安徽省固镇县招标: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.”