前段时间看到的利物浦门将 Alisson Becker 写的一篇文章，硬汉柔情，也全文转载一下。中文在英文后。
Apr 29, 2025
Para ler em português, clique aqui.
I have this vision of my father as a younger man. It is deeper than just a memory. Memories are hazy, you know? This is different. This is colourful. It’s warm. Almost like a dream.
I think I am probably 3 years old, but I’m already kicking a mini football in our living room with my brother Muriel. He’s 8, and I’m already following him everywhere. I have “the rope tied around his waist,” as we say.
My father just came home from a long day of work, and he’s laying down on the couch, fully reclined. You know how fathers lay down after a long day, like they weigh 400 pounds? “Ahhhhhhhh…. Tô cansado pra caramba….”
In Brazil, it’s a certain posture. He’s got the pillow under his head, and he’s got his right arm hanging down over the couch.
Me and my brother come running into the room, and we start shaking him.
“Paaaiiiiii! Come on!!!”
He protests for a few seconds, and then he rolls off the couch and onto the carpet.
“Yesssss!!!!”
Then my father rolls all the way under the couch. He disappears. All you can see are two big arms coming out from the darkness, waving around like mad.
“You’ll never score today. I am Taffarel!”
It’s the World Cup. The carpet is our pitch. The gap under the couch is our goal. My father’s big hands are Taffarel.
My brother is Rivaldo, Bebeto, Ronaldo, Dunga….
I get to be whoever he doesn’t pick. (The fate of all little brothers.)
It’s so vivid that I can even smell it. I can smell the couch. I can smell my mom cooking dinner. I can smell my father’s clothes.
I can see his big hands waving back and forth, trying to make a heroic penalty save in the World Cup Final. Every once in a while, he pops his head out from under the couch and pulls his clown face. My brother and I are laughing like crazy.
Not only can I close my eyes and see it …. I can feel it, like it was just yesterday.
When I got the call that my father died, I was an ocean away from home. I was in Liverpool, and we were in the middle of the 2020-2021 season. His death was sudden. A complete shock. My mother called me and told me that there had been an accident and that my father had drowned at the lake by our house. All I remember was I felt so lost. It did not seem possible that someone like my father could actually be gone. He was a “man’s man,” as they say. As strong as they come.
I had always heard these stories about him as a kid. He was a goalkeeper, too. It runs in our DNA, I guess. On the pitch, they said he had absolutely no fear. He would charge out and throw his face right into the attacker’s boot.
“Your father, he was mad,” his buddies told me.
I thought it was just a story. But it was actually true, and it was a lot deeper than just football.
On a football pitch, or in real life, he was a man in full. Everything he ever did, it was always “family first.” Always
When he died, it destroyed me. I could not even think about football. I had to keep remembering that I even played football, and that we were fighting for the Top 4. It was even more complicated, because it was right in the middle of the pandemic, and the logistics of getting home were a nightmare. My wife was pregnant with our third child, and Covid was exploding again in Brazil. Her doctor said that it was risky for her to travel, so she had to stay in Liverpool with our kids. That was total anguish for her, because she loved my father so much. We always joked that he loved her the most. If we ever had a little disagreement in front of my father, he would always say, “I think Natália is right.”
She was the daughter he never had.
I was going to have to fly to Brazil alone.
The following two or three days were a blur. The next thing I remember was all the flowers coming to our house. From Virgil, Andy, Fabinho, Firmino, Thiago…. on and on. All my brothers. Everyone sent us flowers with a note of condolences. And not just from my teammates, but even Pep Guardiola and Carlo Ancelotti sent me a condolence letter. It really touched my heart. Every 10 minutes, there was another knock at our door, with a delivery man holding flowers.
I don’t think those people can understand how much something small like that means when you’re suffering. It was a reminder that even your biggest rivals recognise the human behind the name on the kit.
I’ll never forget, Jürgen called me, and I was feeling so guilty about missing training, because we were outside the Top 4, and we needed every point. But Jürgen told me to take as much time as I needed.
I said, “Yes, but, but….”
He said, “No, no. Do not worry about anything.”
Jürgen had lost his own father around the same age, and he understood my pain very well. He was not just a manager to me, but more like a second father. I think everyone could see that, from the moment that he came sprinting like a madman half way across the pitch to jump into my arms when Origi scored against Everton. I pull up that clip on my phone once in a while, and I laugh every time. But there were so many moments that the public never sees, where we would sit on the bus after away matches and toast the wins with a beer, like a proper German and a proper Brazilian.
