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My fifteen-year-old son has just returned from abroad with rolls of exposed film and a hundred dollars in uncashed traveler's checks, and is asleep at the moment. Obviously, he postponed as much sleep as he could: when he walked in and we hugged, his electrical system suddenly switched off, and he headed directly for the bed, where I imagine he beat his old record of sixteen hours.
It was his first trip overseas, so weeks before it, Ipressed travel books on him, and a tape cassette(盒式磁带) of useful French phrases and advised him on clothing and other things.
During the trip, he called home three times: from London, Paris, and a village named Ullapool. Near Ullapool, he climbed a mountain in a rainstorm that almost blew him off. In the village, a man spoke to him in Gaelic, and, too polite to interrupt, my son listened to him for ten or fifteen minutes, trying to nod in the right places. The French he learned from the cassette didn't hold water in Paris. The French he talked to shrugged(耸肩) and walked on.
When my son called, I sat down at the kitchen table and leaned forward and hung on every word. When I interrupted him with a" Great!" or a" Really?" I knocked a little hole in his communication. So I just sat and listened. I have never listened to a telephone so attentively and with so much pleasure. It was wonderful to hear news from him that was so new to me. In my book, he was the first man to land on the moon, and I knew that I had no advice to give him and that what I had already given was probably not much help.
The unused checks are certainly evidence of that. Youth travels light. No suitcase, not much luggage and a slim expense account, and yet he went to the scene, and came back safely. I sit here amazed. The night when your child returns with dust on his shoes from a country you've never seen is a night you would gladly turn into a week.