اصول و روش ترجمه، متن پنجم

Thirteen is one of the nicest ages I have ever been. I used to think that being young was nice, too. Now when I look back on things, I know I would never want to be young again.

For instance, once when I was eleven, my mother took me to the movies. She ordered a half-price ticket  for me, and the woman at the ticket  booth put up an argument. 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 the manager. He looked up at me and agreed with the ticket  lady. He shouldn’t have done that. Mother is the woman of “many” words, and she used them all. She wanted justice. The ticket lady wanted her money, the manager wanted peace, and I wanted to drop dead. 

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

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

I spilled a gob of cement on the rug last week, and my mother got really mad. I didn’t get swatted or send to my room. She just stamped her foot and raved about “sloppy men” and “impossible male creatures”, just the same as she does with my father.

At thirteen I can watch any TV show or read any book I please. Yes, I like being grown-up.

Today I am a man!