English Original
As far back as I can remember, the large pickle jar sat on the floor beside the dresser in my parents' bedroom. When he got ready for bed, Dad would empty his pockets and toss his coins into the jar. As a small boy, I was always fascinated by the sounds the coins made. They landed with a merry jingle when the jar was almost empty, then the tones gradually muted to a dull thud as it filled up. I used to squat in front of the jar and admire the copper and silver circles that glinted like a pirate's treasure in the sunlight.
When the jar was filled, Dad would roll the coins and we'd take them to the bank in his old truck. Each time, he'd say hopefully, "Those coins are going to keep you out of the textile mill, son. You're going to do better than me." At the bank, he'd grin proudly and tell the cashier, "These are for my son's college fund."
We'd always celebrate each deposit with an ice cream cone. I always got chocolate; Dad always got vanilla. When he got his change, he'd show me the few coins in his palm. "When we get home, we'll start filling the jar again." He always let me drop the first coins into the empty jar. As they rattled with a happy jingle, we'd grin at each other. "You'll get to college on pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters," he'd say. "But you'll get there. I'll see to that."
The years passed. I finished college and took a job in another town. Once, visiting my parents, I noticed the pickle jar was gone from its spot beside the dresser. A lump rose in my throat. My dad was a man of few words who never lectured me on determination, perseverance, or faith. The pickle jar had taught me all these virtues far more eloquently than any words could have.
When I married, I told my wife Susan about the jar. To me, it defined how much my dad loved me. No matter how rough things got, Dad doggedly dropped his coins in. Even the summer he was laid off and we ate beans several times a week, not a single dime was taken from the jar. Instead, looking at me across the table, he became more determined. "When you finish college, son," he said, eyes glistening, "you'll never have to eat beans again unless you want to."
The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born, we visited my parents. After dinner, Susan took Jessica to my parents' bedroom to change her diaper. When she returned, there was a strange mist in her eyes. She took my hand and led me quietly into the bedroom.
"Look," she said softly, directing my gaze to the floor beside the dresser. To my amazement, there stood the old pickle jar, as if it had never been removed, its bottom already covered with coins.
I walked over, dug into my pocket, and pulled out a fistful of coins. With a gamut of emotions choking me, I dropped them into the jar. I looked up and saw Dad, carrying Jessica, had slipped quietly into the room. Our eyes locked. Neither one of us could speak.
中文翻译
从我记事起，那个大泡菜罐就放在父母卧室梳妆台旁的地板上。每晚准备睡觉前，父亲都会掏空口袋，把硬币扔进罐子里。小时候，我总是着迷于硬币落下的声音。罐子快空时，硬币落下会发出欢快的叮当声；随着罐子被填满，声音逐渐沉闷为一声闷响。我常蹲在罐子前，欣赏那些在阳光下像海盗宝藏一样闪闪发光的铜色和银色圆环。
罐子装满后，父亲会把硬币卷好，然后我们开着他的旧卡车去银行。每次路上，他都会充满希望地看着我说：“这些硬币会让你远离纺织厂，儿子。你会比我过得更好。”在银行，他会自豪地笑着告诉收银员：“这是我儿子的大学基金。”
每次存完钱，我们总会买个冰淇淋蛋筒庆祝。我总是要巧克力味的；父亲总是要香草味的。当他拿到找零时，会给我看他掌心里那几枚硬币。“等我们回家，就又开始装罐子了。”他总是让我把第一批硬币投进空罐子。听着硬币欢快的叮当声，我们会相视而笑。“你会靠这些一分、五分、一角和两角五分的硬币上大学的，”他说。“但你一定能上成。我会确保这一点。”
岁月流逝。我大学毕业，在另一个城市找到了工作。有一次回父母家，我注意到泡菜罐已从梳妆台旁消失了。我的喉咙一阵哽咽。父亲是个沉默寡言的人，从未对我讲过决心、毅力或信念的大道理。而这个泡菜罐，却比任何华丽的辞藻都更雄辩地教会了我所有这些美德。
结婚后，我把罐子的故事告诉了妻子苏珊。对我来说，它定义了父亲对我有多深的爱。无论家里多困难，父亲都坚持不懈地往罐子里投硬币。即使在他被解雇的那个夏天，我们一周得吃好几次豆子，罐子里的一分钱也没被动用过。相反，他看着餐桌对面的我，眼神更加坚定。“等你大学毕业，儿子，”他眼里闪着光说，“你就再也不用吃豆子了，除非你自己想吃。”
我们的女儿杰西卡出生后的第一个圣诞节，我们去看望父母。晚饭后，苏珊抱着杰西卡去父母卧室换尿布。她回来时，眼里有一层奇怪的雾气。她拉着我的手，悄悄把我带进了卧室。
“看，”她轻声说，把我的目光引向梳妆台旁的地板。令我惊讶的是，那个旧泡菜罐就立在那里，仿佛从未被移走过，罐底已经铺了一层硬币。
我走过去，把手伸进口袋，掏出一把硬币。百感交集，令我哽咽，我将硬币投进了罐子。我抬起头，看见父亲抱着杰西卡，已经悄悄走进了房间。我们的目光交汇了。我们俩都说不出话来。