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Mother's Hands妈妈的手Night after night, she came to tuck me in, even long after my childhood years. Following her longstanding custom, she'd lean down and push my long hair out of the way, then kiss my forehead.母亲总是在我入睡之后，为我掖好被子，然后俯下身子，轻轻拨开覆在我脸上的长发，亲吻我的前额。日复一日，母亲一直保持着这个习惯，即使我已不再是小孩子了，这一切却依然故我。I don't remember when it first started annoying me — her hands pushing my hair that way. But it did annoy me, for they felt work-worn and rough against my young skin.不知从什么时候开始，母亲的这种习惯渐渐让我感到不悦----我不喜欢她那双布满老茧的手就这样划过我细嫩的皮肤。Finally, one night, I shouted out at her, "Don't do that anymore —your hands are too rough!" She didn't say anything in reply. But never again did my mother close out my day with that familiar expression of her love.终于，在一个夜晚，我忍不住冲她吼了起来：“你不要再这样了，你的手好粗糙！”母亲无言以对。但从此却再没有用这种我熟悉的表达爱的方式来为我的一天画上句号。Time after time, with the passing years, my thoughts returned to that night. By then I missed my mother's hands, missed her goodnight kiss on my forehead.日子一天天过去，随着时间的流逝，我却总是不由得想起那一夜。我开始想念母亲的那双手，想念她印在我前额上的“晚安”。Sometimes th