老媽玩推特以后

原以為隔著半個地球的距離，我和母親的關(guān)系只能越來越疏遠，卻沒想到老媽玩上了推特。于是，一切就此改變……

When my mom started following me on Twitter， I felt a bit like a teenager who couldn’t get any privacy. After I tweeted a friend to say that his brother was unusually handsome， she chimed in1)， writing， “Ooooo， he *is* cute.”

I deleted the tweet and kept it strictly professional after that.

But the change she made recently to her profile was even more jarring2). She added one word， putting it right at the beginning of her self-description:

Artist.

I knew that my mom had gone to art school when she was young. I also knew that she’d dropped out. Eventually， she became a graphic designer. A single watercolor3) was all that remained of her life as a painter. It showed a woman with long， flowing hair standing in the rain， trying， unsuccessfully， to hold petals in the cupped palms of her hands. The picture hung in our study in a plain， silver frame.

I’d always admired the piece. But I’d viewed it as the youthful work of a dilettante4)， of someone who liked going to galleries and museums but who wasn’t a true artist.

She’d been on Twitter for over a year when she made the change to her profile. My first response to my mother’s update was guilt. What else had I missed about my mother?

I studied her tweets. Looking for a new camera， she said.

Was she into photography now， too?

And then another surprise:

I do love Savannah5).

My whole childhood in Gainesville6)， Fla.， I listened to her wax7) poetic about “the city”—her native New York. “I should have never left the city，” she said， as we puttered8) along in our battered9)， blue Ford Pinto10). A Jew， she felt oppressed by the evangelical11) Christianity she sometimes encountered in the Deep South12)—people who urged her to convert， who told us we were going to hell because we hadn’t accepted Jesus Christ as our personal lord and savior.

“Look at this place，” Mom would say. “There’s a church on every corner.”

She’d made me wear a chai pendant13). The Hebrew word for life， my classmates had pointed at the necklace and teased me. It was strange; it was foreign. I wanted out but a scholarship to the local university kept me in the South and my college sweetheart anchored14) me. When our relationship failed in my late 20s， I went as far away as I could.

Sitting at my computer in Israel， I wondered when Mom had made her peace with everything， when she’d embraced the South enough to publicly express her adoration for Savannah—a place as Southern as collard greens15).

I considered the emotional distance between us and wondered if we’d be closer if I didn’t live half way around the world.

I tried to remember the last time we’d asked each other questions that went beyond the superficial16) details of our lives.

There’d been hints that we didn’t know each other very well anymore. When Mom came to visit me in Israel in 2008， she brought me a pink sweater—a throwback to the days when I was a little ballerina17) who hung her pink toe shoes on the handle of the door that led to her pink bedroom.

Today， I am a woman who categorically18) rejects pink. I do not wear it. Under any circumstances.

This summer， when I visited the States， I made a guilty confession to my mom: Yes， I go out for a jog once in a while， but I don’t enjoy it. My parents are avid19) runners and my father is a track and cross-country coach. Mother-daughter runs were the core of our relationship during my teenage years. She didn’t take the news well—she continued to protest， “But you told me once you wished you hadn’t quit the team …” she said， on Skype20).

So I emailed my mom， asking her about the update to her Twitter profile and if she was doing photography. I worried that this admission of how little I knew about her life would hurt her feelings. But I asked myself what would trouble her more—that I didn’t know? Or that I didn’t ask?

I hit “send.”

Mom is usually a little slow to respond. But， this time， I got a reply the same day:

I’ve been feeling very frustrated creatively for quite some time， since I no longer do design for a living … I’ve been searching for a creative outlet21) for a few years. And I’ve been quite interested in rug hooking22). It is a little expensive to start up. But， finally， I have all the major supplies I need.

So I started rug hooking. My own design.

I attend a class once a week. It’s mostly older women. I enjoy just sitting there hooking while listening to them chit-chat23).