Jürgen allowed me to take the time to grieve, and not a lot of managers would have been so understanding. To me, it’s the Liverpool way. It’s just different here. Even the players are different. Ray Haughan, who was our team manager at the time, texted me and told me that the boys had all come together and agreed to pay for a private flight for me to go to the funeral so that I wouldn’t have to worry about anything. But it was an impossible situation, because at that time, in order to fly out of the country, you had to be quarantined in a hotel for 14 days when you returned. The thought of coming back from my father’s funeral and being trapped in a hotel room by myself for two weeks was hard, but the worst part was imagining my wife on her own for that long. She was going to be in her third trimester, and anything could happen.
I called my mom and my brother, and I explained the situation, and that was the most brutal phone call of my life. We cried a lot, but in the end, I decided that my father would want me to stay with my children and his “favourite daughter” and protect them, no matter how hard it was. That was how he lived his life, and that was the best way to honour him.
Alisson Becker | The Players’ Tribune
Courtesy of The Becker Family
Every chance that I had to hug him, I hugged him. Every chance I had to tell him that I loved him, I told him. There was nothing left unsaid. He knew.
Still, I have never felt so far away from home.
We had to watch his funeral on FaceTime. My brother held up the phone for the entire service, and I was able to pray and cry with my mother, and even say goodbye to my father at his casket. In that moment, as strange as it sounds, you forget that you’re on a screen. All your memories and your love bridge the distance, and you are speaking to your father in eternity.
It’s true, I didn’t have anything left to tell him. We had already said it all. The only thing left for me to say was, “thank you.”
Not just for being my father, but for being my friend.
Without my teammates and without the club, I would not have been able to deal with that time in my life. When I returned to training a few days after the funeral, I would think about my father at random times. I couldn’t help it. I would have a flash of him standing on the sidelines when I was a kid watching me play, standing there like a true stoic, not saying a word. Or fishing with him at the lake, or sitting around the barbeque with him drinking chimarrão, saying a couple words every five minutes. Or him smashing his whole face into a birthday cake in celebration when Taffarel made that famous penalty save in ’98. Or him laying on the couch after a long day, still having just enough strength to crawl under the couch and pretend to be Taffarel….
I would have these flashes and I would start crying. Right there in training.
Imagine trying to sort out the wall to stop Trent’s free kick, and you have tears clouding your eyes! It’s hard enough when you’re not crying, man!
But my teammates were unbelievable. They never once judged me. They acted like they were all a part of my family and they were in mourning, too. Being able to train again brought me a sense of calm. I always say that I did not “choose” football. You cannot choose what is unconscious, what is already in your bones.
In Brazil, football is a wave that you ride.
Returning to the pitch was one of the main things that brought me peace. I rode the wave to calm waters.
When I would come home from training, I would be so tired. All I would want to do is lay down on the couch, just like my father. Feet up, chimarrão in one hand, pillow under my head. And every single day, like clockwork, my son Matteo would come running into the living room after school and put the ball right in my hand.
“Let’s plaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyy!”
He’s 5 years old, and he loves football. The way we figured out that he knew how to spell was because we went onto YouTube and in the search history bar all you saw was…..
‘livrpol’
‘hi liit liverpol’
‘livrpool dad save’
‘liverpool vs meelan’
‘all we need is alisson becker song’
(The last one is for my daughter, Helena — she wants to sing at breakfast every morning.)
Matteo kept getting better and better, until he could finally spell Liverpool. He gets so mad when we make him go to bed during the late Champions League matches. He’s crushed! The first thing he does as soon as he wakes up is watch the highlights on YouTube.
So far, I get no criticism.
“We tied last night.”
“Oh yeah? We did?”
“Yeah, they scored and we scored. I love you, daddy.”
Then it’s always time to play on the floor. It doesn’t matter how tired I am. Daddy has to be the keeper.
We started out playing with the bottom of the couch as our goal, and then he finally made us buy him a “real one.” We put the mini goal in front of the couch, and I lay on the floor and try to stop him, like my father tried to stop me.
The carpet is our pitch.
My son is Mo or Trent or Vini Jr.
I always tell him that I want to be Taffarel. But I have to be Alisson.
The story is repeating itself.
And the story is expanding.
