但劳拉躺下了一会儿后还没睡着。她听着爸爸柔声弹奏着小提琴；听着大丛林的风声。
But Laura lay awake a little while, listening to Pa's fiddle softly playing and to the lonely sound of the wind in the Big Woods.
我独自坐在车里，听着那些让人陷入回忆的歌曲。回忆里有我被人叫做“爸爸”的日子，还有来自孩子们的挑战：“爸爸，像我刚才那样从这根木头上过河。”
I sat alone in my car, listening to songs that brought back memories... memories of the days when I was "Daddy", and of challenging 12 dares to "Walk across the 13 creek on this log like me, Dad!"
那是我一生都不会忘记的一次谈话，我说'听着，爸爸坐的飞机出了事，他再也不会回家了。'
And of course, it’s a conversation I will never forget. I told him, ‘Listen, there was an accident with Daddy’s plane, and he’s not coming home.’
我躺在客厅的长沙发椅上，偷听着他们的谈话，开始担心爸爸描述的未来，这时我发现自己正望着几张家庭老照片。
As I lay on the living room couch, eavesdropping on their conversation, starting to worry about the future my father was describing, I found myself looking at some old family photos.
回到奶奶家后，所有人都默不做声，大家都什么也不想干。爸爸静静地在看书，奶奶坐着，独自啜泣，妈妈去店里买些炸土豆片，而我，则听着音乐。
Once back at my Nan's, everyone was silent, no one wanted to do anything. Dad read a book quietly, Nan sat and sobbed to her, mum went to fetch some chips from the chippy, and I listened to my music.
接着讲你的故事吗，爸爸。我正聚精会神地听着呢！
他们在爸爸的庇护下，每天吃着一样的食物，晚上听着同样的故事，每天都过着同样的生活。
They are Dads asylum, eating the same food, night listen to the same story, every day to live the same life.
大家一个接一个地，说出自己心里的故事。爸爸一边听着，眼眶溢满了泪水。
One after another, people told stories from their hearts, while Dad listened with tears in eyes.
我听着，爸爸。
打开，关上，地板，看着，听着，生日，蜡烛，妈妈，爸爸，气球，礼物，蛋糕。
Open, close, floor, look (at), listen (to), birthday, candle, mom, dad, balloon, present, cake.
爸爸神情专注地听着我的话，脸上掠过了一种悲哀。
我太小拿不到电话，但当我妈妈对着它说话时，我经常着迷地听着。有一次她把我举起来对外出办事的爸爸说话，真是妙极了！。
I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it.
我太小拿不到电话，但当我妈妈对着它说话时，我经常着迷地听着。有一次她把我举起来对外出办事的爸爸说话，真是妙极了！。
I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it.
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