
"No," she said. And with a determined spirit, she stood up and agreed to try again. I held on to the back of her bike until she found the courage to say, "Let's go!"
I spent the rest of the afternoon at the park watching a very brave little girl overcome a fear, and congratulating myself for being a self-sufficient single parent.
As we walked home, pushing the bike along the sidewalk, she asked me about a conversation she'd overheard me having with my mother the night before.
"Why were you and grandma arguing last night?"
My mother was one of the many people who constantly tried to fix me up. How many times had I told her "no" to meeting the Mr. Perfect she picked out for me. She just knew Steve was the man for me.
"It's nothing," I told her.
She shrugged. "Grandma said she just wanted you to find someone to love."
"What grandma wants is for some guy to break my heart again," I snapped, angry that my mother had said anything about this to my daughter.
"But Mom."
"You're too young to understand," I told her.
She was quiet for the next few minutes. Then she looked up and in a small voice gave me something to think about.
"So I guess love isn't like a broken arm."
Unable to answer, we walked the rest of the way in silence. When I got home, I called my mother and scolded her for talking about this to my daughter.
Steve was the man for me. We married less than a year later. It turned out mother and my daughter were right.
中文翻译
“可要是我又把胳膊摔断了怎么办？”我五岁的女儿问道，她的下嘴唇颤抖着。我跪下来，扶着她的自行车，直视着她的眼睛。我知道她多么想学会骑车。当她的朋友们骑着车从我们家门口经过时，她常常感到被冷落。但自从她从自行车上摔下来，摔断了胳膊后，她就一直很害怕。
“哦，亲爱的，”我说。“我觉得你不会再摔断另一只胳膊的。”
“但我有可能，不是吗？”
“是的，”我承认道，发现自己正在努力寻找合适的话来说。在这种时候，我真希望有个伴侣可以依靠。一个能帮我找到合适的话语，让我小女儿的问题消失的人。但经历了一场灾难性的婚姻和痛苦的离婚后，我欣然接受了作为单亲父母的艰辛，并固执地告诉任何试图给我介绍对象的人，我注定要单身。
“我觉得我不想骑了，”她说着从自行车上下来。
我们走开，在一棵树旁坐下。
“你不想和朋友们一起骑车吗？”我问。
“而且我以为你希望明年开始骑自行车上学呢，”我补充道。
“我是这么希望的，”她说，声音几乎在颤抖。
“我知道，宝贝，”我说。“你做的几乎所有事情都伴随着风险。你可能会在车祸中摔断胳膊，然后害怕再坐车。你可能会在跳绳时摔断胳膊。你可能会在体操课上摔断胳膊。你想停止去上体操课吗？”
“不，”她说。带着坚定的精神，她站起来同意再试一次。我扶着她的自行车后座，直到她鼓起勇气说：“我们走吧！”
我在公园里度过了那个下午剩下的时光，看着一个非常勇敢的小女孩克服恐惧，并为自己是一个自给自足的单亲父母而庆幸。
当我们推着自行车沿着人行道走回家时，她问起了前一天晚上她无意中听到的我和我母亲的对话。
“昨晚你和奶奶为什么吵架？”
我母亲是那些不断试图给我介绍对象的人之一。我已经拒绝了她多少次，不愿去见她为我挑选的“完美先生”。她就是认定史蒂夫是适合我的人。
“没什么，”我告诉她。
她耸耸肩。“奶奶说她只是希望你能找到一个人去爱。”
“奶奶想要的是让某个男人再次伤透我的心，”我厉声说道，对我母亲把这件事告诉我女儿感到愤怒。
“但是妈妈。”
“你还太小，不懂，”我告诉她。
接下来的几分钟她都很安静。然后她抬起头，用微弱的声音给了我一些值得思考的东西。
“所以我想，爱不像摔断胳膊。”
我无言以对，我们沉默地走完了剩下的路。回到家后，我打电话给我母亲，责备她把这件事告诉了我女儿。
史蒂夫确实是适合我的人。不到一年后我们就结婚了。事实证明，母亲和我的女儿是对的。