求神仙保佑文书怎么写Suddenly,understanding flower is flour wasn’t enough. I rejected the English that hadnever seemed broken before, a language that had raised me and taught meeverything I knew. Everybody else’s parents spoke with accents smarting ofPh.D.s and university teaching positions. So why couldn’t mine?
Mymother spread her sunbaked hands and said, “This is where I came from,”spinning a tale with the English she had taught herself.
Whenmy mother moved from her village to a town in Malaysia, she had to learn abrand new language in middle school: English. In a time when humiliation wasencouraged, my mother was defenseless against the cruel words spewing from theteacher, who criticized her paper in front of the class. When she began to cry,the class president stood up and said, “That’s enough.”
“Belike that class president,” my mother said with tears in her eyes. The classpresident took her under her wing and patiently mended my mother’s strands oflanguage. “She stood up for the weak and used her words to fight back.”
Wewere both crying now. My mother asked me to teach her proper English so oldwhite ladies at Target wouldn’t laugh at her pronunciation. It has not beeneasy. There is a measure of guilt when I sew her letters together. Long vowels,double consonants — I am still learning myself. Sometimes I let the brokennessslide to spare her pride but perhaps I have hurt her more to spare mine.
Asmy mother’s vocabulary began to grow, I mended my own English. Throughperforming poetry in front of 3000 at my school’s Season Finale event,interviewing people from all walks of life, and writing stories for the stage,I stand against ignorance and become a voice for the homeless, the refugees,the ignored. With my words I fight against jeers pelted at an old Asian streetperformer on a New York subway. My mother’s eyes are reflected inunderprivileged ESL children who have so many stories to tell but do not knowhow. I fill them with words as they take needle and thread to make a tapestry.
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那就是死不足惜了