中國網(wǎng)站品牌欄目（頻道）
多年來，父親一直堅持給我寄情人節(jié)禮物。八年前的情人節(jié)，父親給我的賀卡依然準(zhǔn)時到達，只是那張賀卡上是我母親的筆跡。這張賀卡的封面是一張郁金香花的照片，里面我母親工整地寫著“情人節(jié)快樂”，在下面是父親歪歪扭扭難以辨認(rèn)的字跡“愛你的，爸爸”。
他最后一次送給我的這張賀卡如今仍保存在我的記事牌上。它提醒我父親是多么地不同尋常，以及這些年來對我是多么地重要。我知道我有這樣一位父親，他以慷慨的胸懷、樸素的理解和一生中向他的親人表達祝福的能力，來保持著愛的傳統(tǒng)。
The traditional holidays in our house when I was a child were spent timing elaborate meals around football games. My father tried to make pleasant chitchat and eat as much as he could during half-time. At Christmas he found time to have a cup or two of holiday cheer and do his holly-shaped bow tie. But he didn't truly shine until Valentine's Day.
I don't know whether it was because work at the office slowed during February or because the football season was over. But Valentine's Day was the time my father chose to show his love for the special people in his life. Over the years I fondly thought of him as my " Valentine Man."
My first recollection of the magic he could bring to Valentine's Day came when I was six. For several days I had been cutting out valentines for my classmates. Each of us was to decorate a "mailbox" and put it on our desk for others to give us cards. That box and its contents ushered in a succession of bittersweet memories of my entrance into a world of popularity contests marked by the number of cards received, the teasing about boyfriends/girlfriends and the tender care I gave to the card from the cutest boy in class.
That morning at the breakfast table I found a card and a gift-wrapped package at my chair. The card was signed "Love, Dad" , and the gift was a ring with a small piece of red glass to represent my birthstone, a ruby. There is little difference between red glass and rubies to a child of six, and I remember wearing that ring with a pride that all the cards in the world could not surpass.
As I grew older, the gifts gave way to heart-shaped boxes filled with my favorite chocolates and always included a special card signed "Love, Dad" .In those years my "thank-yous" became more of a perfunctory response.The cards seemed less important, and I took for granted the valentine that would always be there. Long past the days of having a "mailbox" on my desk, I had placed my hopes and dreams in receiving cards and gifts from "significant others" , and "Love, Dad" just didn't seem quite enough.
If my father knew then that he had been replaced, he never let it show. If he sensed any disappointment over valentines that didn't arrive for me, he just tried that much harder to create a positive atmosphere, giving me an extra hug and doing what he could to make my day a little brighter.
My mailbox eventually had a rural address, and the job of hand-delivering candy and cards was relegated to the U.S.Postal Service. Never in ten years was my father's package late--nor was it on the Valentine's Day eight years ago when I reached into the mailbox to find a card addressed to me in my mother's handwriting.
It was the kind of card that comes in an inexpensive assortment box sold by a child going door-to-door to try to earn money for a school project. It was the kind of card that you used to get from a grandmother or an aging aunt or, in this case, a dying father. It was the kind of card that put a lump in your throat and tears in your eyes because you knew the person no longer was able to go out and buy a real valentine. It was a card that signaled this would be the last you receive from him.
The card had a photograph of tulips on the outside, and on the inside my mother had printed "Happy Valentine's Day" . Beneath it, scrawled in barely legible handwriting, was "Love, Dad" .
His final card remains on my bulletin board today. It's a reminder of how special fathers can be and how important it had been to me over the years to know that I had a father who continued a tradition of love with a generosity of spirit, simple acts of understanding and an ability to express happiness over the people in his life.
Those things never die, nor does the memory of a man who never stopped being my valentine.
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（來源：騰訊教育 編輯：Julie）
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