Three months after my father’s death, my son Rafael was born. For my wife and I, it was like hope was reborn. A light shone in our lives again. His name had a special meaning for us. It comes from the Hebrew, meaning “God has healed.”
Six days after Rafael was born, something happened that I still cannot explain.
We were playing a crucial match against West Brom. We were fighting for our place in the Champions League, and we had to win that match. It was one of those days where it feels like nothing is working, and it was 1-1 with a few seconds remaining. As a keeper, you are just standing in your box in those moments, feeling helpless.
But then we won a corner. And our goalkeeping coach shouted for me to run up the pitch. There was nothing to lose. So I ran up the pitch as fast as I could, and I arrived in the box just as Trent was taking the corner. To be honest, as a keeper, you never, ever, ever think that you are actually going to score.
Just get into the box and create chaos.
The next thing I know, the ball is coming at my face. I flick my head and I fall to the ground. Then I am just surrounded by a warm glow. That’s the only way I can describe it. Everyone is hugging me. Thiago is hugging me and crying. Firmino is hugging me and crying and laughing at the same time. Mo is celebrating like a little kid, jumping up and down. I have never seen him so happy after someone else scored a goal hahaha!! Complete joy.
It was almost more special that we were still playing in the empty stadiums, without the roar of the fans, because the only thing that I could feel was the love of my teammates, who had gotten me through the hardest time of my life. Our whole bench, the staff, and the kitmen were all cheering so loud that it felt like we were back in front of the Kop again.
I remember I looked up to the heavens, and it was one of those grey rainy days in England. But for me, the sky was filled with light.
I said, “Pai…. pai…..”
It’s for you, Dad!
When I got back to the dressing room, I was sitting there taking off my boots, and in those moments, when you lose someone close to you, it’s impossible not to ask yourself the question……..
“Did he see it? Was he watching?”
I am a man of faith. Many people know that. But a lot of people do not know that it was not always this way. Real faith came to me later in life. When I was young, we were “at home” Christians. My parents prayed every day, but we rarely went to Church. I believed in God, but I believed in a distant God. As I got older, and I experienced more of life — both joy and pain — I realised that God is closer than you can ever imagine.
Faith is not something that can be seen, or even put into words. It is a force that is more powerful than just a feeling of emotion, or a slogan. It is the complete trust in the Son of God, Jesus Christ.
I think of this every time I hear the opening words to the most powerful song in football.
“When you walk …. through a storm….”
There are 5,000 different songs in football, all over the world. But there is only one song that touches the heart in this way. Why is that? I think it is because it is really about the deeper meaning of life.
No matter who you are, one day, you will face real suffering. Your dreams will be tossed and blown. You will lose people in your life who you love very much.
In those moments, you can’t help asking yourself the hardest question in the world: “Are they still looking down on us? Will I see them again?”
I hope to meet my father again one day. I hope to see him on the shores of eternity with a chimarrão in his hand, and maybe we will go fishing, just like old times. Not saying much, just enjoying the water.
Until that day, I know one thing for sure: I never, ever walk alone. In these last four years since my father’s death, my teammates, coaches, friends and neighbours have shown me and my family incredible love and support. And I know that a part of my Dad is still here with us, too. Not just in my dreams, but every time I come home from training and I lay down on the couch, feeling like I weigh 400 pounds, and I hear Matteo and Rafael’s footsteps coming from the other room.
“Paaaaiiiiiii!!!”
“Tô cansado pra caramba…..”
“You have to be the keeper!!!!”
“OK, OK, OK.”
I roll onto the floor with a thump.
“Yesssssss!!!!!”
(My daughter, Helena, she just twirls around and dances while we play.)
Every time they come running, every time I lay down on the carpet and guard the goal with my hands, every time I pull my funny clown face, I can feel my father’s presence.
“You’ll never score today. I am Taffarel!!”
The sound of children laughing. That, to me, is the echo of God.
