Question

拜托帮我翻译一下一篇英语文章，后天就要考的

My father went into intensive care, his heart not working right. As word went out, each of his six grown children sped toward Venice Hospital in Florida, where he lay attached to various machines. Late the night, we stood around him with our mother, holding his hands and speaking close to his face as he strained against some powerful force that kept on pulling him away.“Good-bye, Dad,” we said. “We love you. Thank you, Dad. Oh, no…”A breath left his body under our hands, and we turned to watch the numbers on the machines. Then we made an involuntary, collective groan, and he was gone. He was 75 years old.With his passing, I was abruptly stripped of any illusions about my own immortality: no longer might I comfort myself with the thought that he was in line ahead of me. I was newly alone and vulnerable and, more than ever, responsible for my life.Then I remembered one morning when I was five years old. After a snowstorm, Dad carried me on his shoulders for the mile from our apartment into town. As he marched bravely through the snowdrifts, I put my hands around his head to hold on, inadvertently covering his eyes with my mittens. “I can’t see,” my father said, but he walked on nevertheless, a blind hero making his way with me on his back through a strange, magical landscape of untrodden snow. He had returned recently from World War II, and this ride would become my first experience with him to take hold as a genuine, lasting memory.As he was buried, other memories flooded in, and I found myself trying to put my feelings about him into perspective. How much of a father, really, had he been? Why hadn’t I grieved more over losing him? Had I ever forgiven him for his shortcomings?From my teenage years onward, I had expected a great deal of encouragement from my dad, but it seldom came. I told him, after senior year of high school, that I wanted to become an actor. He launched into a speech about the instability of such a career: “The odds are you’d wind up holding a tin cup on the corner.”One time, after we had argued over my decision to take acting lessons in New York, he stormed up to my room. I met him at the doorway. We stood toe-to-toe, and I held up my fist and glared at him trembling, and said the issue was settled unless he wanted to fight. The red fury drained from his face, and he turned, shoulders slumped, to walk away. A rite of passage had taken place in a second, leaving me on my own without his resistance.But his general air of caution continued. After I did become a professional actor, he came to see me in a Broadway show and later remarked, “Of course, it would be wise to have something else to fall back on.”

Answer 1

我父亲被送入加强看管病房，他的心脏运转并不是很好的。当这个消息被告知后，他的六个已长大成人的孩子火速前往位于佛罗里达州的威尼斯医院。在那里，他的生命连系于许许多多的医疗设备上。那天深夜，我们围绕着他站着，与我们的妈妈一起。我们握住他的手，并贴近他的脸与他说话，仿佛他因与一股强劲的不断想要把他拉走的力量作斗争而被绷紧。“再见，爸爸，”我们说道，“我们爱你。谢谢，爸爸。哦，不。。。。。。”他的气息从我们的手下离开了他的身体，然后我们转过身，看着设备上显示的数据。随即，我们情不自禁的一起发出了悲伤的轻吟，他走了，永远离开了我们。他活了七十五岁。在他逝去的同时，我突然被剥去了任何关于我自己永生的幻觉：我不再通过想象他在我前面来安慰自己。我刚刚变得孤单，脆弱，同时，又前所未有的更具有了对生命的使命感，责任感。我回想起我五岁的时候的一个早晨。在一场暴风雪过后，爸爸把我扛在肩膀上，从我们住的公寓到城里，一直走了好几里。他勇敢地穿过风雪前进，我把双手箍紧他的头以便保持平稳，却不小心用手套遮住了他的眼睛。“我看不见了！”他说，但他仍然继续往前走。一位“盲人”英雄背着我在背上走着他的路，穿过那奇怪的，神奇的，无痕的雪景。他当时刚从第二次世界大战回来，而这次行程也将成为我对他的体验之间第一次拥有值得珍惜的诚挚而持久的回忆。在他下葬后，其他的记忆如潮水般涌入我的大脑，我也发现自己在试着透视我从前对他的感觉。他作为一个父亲，到底有多少价值？为什么我没有感到更加的悲伤，对于他的去世？我是否原谅了他的那些缺点？在我青年时以前，我曾希望他能给我带来许多的鼓励，但这几乎没有实现。我曾告诉他，在我高中以后，我想成为一名演员。他发表了一场演说关于这一职业的不稳定性。“它的成功的可能性便如同你试图通过一个角抓稳一个罐头杯子。”一次，当我与他争吵完关于我去纽约上艺术课的决定后，他愤怒的来到我的房间。我在门口遇上了他。我们脚挨着脚站着，我握起了拳头，浑身颤抖的瞪着他，我还说，结果已成定局除非他想打架。他脸上红色的怒火渐渐褪去，然后他转过身，肩膀垂了下来，走开了。在一秒中，惯例中的一幕已经发生，留下我独自一人，不再有他的反抗。不过，他一如既往的警戒气氛还在。在我真的成为一名职业演员后，他来到百老汇看我的演出，然后他说，“当然，转过去做别的事将会是明智的。”

Answer 2

kao,这么长