艾麗斯·湯普森/Alice Thompson
I live a life of four dimensions—as a wife, a mother, a worker, an individual in society. Diversified roles, yes; but they are well knit by two major forces—an attempt to discover, understand and accept other human beings; and a belief in my responsibility toward others. The first began in my childhood when my father and I“acted out” Shakespeare. He refused to let me merely parrot Hamlet's brooding soliloquy, Lady Macbeth's sleepwalking scene or Cardinal Woolsey's self-analysis. He made a fascinating game of helping me understand the motivations behind the poetic words.
In college a professor further sparked this passionate curiosity about the essence of others and, by his example, transmuted it into a deep concern, a sense of responsibility that sprang not from stern Calvinistic principles but from awareness of all I received and must repay with gladness.
I believe this acceptance, this tenderness one has for others, is impossible without an acceptance of self. Just when or where I learned that the full quota of human weakness and strength was the common property of each of us, I don't know. But somewhere in my late twenties I grew able to admit my own drives and, rid of the anguished necessity of recostuming them, I was free to face them, and recognize that they were neither unique nor uncontrollable.
The rich and happy life I lead every day brings new witness to the validity of my own philosophy for me. Certainly it works in marriage. Any real marriage is a constant understanding and acceptance, coupled with mutual responsibility for one another's happiness. Each day I go out strengthened by the knowledge I am loved and love.
In the mother-child relationship, those same two forces apply. Words are useless to describe my efforts to know my own children. But my great debt to them for their understanding of me is one I have often failed to repay. How can I overvalue a youngster with the imagination and empathy and thoughtfulness to always phone when a late arrival might cause worry...to always know how to reassure? How can I repay the one who dashed into adulthood far too young but has carried all of its burden with a firm, joyous spirit?