YNWA,
Alisson
我对父亲有一个深刻的印象，这不仅仅是记忆，因为记忆往往是模糊的，这个印象不一样，它是生动的，温暖的，几乎像是一场梦。
那时候我大概只有3岁，但已经和哥哥穆里尔在客厅踢迷你足球了，那时候他8岁，而我已经开始无处不跟随他，我们有句俗语叫“像绳子绑在他腰上”。
父亲刚刚结束一天的辛苦工作回到家，躺在沙发上，完全放松。你知道父亲们经过漫长的一天后躺下来的样子，就像他们的肩上背了400磅重的东西似的：“啊……累死了……”
在巴西，这是一种特殊的姿势——他把枕头垫在头下，右手臂垂在沙发边缘。我和哥哥跑进房间，开始摇晃他。
“爸爸！快来！”
他抗议了几秒钟，然后从沙发上滚到地毯上。
“耶！”
然后，父亲整个滚到了沙发下面，消失了，你只能看到两只大手从黑暗中伸出来，疯狂地挥舞着。
“今天你们休想进球，我是塔法雷尔！”
这是“世界杯”，地毯是我们的球场，沙发下的空隙是我们的球门，父亲的大手就是塔法雷尔。
哥哥是里瓦尔多、贝贝托、大罗、邓加……
我只能当他没选的角色(这是所有小弟弟的命运)。
那种感觉如此生动，我甚至能闻到它，我能闻到沙发的味道，能闻到我妈妈做晚饭的香气，能闻到我爸爸衣服的气味。
我能看到他在“世界杯”决赛中挥舞着大手，努力扑出一个点球。有时，他会从沙发底下探出头来，扮个鬼脸，我和我哥哥笑得前仰后合。
不仅是闭上眼睛能看到，我还能感觉到，就像昨天发生的一样。
当我接到我父亲去世的电话时，我远在大洋彼岸，我在利物浦，而我们正处于2020-2021赛季的中期。他的去世是很突然的，让我感到震惊。
我妈妈打电话告诉我发生了一场意外，我父亲在我们家附近的湖里溺水身亡。我只记得当时我感到非常迷茫，像我父亲这样的人竟然真的会离开，这似乎不可能，他是那种所谓的“男人中的男人”，无比强壮。
小时候我总是听到关于他的故事，他也是一名守门员，我觉得这是我们的基因传承。在球场上，他们说他毫无畏惧，他会冲出来，把脸直接迎向进攻球员的鞋。
“你父亲是疯子”，他的朋友们告诉我，我以为那只是个故事，但那其实是真的，而且远不止于足球。无论是在球场上还是在现实生活中，他都是一个全能的人，他所做的一切，始终是“家庭第一”，永远如此。
他去世时，我崩溃了，甚至无法思考足球，不得不时刻提醒自己，我还在踢足球，我们正在为争四而战，事情更复杂的是，那时正值疫情期间，家里的事情简直是一场噩梦。我的妻子怀着我们的第三个孩子，而巴西的疫情再次爆发。
她的医生说，旅行对她来说有风险，所以她不得不和我们的孩子留在利物浦。对她来说，这完全是一种痛苦，因为她非常爱我父亲，我们总是开玩笑说，我父亲最爱她，如果我们在我父亲面前有小争执，他总是说，“我觉得娜塔莉亚是对的。”
她是他从未拥有的女儿。
我不得不独自飞往巴西。
接下来的两三天都模糊不清，我记得的下一件事就是我们家收到的所有花。来自范戴克、罗宾逊、法比尼奥、菲尔米诺、蒂亚戈……一个接一个，所有我的兄弟们。
每个人都送了花和一张慰问卡，不仅是我的队友，甚至连瓜迪奥拉和安切洛蒂也给我发来了信息安慰我，这真的让我很感动，每隔十分钟，就有一个敲门声，送花的人站在门口。
我想那些人无法理解，当你在痛苦中时，这样的小事意味着多少，这提醒了我，即便是你最大的对手，也能认同球衣背后的人性。
我永远不会忘记，克洛普给我打电话，我因为错过训练感到非常内疚，因为我们在前四名之外，我们需要每一分，但克洛普告诉我，可以尽可能多地花时间休息。
我说，“是的，但是，但是……”
他说，“不，不，不要担心任何事情。”
克洛普在我这个年纪时也失去了自己的父亲，所以他非常理解我的痛苦，他对我来说不仅仅是一位教练，更像是我的第二个父亲。
从他在奥里吉对阵埃弗顿进球时像疯子一样跑过半个球场跳进我怀里的那一刻起，大家都能看出这一点。我时不时会在手机上回看那个片段，每次都笑出声来，但还有很多时刻是公众看不到的，比如我们在客场比赛后坐在大巴上像真正的德国人和巴西人一样用啤酒庆祝胜利。
