English Original
Before they closed my father's casket, I left him with a gift. After all he had given me, it was the least and best I could do. He passed away the day I got my 1,000th career hit, in the final game of the 2002 season, so at his side I left the ball from my milestone.
Besides the surreal and horrifying last moment of seeing him lying in permanent stasis, it was also the first time I could remember giving him a special game ball without him slipping a $10 bill into my hands to congratulate me. His illness kept him out of whatever stadium I was playing in during the latter years of my career, though that didn't stop him from patting me on the back from afar with a phone call or by what I could best describe as a "spiritual moment," one when I would feel him sitting on my shoulder advising me while referencing a page out of his psychiatric repertoire.
I left baseball in 2005, with a Triple-A contract on the table from the San Diego Padres. I left not for physical reasons — I'd had a torn hamstring tendon in 2003, but it hadn't affected my speed — but because it was my season for change. So I decided to walk away and once I did, like the vast majority of players, I was lost. It would be the first time since I learned to swing a bat that I would spend an entire summer without ever putting on a uniform. Even if you get a going-away party like the one the Phillies gave me on June 25th, 2005, when I threw out the first pitch of the Philadelphia-Boston game on a national TV, once the last partygoer walks out the door it's no longer you against that fastball, it is you against yourself.
So you swim around trying to figure out what young, retired baseball players do with their lives. For me, the moment was stark without the guiding wisdom of my father, who could communicate with me with just a nod of his head.
Since my retirement, I have searched for the next passion that could fill the void that a life playing baseball creates when you are no longer putting on those spikes. It is a daunting journey, and many players never find that closure or that next love. But they keep looking, even if other parts of their lives are crumbling behind them. Maybe that was part of the problem: searching. I found myself agreeing when I heard John Locke, the main character on "Lost," say, "I found it just like you find anything else, I stopped looking."
Of course my father could never be replaced, though that didn't stop me from trying to find ways to preserve his legacy, his worldview and his work. He was a practicing psychiatrist, but his passion was writing. He left behind a body of poetry that guides me now that I can't ask him how he handled his sons when we wanted to sleep in our parents' bed, or what the best course of action would be in dealing with a difficult business partner, or a racist coach.
I have always remembered those moments when my father would be spontaneously inspired to write a poem. He would just walk off and lock in, pen to paper. He could turn his already phenomenal vocabulary into music. When I found out that he started writing poetry at age 7, I was amazed. Outside of the original collection of poetry I have, he left behind two books he published on his own.
I didn't stay lost forever. I found something that I wasn't looking for: a voice through writing. Only later did I understand that this would be a bridge to understanding my father in another way. A way that led me to connect to a passion I didn't realize we both shared.
Writing introduced me to people who were otherwise strangers and made them guests at my table. Words can appear to be part of a one-way mirror, but they are in fact surprisingly reciprocal — a dynamic I'm reminded of when I call upon my father through his poetry. In this way, my father stays with me. I can preserve his inspiring legacy more powerfully through writing than through the hummingbird pendant I wear around my neck to honor his homeland of Trinidad, or a picture or heirloom.
After my first column, I went as a guest to a friend's church in Chicago. In the foyer, a woman who also knew our host was waiting. She asked me whether I had written that opinion piece on fear, steroids and baseball. I told her I had. She proceeded to tell me that she taught journalism at Northwestern and that she thought it was the quintessential opinion piece. I had already known that for me writing was passion and even therapy, but now I also thought that maybe I'd found my next profession.
Thankfully, I always knew my father was proud of me — before the major league debut, before the Ivy-league degree that was unfathomable to a generation of people who had only recently earned the right to vote. But despite living the dream of so many Americans and reaching its highest level, I have no doubt that he would be even prouder of what I am doing with my words. Words that I can leave for my son to read...one day.
