When Marita was 13, it was the era of tie-dyed T-shirts and frayed jeans. Even though I had grown up in the Depression and had no money for clothes, I had never dressed this poorly. One day I saw her out in the driveway rubbing the hems¹ of her new jeans with dirt and rocks. I was aghast² at her ruining these pants I had just paid for and ran out to tell her so. She continued to grind³ on as I recounted my soap opera of childhood deprivation⁴. As I concluded without having moved her to tears of repentance, I asked why she was wrecking her new jeans. She replied without looking up, “You can’t wear new ones.”
　　 “Why not?”
　　 “You just can’t, so I’m messing them up to make them look old.” Such total loss of logic! How could it be the style to ruin new clothes?
　　 Each morning as she would leave for school I would stare at her and sigh, “My daughter looks like that.” There she’d stand in her father’s old T-shirt, tie-dyed with big blue spots and streaks. Fit for a duster, I thought. And those jeans—so low-slung I feared if she took a deep breath, that they’d drop off her rear. But where would they go? They were so tight and stiff that they couldn’t move. The frayed⁵ bottoms, helped by the rocks, had strings that dragged behind her as she walked.
　　 One day after she had left for school, it was as if the Lord got my attention and said, “Do you realize what your last words are to Marita each morning? ‘My daughter looks like that.’ When she gets to school and her friends talk about their old-fashioned mothers who complain all the time, she’ll have your constant comments to contribute. Have you ever looked at the other girls in junior high? Why not give them a glance?”
　　 I drove over to pick her up that day and observed that many of the other girls looked even worse. On the way home I mentioned how I had over-reacted to her ruining her jeans. I offered a compromise, “From now on you can wear anything you went to school and with your friends, and I won’t bug you about it.”
　　 “That’ll be a relief.”
　　 “But when I take you out with me to church or shopping or to my friends, I’d like you to dress in something you know I like without my having to say a word.”
　　 She thought about it.
　　 Then I added, “That means you get 95 percent your way and I get 5 percent for me. What do you think?”
　　 She got a twinkle⁶ in her eyes as she put out her hand and shook mine. “Mother, you’ve got yourself a deal!”
　　 From then on I gave her a happy farewell in the morning and didn’t bug her about her clothes. When I took her out with me, she dressed properly without fussing⁷. We had ourselves a deal!
　　


　　当玛丽塔13岁的时候，孩子们通常穿着经过扎染的T恤衫和磨得破破烂烂的牛仔裤。我是在经济大萧条时期长大的，那时候我们没钱买衣服，但即使是这样，我也从来没有穿过这么褴褛的衣服。一天，我看见她在车道上用泥土和石头块去磨我刚给她买的新牛仔裤的摺边。我被她这样糟蹋新裤子的行为惊呆了。一回过神来，我就跑出去把我的想法告诉了她。当我喋喋不休地向她描述我童年时期的贫困生活时，她继续用石头块去碾她的裤子。我说得口干舌燥，但她却无动于衷，丝毫没有悔改的意思，我只好停止说教，问她为什么要毁坏这条新牛仔裤。她头也不抬地回答：“不能穿新裤子。”
　　 “为什么不能？”
　　 “就是不能穿，所以，我要把它搞得一团糟，使它看起来就像旧的一样。”什么破逻辑！糟蹋新衣服怎么会成为时尚？
　　 每天早晨，当她离开家去上学的时候，我都会一边瞪着她一边叹息着说：“我女儿好像喜欢那样。”她站在那儿，穿着她父亲那件经过扎染的、上面有大大的蓝色斑点和条纹的旧T恤衫。它适合做防尘外衣，我想。而那条牛仔裤呢——吊得这么低，我担心只要她深吸一口气，它就会从她的屁股上掉下来。可是，它能掉到哪里去呢？它紧紧地绑在她身上，又硬又直，根本动不了。被石头块磨毛了边的裤脚垂着一缕一缕的细线，在她走路的时候拖在她的身后。
　　 一天，她上学走了，我脑中突然灵光一闪，想道:“你意识到你每天早晨对玛丽塔说的最后一句话对她有什么影响了吗？‘我女儿好像喜欢那样。’到了学校以后，当她和朋友们一起谈论她们那一直在抱怨的、守旧的母亲们时，她会把你经常说的那些评论告诉他们。你注意过别的正在上初中的女孩子了吗？为什么不看看她们呢？”
　　 那天，我开车去学校接她回家。我注意观察许多别的女孩们，发现她们看起来比我的女儿还要糟。在回家的路上，我提到我对于她毁坏她的新牛仔裤的行为反应有些过激。我提出一个折衷的办法:“从现在开始，当你去学校以及跟朋友们在一起时，你可以穿你想穿的任何衣服，我不会再干涉你。”
　　 “那将是一种解脱。”
　　 “可是，在我带你和我一起去教堂或者去购物或者去看我的朋友们的时候，我希望你穿得让我无可指责，你知道我喜欢什么样的穿戴。”
　　 她对我的话仔细考虑了一会儿。
　　 我接着补充道:“那意味着你得到了95%的自主权，而我则为自己得到了5%。你认为怎么样？”
　　 当她伸出手来握我的手时，她的眼睛闪闪发光。“妈妈，您为自己找到了一个解决的办法！”
　　 从那时起，我每天早晨都高高兴兴地对她说再见，不再干涉她的穿戴。当我带她和我一起出去的时候，她穿着得体，无可挑剔。我们都为自己找到了一个解决的办法！
　　阑珊 摘译自Listen