克洛普允许我花时间去哀悼，不是很多教练都能如此理解别人的。对我来说，这就是利物浦的风格，这里就是不一样，即便是球员也与众不同。
当时我们的球队经理雷-霍根给我发信息，告诉我队友们都聚在一起，同意为我支付私人航班的费用，以便我能去参加葬礼，不用担心其他事情。
但这几乎是不可能的，因为那时如果要离开国家，回来时必须在酒店隔离14天。想到从父亲的葬礼回来后要一个人在酒店房间被困两周就觉得很难受，但最糟糕的是想到我的妻子要独自面对那么长时间，她当时已经怀孕进入第三个孕期，任何事情都有可能发生。
我打电话给我母亲和哥哥，解释了情况，那是我人生中最痛苦的电话，我们哭了很多，但最后我决定，我的父亲会希望我留在孩子和他“最爱的女儿”身边保护他们，无论多么艰难，这是他生活的方式，也是纪念他的最佳方式。
每次有机会拥抱他，我都会紧紧拥抱，每次有机会告诉他我爱他，我都会说出来，没有什么未曾表达的，他知道的。
然而，我从未感到如此远离家乡。
我们不得不通过视频电话观看他的葬礼，我哥哥在整个仪式上举着手机，我能够和母亲一起祈祷、哭泣，甚至在父亲的灵柩前道别。
在那一刻，尽管听起来很奇怪，你会忘记自己是在屏幕前，所有的记忆和爱跨越了距离，你在永恒中与父亲对话。
确实，我没有什么未曾告诉他的，我们已经说过一切，我唯一要说的就是，“谢谢。”
不仅仅是因为他是我的父亲，更是因为他是我的朋友。
没有我的队友和俱乐部，我无法度过那段人生中的时光，当我在葬礼几天后回到训练场时，我会在不经意间想起我的父亲，我无法控制自己，我的脑海会闪出他在我小时候看我比赛时站在场边的画面，像个真正的坚毅的人，什么也不说。
或者和他在湖边钓鱼，或围着烧烤喝马黛茶，每五分钟说几句话，或者在1998年塔法雷尔扑出著名点球时，他把整个脸埋进生日蛋糕中庆祝，或者在漫长的一天后，他躺在沙发上，仍然有足够的力气爬到沙发底下假装是塔法雷尔……
我会有这些回忆，然后开始哭泣，就在训练场上。
想象一下，当时我在安排人墙来阻挡阿诺德的任意球，而眼泪模糊了视线！忍住不哭都已经够难的了！
但是我的队友们真的令人难以置信，他们从未对我评头论足，他们就像是我的家人一样，也在为我哀悼。能够重新开始训练给了我一种平静的感觉，我总是说我并没有“选择”足球，你无法选择那些潜意识里的东西，那些已经融入你骨髓的东西。
在巴西，足球是一种你可以乘风破浪的浪潮。
重返球场是让我感到平静的主要原因之一，我驾驭着这股浪潮驶向平静的水域。
每当我训练回家后，我都会感到非常疲惫。我只想躺在沙发上，就像我父亲一样。把脚翘起来，一手拿着马黛茶，头下垫着一个枕头。而每天，像时钟一样准时，我的儿子马特奥放学后会跑进客厅，把球放在我手里。
“我们来踢球吧！”
他今年5岁，非常热爱足球。我们发现他会拼写是因为我们打开视频网站，在搜索历史栏里看到的都是……
“livrpol”
“hi liit liverpol”
“livrpool dad save”
“liverpool vs meelan”
“all we need is alisson becker song”
(最后一个是给我的女儿海伦娜的——她每天早上都想在早餐时唱这首歌)
马特奥越来越厉害，直到他终于可以拼出“Liverpool”，当欧冠比赛在深夜进行，我们让他去睡觉时，他会非常生气，他感到很沮丧！醒来的第一件事就是在视频网站上观看比赛集锦。
到目前为止，我没有受到任何批评。
“我们昨晚打平了。”
“哦，是吗？我们打平了？”
“是的，他们进了一个球，我们也进了一个，我爱你，爸爸。”
然后总是到了在地板上踢球的时间，不管有多累，我都得当守门员。
我们一开始用沙发底部当球门，后来他让我们给他买了一个“真正的”球门，我们把迷你球门放在沙发前，我躺在地板上尝试阻止他，就像我的尝试试图阻止我一样。
