陶會利

Each summer in the late 1960s， my two sisters and I would ride the Greyhound bus from Arizona to Arkansas to stay with our father.

As a World War II veteran， Dad had many medical problems， any one of which could cause many people to lose more than their sense of humor， but not him.

I have vivid memories of Dad waking us up in the morning. Before he'd put on his legs for the day （he had lost his legs after his discharge）， his wheelchair was his mobility.

Holding his cane， which was his extended arm， he would roll through the house， yelling， “Up， up， up！ It's a beautiful day！ Rise and Shine！” If we didn't get up right away， he would repeat his song in rhythm with his cane hitting the end of our beds. This was no performance put on for our benefit; every day was truly a beautiful day to him.

Back in the sixties， there was no handicapped parking or wheelchair-accessible ramps like there are now， so even a trip to the grocery store was a difficult task. Dad wanted no assistance from anyone. He would climb stairs slowly but surely， whistling all the way. As a teenager， I found this embarrassing， but if Dad notice， he didn't let me help.

Those summers always ended too soon. He would dive us back to Arizona every year， stopping at the checkpoint for fruit and vegetables at the New Mexico-Arizona border. When asked if he had any fruits or vegetables， he would reply， “Just three sweet peas.”

Our father has been gone for a long time now， but not the lesson that he taught us： You are only as handicapped as you let yourself be.

二十世紀六十年代末的時候，每年夏天我和我的兩個姐妹都會乘坐從亞利桑那州到阿肯色州的“灰狗”長途汽車，去和爸爸住一段時間。

爸爸是二戰(zhàn)的退伍老兵，患有很多疾病。這些病中的任何一種都會讓人失去幽默感，但是爸爸卻沒有。

爸爸早上叫我們起床的情景至今還歷歷在目。在他戴上義肢之前（在開炮的時候，他失去了雙腿），輪椅就是他的移動工具。

他拄著拐杖——那是他胳膊的延伸，在房間里走來走去，喊著：“起床了，起床了，起床了！新的一天開始了！今天真美好！快起來曬太陽吧！”如果我們沒有立馬起床，他就會重復著他的歌，合著拐杖敲打我們床尾的節(jié)拍。這不是為我們而進行的表演，對于爸爸來說每一天真地都是美好的。

六十年代的時候，沒有像現(xiàn)在這樣的殘疾人停車場或者是可以讓輪椅通過的坡道，因此，即使是去雜貨店也是件非常麻煩的事。爸爸不想接受任何人的幫助，他會自己慢慢地但是穩(wěn)穩(wěn)當當?shù)嘏郎吓_階，還一邊吹著口哨。當時我是個10多歲的孩子，對這件事我覺得有些尷尬。但是即使爸爸注意到我的尷尬，他也不會讓我?guī)兔Α?/p>

那年夏天總是很快就結束了。爸爸每年都會把我們送回亞利桑那州。我們會在新墨西哥州和亞利桑那州的交界處的水果和蔬菜檢查站停下來接受檢車。當被問到攜帶了什么水果和蔬菜的時候，他總是回答：“只有三顆甜豌豆?！?/p>

爸爸至今已經(jīng)過世好久了，但是他教給我們的道理依然牢記在我們心中：只有你把自己當成殘疾人的時候，你才是殘疾人。