This didn’t jibe24) with the image I had of my mom. She’d been a New Yorker—impatient， walk fast， talk fast. And she’d always turned her nose up at25) crafts. Who was this woman who sat， quietly， hooking rugs， listening to the ladies around her? I struggled to picture it.

As for the photography， she continued， I’ve been missing that as well …

It turns out that she’d always taken black and white stills. How can it be that I hadn’t noticed?

She went on， explaining that her new hobby had led her to some realizations of her own. Mom had had a strained relationship with her stepmother， who passed away recently. When she’d gone to New York to console my grandfather， guess what Mom noticed on their shelves? Books on rug hooking. They’d had more in common than they’d known.

You know， Mom added， when I was young， I kept these little notebooks. I wrote everything down. I wanted to be a writer， too. Like you.

Our pictures of each other need updating. But， I realize， we know each other’s core， some essence that stands still， unmoved by time. Yes， the adult me can’t stand pink. But I always wanted to be a writer. And that never changed.

I tapped out a quick email asking Mom， “What’s all this about loving Savannah? What about New York? Do you still want to move back to the city someday?”

She sent me a short answer: I do.

當媽媽開始在推特上“關(guān)注”我時，我感覺自己變得有點兒像十幾歲的孩子，一點隱私都沒有了。有一次，我給一個朋友發(fā)了一條推文，說他的哥哥真是帥呆了，之后媽媽便“插話”進來，寫道：“哇，他‘真的’很可愛?！?/p>

于是我刪掉了自己這條推文，從此在推特上只談?wù)?、不聊八卦?/p>

但最近媽媽對自己的個人信息做了更改，這么一改，我更感到驚訝了。就在自我描述的開頭，她加了一個詞：

藝術(shù)家。

我知道媽媽年輕的時候上過藝術(shù)學(xué)校。我還知道她沒畢業(yè)就輟學(xué)了。她最終成了一名平面設(shè)計師。繪畫生涯所留給她的所有念想，就只有一幅水彩畫。畫上，一位長發(fā)飄飄的女子站在雨中，徒勞地試圖用掬起的雙手接住片片花瓣。畫就掛在我家的書房里，鑲了一個樸素的銀色畫框。

我一直很欣賞這幅畫。但我也一直認為這只是業(yè)余藝術(shù)愛好者的早期作品罷了。這些人喜歡逛美術(shù)館、博物館，但并不是真正的藝術(shù)家。

更改個人信息時，媽媽上推特已經(jīng)一年多了?？吹剿母拢业牡谝环磻?yīng)是內(nèi)疚。關(guān)于媽媽的生活，我還錯過了別的什么嗎？

我仔細瀏覽了她的推文。想要一架新的照相機，其中一條是這樣寫的。

難道她現(xiàn)在也迷上了攝影？

然后，又一條推文讓我很是驚訝：

我真的很愛薩凡納。

我的童年是在佛羅里達州的蓋恩斯維爾度過的。整個童年歲月里我都在聽她滿懷詩意地描述“那個城市”——她的家鄉(xiāng)紐約?！拔覊焊筒辉撾x開那個城市?！泵看萎斘覀冏诩依锬禽v破舊的藍色福特平托車里去閑逛時，她總會這么說。媽媽是猶太人。生活在美國的南方腹地，她有時會碰到福音派的基督教徒，這讓她覺得很壓抑——因為他們會力勸她改信基督教，說我們死后會下地獄，因為我們沒有接受耶穌基督作為我們的主人和救世主。

“看看這個地方，”媽媽會說，“這里的每一個角落都有教堂。”

那時候，她讓我戴了一條掛有“chai”字形吊墜的項鏈。這個詞在希伯來語中的意思是“生命”。同學(xué)們總是對我的項鏈指指點點，取笑我。這里讓我感覺陌生，覺得自己是個異類。我想要逃離這里。但當?shù)氐囊凰髮W(xué)為我提供了一份獎學(xué)金，這讓我繼續(xù)留在了南部。后來把我拴在這里的是大學(xué)里交往的戀人。到了奔“三”的年齡，我們的戀愛關(guān)系告吹，我決然離開了南方，能走多遠走多遠。