地毯就是我们的球场。
我儿子会扮演萨拉赫、阿诺德，或者是维尼修斯。
我总是告诉他，我想成为塔法雷尔，但我必须当阿利松。
故事正在重演。
而且故事在延续。
我父亲去世三个月后，我的二儿子拉斐尔出生了，对我和妻子来说，这就像希望重生了，我们的生活中再次有光芒，他的名字对我们来说有特殊的意义，它来自希伯来语，意思是“上帝已治愈”。
拉斐尔出生六天后，发生了一件我至今无法解释的事情。
那是在对阵西布朗的比赛中，这是一场关键的比赛 我们在为争夺欧冠资格而战，必须赢下这场比赛，那是一个感觉一切都不顺利的日子，比赛在1-1的情况下进入最后几秒，作为守门员，在那种时刻，你只能站在禁区里，感到无助。
但后来我们赢得了一个角球，我们的门将教练喊让我冲到前场，没有什么可失去的，所以我尽可能快地冲到前场，正好赶上阿诺德发角球，说实话，作为守门员，你从来不会真正认为自己会进球。
只需要进入禁区，制造混乱。
接下来我意识到，球正朝我脸上飞来。我甩了一下头，摔倒在地，然后我被一片温暖的光辉包围——这是我唯一能形容的，每个人都在拥抱我，蒂亚戈在拥抱我，哭泣，菲尔米诺在拥抱我，又哭又笑，萨拉赫像个小孩一样庆祝，跳上跳下，我从未见过他在别人进球后如此开心，哈哈！那是完全的喜悦。
在空荡荡的球场比赛，这种感觉甚至更特别，因为我唯一能感受到的是队友的爱，他们帮我度过了人生中最艰难的时刻，我们的整个替补席、教练组和装备管理员都在欢呼，声音大得让人感觉我们又回到了Kop看台前。
我记得我抬头望向天空，那是英格兰一个灰蒙蒙的雨天，但对我来说，天空充满了光。
我说：“爸……爸……”
这是为你，爸爸！
回到更衣室时，我坐在那里脱鞋，在那些时刻，当你失去亲近的人时，你无法不问自己这个问题……
“他看到了吗？他在看吗？”
我是一个有信仰的人，很多人都知道这一点，但很多人不知道，我并不是一直如此，真正的信仰是在我生命的后期才来到的。当我年轻时，我们是“在家”的基督徒。
我的父母每天都祈祷，但我们很少去教堂，我相信上帝，但我相信的是一个遥远的上帝，随着年龄的增长，我经历了更多的生活——无论是快乐还是痛苦——我意识到上帝比你想象的更近。
信仰不是可以看到的东西，甚至无法用语言表达，它是一种比情感或口号更强大的力量，它是对上帝之子，耶稣基督的完全信任。
每当我听到那首足球界最有力量的歌曲的开头时，我总会想到这一点。
“当你走过风暴……(来自《You’ll Never Walk Alone》)”
足球界有5000首不同的歌曲，遍布全世界，但只有这一首能如此触动人心，为什么会这样？我想是因为这首歌真正关乎生活的深层意义。
无论你是谁，总有一天你会面对真正的苦难，你的梦想会被抛掷和吹散，你会失去生活中那些你非常爱的人在那些时刻，你忍不住会问自己世界上最难的问题：“他们还在看着我们吗？我还能再见到他们吗？”
我希望有一天能再次见到我的父亲，我希望能在永恒的岸边与他相遇，他手里拿着一杯马黛茶，也许我们会像过去那样去钓鱼，不多说话，只是享受水的宁静。
直到那一天，我知道一件事：我从未、也绝不会独行，在我父亲去世后的这四年里，我的队友、教练、朋友和邻居们给了我和我的家人无比的爱与支持。
我知道父亲的一部分仍然与我们同在，不仅仅是在我的梦中，而是每当我训练回来，躺在沙发上，感觉自己背着400磅的负担时，我听到马特奥和拉斐尔从另一个房间跑来的脚步声。
“爸爸！！！”
“我累坏了……”
“你得当守门员！！！”
“好，好，好。”
我重重地滚到地板上。
“耶！！！！”
(我的女儿海伦娜在我们玩的时候总是转圈跳舞。)
每次他们跑过来，每次我躺在地毯上用手守门，每次我做出滑稽的面孔，我都能感受到父亲的存在。
“今天你们绝对进不了球，我是塔法雷尔！！”
孩子们的笑声，对我来说，那是上帝的回响。
YNWA，
阿利松
