Going Home Again
They say you can never go home again.
Well,you can.Only you might find yourself staying at at a TraveLodge ,driving a rented Ford Contour and staking out〈长时间秘密的观察，窥探〉your childhood home like some noir 〈黑色的〉private eye just trying to catch a glimpse of the johnny-come-latelies 〈迟到的人〉that are now living in YOUR HOUSE.
回老家
人们都说你是再也会不了你的家了。
其实你是可以的。这样的话，你会发现自己将会住进寒酸的汽车旅馆里面，开着租来的廉价福特康拓车，在你童年的家门口久久的徘徊，就像黑色电影里私家侦探一样，你总想窥探那些占了你的“巢穴“到底是些什么样的人。
It's a familiar story. Kids grow up, parents sell the family home and move to some sunnier climate, some condo〈分户出售公寓大厦〉 somewhere, some smaller abode〈寓所〉. We grown up kids box up all the junk from our childhoods –dusty ballet shoes, high school textbooks, rolled up poster of Adam Ant-and wonder where home went.
I'm not a sentimentalc〈多愁善感的〉 person, I to told myself. I don't need to see old 3922 26th Street before we sell the place. I even skipped the part where I return home to salvage 〈在灾难中抢救财产〉my mementos 〈纪念品〉from the garage. I let my parents box up the stuff which arrived from San Francisco like the little package you get when released from jail. You know, here's your watch, the outfit you wore in here ,some cash. Here's the person you once were.
这样的故事让你觉得似曾相识-孩子长大了，父母们便要把老家卖掉，搬到气候更宜人的地方去，住公寓或更小的房子。而我们这些已经长大成人的孩子，将所有童年时期的破烂玩意儿打包收拾好，包括已经尘封了的芭蕾舞鞋、高中时期的课本和已经卷好的歌手亚当。恩特的海报，可当我们收拾好之后，才惊奇的发现家不见了！
我对自己说，我并不是个多愁善感的人。我们老家，26街3922号买掉之前我并没有要去多看一眼的冲动，甚至没有亲自回老家打捞车库里的那些纪念品，而是养父母帮我打包后从旧金山寄了过来。收到那包裹的时候感觉就像出狱一样-这是你的手表，这是你在这穿过的，这里还有些现金……你可以从这包东西看到自己的过去。
After a year, San Francisco called me home again: I missed it. High rents had driven all my friends out of the city to the suburbs so I made myself a reservation at a motel and drove there in a rented car.
The next day, I cruised〈巡游〉over to my old neighborhood. There was the little corner store my mom used to send me to for milk, the familiar fire station, he lundromat 〈自动洗衣店〉.
搬家一年后，出于对家乡的想念，我回了趟旧金山。当时因为房租太高，朋友们都搬到市郊区住了。我无处可投，便向当地一家汽车旅馆定了个房，租了辆车开了去。
第二天我便到处去走访那些老街坊。我旧地重游了街道拐角的那家迷你便利店，当年妈妈经常打发我到那里去买牛奶，还有那熟悉的消防局和洗衣店。。。。。。
I cried like the sap I never thought I'd be. I sat in the car, staring at my old house, tears welling up. It had a fresh paint job, the gang graffiti erased from the garage door. New curtains hung in the window.
I walked up and touched the doorknob like it was the cheek of a lover just home from war. I noticed the darker paint where our old mezuzah used to be. I sat on our scratchy brick stoop, dangling my legs off the edge, feeling more rootless than I've ever felt.
