اصول و روش ترجمه، متن پنجم

Thirteenis one of the nicest ages I have ever been. I used to think that being youngwas nice, too. Now when I look back on things, I know I would never want to beyoung again.

Forinstance, once when I was eleven, my mother took me to the movies. She ordereda half-price ticket for me, and thewoman at the ticket booth put up anargument. She said I was too tall to be eleven and should pay full price.Mother said I was only a little boy and she wouldn’t pay it. She called themanager. He looked up at me and agreed with the ticket lady. He shouldn’t have done that. Mother isthe woman of “many” words, and she used them all. She wanted justice. The ticket lady wanted her money, the managerwanted peace, and I wanted to drop dead.

But thisis all in the past. Now, at thirteen, I buy the ticket s, and I don’t try toget my mother in for half price either.

There are a lot of things that never happenanymore, now that I am thirteen. Nobody tells me what kind of haircut to get. Inever hear, “tell the barber this” or “tell the barber that”. My head nowbelongs to me. Crew cut or down over the ears, it’s all mine.

Ispilled a gob of cement on the rug last week, and my mother got really mad. Ididn’t get swatted or send to my room. She just stamped her foot and ravedabout “sloppy men” and “impossible male creatures”, just the same as she doeswith my father.

Atthirteen I can watch any TV show or read any book I please. Yes, I like beinggrown-up.

Today Iam a man!