如今，身在以色列的我，坐在電腦前，很好奇媽媽從什么時候開始變得這么隨遇而安，從什么時候開始從心底接受了南方的生活，甚至愿意公開表達她對薩凡納的喜愛——這座城市和羽衣甘藍一樣，要多“南方”有多“南方”。

我細想了一下我們之間感情上的疏遠，想知道如果我們不是像現(xiàn)在這樣隔著半個地球，彼此是不是會更親近一些。

我努力回憶，除了談?wù)摕o關(guān)緊要的瑣事，我們上一次詢問彼此“有深度”的問題是什么時候的事了？

其實，以前一直都有跡象表明我們母女倆對彼此不十分了解。2008年，媽媽來以色列看我，她給我?guī)Я艘患奂t色的毛衣。這件衣服讓時間仿佛倒退到了我還是個小芭蕾舞演員的時候。那時，我總把一雙粉紅色的芭蕾舞鞋掛在我粉紅色臥室的門把手上。

現(xiàn)在，我已成年，粉紅色是我斷然拒絕的顏色。我不穿粉紅色的衣服。任何情況下都不穿。

今年夏天，我回了一趟美國。期間，我向媽媽坦白了一件我覺得內(nèi)疚的事：沒錯，我是偶爾出去慢跑，但我并不喜歡這項運動。我的父母都是跑步運動的狂熱愛好者，我的爸爸還是一名田徑越野教練。在我十幾歲的時候，母女一起跑步是維系我們關(guān)系的核心紐帶。聽說我不喜歡跑步，媽媽有點難以接受。她在Skype上繼續(xù)向我抗議：“但你曾經(jīng)跟我說過，你真希望自己當時沒有退出……”

于是我給媽媽寫了封電郵，問她推特上個人信息更新的事情，還問她現(xiàn)在是不是在玩攝影。我有點擔(dān)心，像這樣承認我對她的生活知之甚少，會不會傷害她的感情。但我又捫心自問，究竟哪一樣會讓她更煩惱：是我對她的生活一無所知？還是連問都不問？

我點了“發(fā)送”。

媽媽的回復(fù)通常都有一點滯后。不過這一次，我當天就收到了她的回信：

自從不再做設(shè)計工作以來，我一直都很沮喪，覺得自己不再有創(chuàng)造力……這幾年，我一直在尋找一個可以發(fā)揮自己創(chuàng)意的途徑。最近，我喜歡上了手工地毯鉤編。做這項手工活兒花費有點大。不過，我最終還是備齊了所需的一切主要材料。

于是我開始鉤地毯了。我自己設(shè)計的。

我上了一個手工地毯鉤編班，一周一次課。班里大部分是年紀較大的女性。我很喜歡坐在那兒，一邊鉤地毯，一邊聽她們閑嘮家常。

這完全不是我心目中媽媽的樣子。她之前一直是個典型的紐約人——沒什么耐心，走路風(fēng)風(fēng)火火，說話語速很快。而且，她一貫對那些工藝品嗤之以鼻?，F(xiàn)在，這個安靜地坐在那里一邊鉤地毯，一邊聽身邊的婦人們閑聊的女人是誰？我努力在腦海中勾勒那幅畫面。

至于攝影，她接著說，也一直都沒在玩兒了……

事實證明，她以前總是拍一些黑白的靜物照。我怎么就沒注意到呢？

她繼續(xù)向我解釋說，她的這個新愛好也讓她對自己有了一些新的認識。媽媽以前和她的繼母關(guān)系比較緊張。她繼母最近去世了，媽媽去了趟紐約，去安慰我的外祖父。猜猜媽媽在他們家的書架上看到了什么？關(guān)于地毯鉤編的書。其實，她倆之間有很多共同點，只是她們自己不知道而已。