中文翻译
在合上父亲的棺木前，我留给他一份礼物。毕竟他给予了我那么多，这是我能做的最起码也是最好的事。他在我取得职业生涯第1000个安打那天去世，那是2002赛季的最后一场比赛，所以我在他身边留下了那个具有里程碑意义的球。
除了看到他永远安息时那超现实且令人心碎的最后时刻，这也是我记得的第一次，给他一个特别的比赛用球，而他没有往我手里塞10美元钞票来祝贺我。晚年，他的疾病让他无法亲临我比赛的任何一座球场，但这并未阻止他从远方通过电话，或是我能最好地描述为“精神时刻”的方式给我鼓励——在那些时刻，我感觉他坐在我的肩头，引用他精神病学知识库中的一页来给我建议。
我于2005年离开了棒球界，当时圣地亚哥教士队提供了一份3A合同。我离开并非因为身体原因——2003年我腿筋肌腱撕裂，但并未影响我的速度——而是因为那是我需要改变的季节。所以我决定离开，而一旦离开，就像绝大多数球员一样，我迷失了。那将是我学会挥棒以来，第一次整个夏天都没有穿上队服。即使你有一个像费城人队在2005年6月25日为我举办的告别派对，当时我在全国电视上为费城对波士顿的比赛投出第一球，一旦最后一位宾客走出门，你面对的就不再是那个快球，而是你自己。
于是你四处游荡，试图弄清楚年轻、退役的棒球运动员该如何度过余生。对我来说，没有父亲那只需点头就能传达的智慧指引，这一刻显得格外茫然。
自从退役后，我一直在寻找下一个激情，以填补当你不再穿上钉鞋时，棒球生涯所留下的空虚。这是一段令人生畏的旅程，许多球员从未找到那种终结感或下一份热爱。但他们仍在寻找，即使生活的其他部分在他们身后崩塌。也许问题的一部分就在于：寻找。当我听到《迷失》中的主角约翰·洛克说“我找到它就像你找到其他任何东西一样，我停止了寻找”时，我发现自己深表赞同。
当然，我的父亲永远无法被取代，但这并未阻止我尝试寻找方法来保存他的遗产、他的世界观和他的工作。他是一名执业精神科医生，但他的热情在于写作。他留下了一批诗歌，如今指引着我，因为我已无法问他，当我们想睡在父母床上时他是如何应对儿子的，或者处理一个难缠的商业伙伴或一个种族主义教练的最佳行动方案是什么。
我一直记得那些父亲会突然灵感迸发写诗的时刻。他会走开，沉浸其中，笔落纸上。他能将他本就惊人的词汇化作音乐。当我发现他从7岁就开始写诗时，我感到惊讶。除了我拥有的原始诗集，他还留下了两本他自己出版的书。
我并未永远迷失。我找到了我未曾寻找的东西：通过写作发出的声音。直到后来我才明白，这将是一座桥梁，让我以另一种方式理解我的父亲。这种方式让我连接到一个我未曾意识到我们共同拥有的激情。
写作将我介绍给原本陌生的人，并使他们成为我餐桌上的客人。文字可能看起来像是单向镜的一部分，但实际上它们惊人地具有互动性——当我通过他的诗歌呼唤父亲时，这种动态让我想起。通过这种方式，父亲与我同在。通过写作，我能比通过佩戴在脖子上纪念他祖国特立尼达的蜂鸟吊坠，或一张照片、一件传家宝，更强大地保存他鼓舞人心的遗产。
在我的第一篇专栏文章之后，我作为客人去了芝加哥一位朋友的教堂。在门厅，一位也认识我们主人的女士正在等待。她问我是否写了那篇关于恐惧、类固醇和棒球的评论文章。我告诉她是我写的。她接着告诉我，她在西北大学教授新闻学，并认为那是典型的评论文章。我已经知道写作对我来说是激情甚至是疗愈，但现在我也认为，也许我找到了我的下一个职业。
值得庆幸的是，我一直知道父亲为我感到骄傲——在我的大联盟首秀之前，在我获得那对刚刚获得投票权的一代人来说难以想象的常春藤盟校学位之前。但尽管实现了许多美国人的梦想并达到了其最高水平，我毫不怀疑，他会对我现在用文字所做的事情感到更加自豪。这些文字，我可以留给我的儿子……在未来的某一天阅读。