音乐会那天晚上，妈妈戴上了亮闪闪的耳环，精心打扮一番；爸爸也早早下班回家，穿上西装，系上领带，头上抹了瓦特里斯，油亮亮的。他们提前一个小时就准备好了，我们就坐在厅里，紧张地谈论着。我感觉到，上台演奏这首曲子是他们要实现的一个梦想。

At the theater nervousness overtook me as I realized how much I wanted to make my parents proud. Finally, it was my turn. I walked to the lone chair on stage and performed "Are You Lonesome Tonight?" without a mistake. The applause spilled out, with a few hands still clapping after others had stopped. I was lightheaded, glad my ordeal was over.
在剧场里，当我意识到我是多么想让父母感到骄傲时，我极为紧张。最后，终于轮到我了。我走向舞台中央的那张椅子，演奏了一曲“今晚你孤独吗？”，一个音符也没拉错。顿时，掌声四起，难以停息。我 头有点晕晕的，庆幸我的苦难终于结束。

After the concert Mom and Dad came backstage. The way they walked － heads high, faces flushed － I knew they were pleased. My mother gave me a big hug. Dad slipped an arm around me and held me close. "You were just great," he said. Then he shook my hand and was slow to let it go.
音乐会后，爸妈来到后台。他们走路的样子，昂着头，精神焕发--我知道他们很开心。妈妈紧紧地抱住我。爸爸伸出一只手臂，牢牢地搂住我：“你太棒了。”说完，他使劲地握着我的手，不愿松开。

As the years went by, the accordion drifted to the background of my life. Dad asked me to play at family occasions, but the lessons stopped. When I went to college, the accordion stayed behind in the hall closet next to my father's violin.
随着岁月的流逝，那架手风琴渐渐退至我生活的幕后。只有在家庭聚会上，爸爸还会让我拉上一曲。但是风琴课不再上了。我上大学时，那架手风琴放进厅里的壁橱，在爸爸的小提琴旁边。

A year after my graduation, my parents moved to a house in a nearby town. Dad, at 51, finally owned his own home. On moving day, I didn't have the heart to tell him that he could dispose of the accordion, so I brought it to my own home and put it in the attic.
大学毕业后一年，父母搬到附近城镇的一栋房子。爸爸在他五十一岁那年终于拥有了自己的家。搬家那天，我不忍 心告诉他，说他可以处理那架手风琴，于是我把它带回自己家，放在阁楼上。

There it remained, a dusty memory, until one afternoon several years later when my two children discovered it by accident. Scott thought it was a secret treasure; Holly thought a ghost lived inside. They were both right.
手风琴一直放在那里，成了尘封的记忆。直到几年后的一个下午，我的两个孩子偶然发现了它。斯科特认为这是一件秘密宝藏。霍莉则认为里面住着一个幽灵。他俩都对。

When I opened the case, they laughed and said, "Play it, play it." Reluctantly, I strapped on the accordion and played some simple songs. I was surprised my skills hadn't rusted away. Soon the kids were dancing in circles and giggling. Even my wife, Terri, was laughing and clapping to the beat. I was amazed at their unbridled glee.
我打开盒子时，他们笑了，叫道“拉一曲，拉一曲。”我不情愿地背上琴带，拉了几只简单的曲子。真没想到，我拉起来还是那么娴熟。很快，孩子们围成圈跳起来，咯咯地笑个不停。甚至连我妻子特丽也笑了，打着拍子。看着他们纵情欢笑，我感到惊异。

My father's words came back to me: "Someday you'll have the chance I never had, Then you'll understand." I finally knew what it meant to work hard and sacrifice for others. Dad had been right all along: the most precious gift is to touch the hearts of those you love. Later I phoned Dad to let him know that, at long last, I understood. Fumbling for the right words, I thanked him for the legacy it took almost 30 years to discover. "You're welcome," he said, his voice choked with emotion.
我的耳边回响起父亲说过的话：“有一天你会有我从未有过的机会，那时你会明白的。”我终于明白，去努力，去为别人作出牺牲意味着什么。爸爸始终是对的：最珍贵的礼物莫过于打动你所爱的人的心。后来，我给爸爸去电话，告诉他我终于懂了。我笨嘴拙舌地找寻合适的词语，为他给我的宝贵财富表示感谢，这财富我花了差不多三十年才发现。“不用谢，”他激动得说不出话来。