知道嗎，媽媽又說，年輕的時候，我有好多小筆記本。我把什么都記在本子上。我那時也想成為一名作家。和你一樣。

是的，我們對彼此的了解需要不斷更新。但我也意識到，我們了解彼此的本質(zhì)——某種巋然佇立于心中的最根本的東西，它不會因時間的流逝而動搖。是的，長大后的我不能忍受粉紅色。但是，我一直想成為一名作家。這一點從未改變。

我立刻敲了一封電郵給媽媽，問她：“你說愛薩凡納是怎么回事？那紐約呢？你還希望有一天能搬回紐約嗎？”

她的回復(fù)很簡短：是的。

1.chime in：插話；插話表示贊成；插話說道

2.jarring [#712;d#658;ɑ#720;r#618;#331;] adj. 令人驚訝的，令人感到震驚的

3.watercolor [#712;w#596;#720;t#601;(r)#716;k#652;l#601;(r)] n. 水彩畫

4.dilettante [#716;d#618;l#601;#712;taelig;nti] n. (藝術(shù)、科學(xué)等方面的)業(yè)余愛好者，淺薄的涉獵者

5.Savannah：薩凡納，美國佐治亞州東部港市(佐治亞州位于美國東南部)

6.Gainesville：蓋恩斯維爾，美國佛羅里達州中北部城市(佛羅里達州位于美國東南部)

7.wax [waelig;ks] vi. (漸漸)變成，轉(zhuǎn)為

8.putter [#712;p#652;t#601;(r)] vi. 閑蕩，閑逛

9.battered [#712;baelig;t#601;(r)d] adj. 破舊的

10.Ford Pinto：福特平托，是福特汽車在北美市場所推出的次緊湊型車，1971年開始生產(chǎn)，1980年停產(chǎn)。

11.evangelical [#716;i#720;vaelig;n#712;d#658;el#618;k(#601;)l] adj. 福音(書)的。福音派是基督新教的一個派別?？傮w來說，福音派恪守傳統(tǒng)教義，重視《圣經(jīng)》權(quán)威和學(xué)術(shù)研究。在接納不同觀點方面，福音派常與不同的基督教教派合作。

12.Deep South：美國的南方腹地，指美國最具有南方特點、最保守的一片地區(qū)，尤指南卡羅來納、佐治亞、亞拉巴馬、密西西比、佛羅里達等州。

13.pendant [#712;pend#601;nt] n. (項鏈、耳環(huán)等)垂飾；有垂飾的項鏈

14.anchor [#712;aelig;#331;k#601;(r)] vt. 把……系?。皇构潭?/p>

15.collard greens：羽衣甘藍，一種蔬菜，也可植入花壇作裝飾。美國的南方人比較喜歡這種蔬菜。

16.superficial [#716;su#720;p#601;(r)#712;f#618;#643;(#601;)l] adj. 表面的；膚淺的

17.ballerina [#716;baelig;l#601;#712;ri#720;n#601;] n. 芭蕾舞女演員

18.categorically

[#716;kaelig;t#601;#712;ɡ#594;r#618;kli] adv. 絕對地；無條件地

19.avid [#712;aelig;v#618;d] adj. 渴望的；勁頭十足的

20.Skype：網(wǎng)絡(luò)電話(一種網(wǎng)絡(luò)語音溝通工具)

21.outlet [#712;a#650;t#716;let] n. 出口，出路

22.rug hooking：地毯鉤編，一項手工活，也是一門藝術(shù)，用一種鉤子把毛線穿織在網(wǎng)形粗布上制成地毯。

23.chit-chat：閑談，聊天

24.jibe [d#658;a#618;b] vi. 與……一致，符合

25.turn one’s nose up at：對……嗤之以鼻；瞧不上眼