In 1995, I returned to Miami Beach High School to speak to the drama class. Afterward I asked the drama teacher if any of my English teachers are still there. Irene Roberts, he tells me, is in the class just down the hall.
I was no one special in Miss Roberts' class - just another jock who did okay work. I don't recall any one special bit of wisdom she passed on. Yet I cannot forget her respect for language, for ideas and for her students. I realize now, many years later, that she is the quintessential selfless teacher. I'd like to say something to her, I say, but I don't want to pull her from a class. Nonsense, he says, she'll be delighted to see you.
The drama teacher brings Miss Roberts into the hallway where stands this 32-year-old man she last saw at 18. "I'm Mark Medoff," I tell her. "You were my 12th-grade English teacher in 1958." She cocks her head at me, as if this angle might conjure me in her memory. And then, though armed with a message I want to deliver in some perfect torrent of words, I can't think up anything more memorable than this: "I want you to know," I say, "you were important to me."
And there in the hallway, this slight and lovely woman, now nearing retirement age, this teacher who doesn't remember me, begins to weep; and she encircles me in her arms.
Remembering this moment, I begin to sense that everything I will ever know, everything I will ever pass to my students, to my children, is an inseparable part of an ongoing legacy of our shared wonder and eternal hope that we can, must, make ourselves better.
Irene Roberts holds me briefly in her arms and through her tears whispers against my cheek, "Thank you." And then, with the briefest of looks into my forgotten face, she disappears back into her classroom, returns to what she has done thousands of days through all the years of my absence.
On reflection, maybe those were, after all, just the right words to say to Irene Roberts. Maybe they are the very words I would like to speak to all those teachers I carry through my life as part of me, the very words I would like spoken to me one day by some returning student: "I want you to know you were important to me."

In 1995, I returned to Miami Beach High School to speak to the drama class. Afterward I asked the drama teacher if any of my English teachers are still there. Irene Roberts, he tells me, is in the class just down the hall.
1995年，我回到迈阿密海滩高中戏剧班任教。之后，我问戏剧老师以前教过我的英语老师还在不在学校。他告诉我，艾琳•罗伯茨老师正在大厅那头的教室里上课。
I was no one special in Miss Roberts' class - just another jock who did okay work. I don't recall any one special bit of wisdom she passed on. Yet I cannot forget her respect for language, for ideas and for her students. I realize now, many years later, that she is the quintessential selfless teacher. I'd like to say something to her, I say, but I don't want to pull her from a class. Nonsense, he says, she'll be delighted to see you.
在罗伯茨老师班上，我并没有什么特殊之处——不过是个功课还过得去的好动鬼。我并不记得她将什么了不得的智慧传给了我。然而，我也忘不了她对语言，对观点以及对她的学生的尊重。多年后的今天我明白了，她就是无私教师的典范。“我想和她说两句话，”我说，“可是我不想打断她讲课。”“胡说，”他说，“见到你她高兴还来不及呢。”
The drama teacher brings Miss Roberts into the hallway where stands this 32-year-old man she last saw at 18. "I'm Mark Medoff," I tell her. "You were my 12th-grade English teacher in 1958." She cocks her head at me, as if this angle might conjure me in her memory. And then, though armed with a message I want to deliver in some perfect torrent of words, I can't think up anything more memorable than this: "I want you to know," I say, "you were important to me."
戏剧老师将罗伯茨老师带到了门厅，这里站着的32岁男子正是当年她眼里那个18岁少年。“我是马克•麦道夫”我对她说，“在1958年，您是我12年级的英语老师。”她将头微微偏向我，似乎通过这个角度能够唤起对我的记忆。然后，尽管我想用华丽的辞藻向老师传达一条信息，但搜肠刮肚我只说出了这句最值得回味的话语：“我想告诉您，您对我来说很重要。”
And there in the hallway, this slight and lovely woman, now nearing retirement age, this teacher who doesn't remember me, begins to weep; and she encircles me in her arms.
就在门厅里，这位纤瘦又可敬的女教师，这位已近退休的女教师，这位已经记不起我的女教师开始哭泣并用双臂将我紧紧拥抱。
Remembering this moment, I begin to sense that everything I will ever know, everything I will ever pass to my students, to my children, is an inseparable part of an ongoing legacy of our shared wonder and eternal hope that we can, must, make ourselves better.
将这一刻铭记于心的时候，我开始意识到我将要知道的一切，我将要传递给我的学生、我的孩子的一切都是我们共有的奇迹和永恒愿望生生不息的传承中不可分割的一部分。那就是，我们能够，我们也必须提升自我。
Irene Roberts holds me briefly in her arms and through her tears whispers against my cheek, "Thank you." And then, with the briefest of looks into my forgotten face, she disappears back into her classroom, returns to what she has done thousands of days through all the years of my absence.
On reflection, maybe those were, after all, just the right words to say to Irene Roberts. Maybe they are the very words I would like to speak to all those teachers I carry through my life as part of me, the very words I would like spoken to me one day by some returning student: "I want you to know you were important to me."
艾琳•罗伯茨将我拥在怀中，透过泪水贴着脸颊对我轻声说了句“谢谢你”。然后，她用最快的速度看了一眼我那被遗忘的面孔就从我的视线里消失，回到了教室，继续她数十年如一日的工作。
现在回想起来，也许，那就是我对艾琳•罗伯茨老师该说的话；也许，那正是我对所有伴随我一生成为我的一部分的老师们想说的话；也许，那就是我希望某一天听到回到学校的学生对我自己说的话：“我想告诉您，您对我来说很重要。”

不对等的地方你大概能看出来，翻译就是这样一件苦差事，呵呵。