精    彩    极    了    和    糟    糕    透    了   

 记    得    八    九    岁    的    时    候   , 我    写    了    第    一    首    诗   。 母    亲    一    念    完    那    首    诗   , 眼    睛    亮    亮    的   , 兴    奋    地    嚷    着   : 巴    迪   , 真    是    你    写    的    吗   ? 多    美    的    诗    啊   ! 精    彩    极    了   ! 她    搂    住    了    我   , 赞    扬    声    雨    点    般    落    到    我    身    上   。 我    既    腼    腆    又    得    意    扬    扬   , 点    头    告    诉    她    这    首    诗    确    实    是    我    写    的   。 她    高    兴    得    再    次    拥    抱    了    我   
 妈    妈   , 爸    爸    下    午    什    么    时    候    回    来   ? 我    红    着    脸    问   。 我    有    点    儿    迫    不     及    待   , 想    立    刻    让    父    亲    看    看    我    写    的    诗   。 他    晚    上    七    点    钟    回    来   。 母    亲    摸     着    我    的    脑    袋   , 笑    着    说   
 整    个    下    午    我    都    怀    着    一    种    自    豪    感    等    待    父    亲    回    来   。 我    用    最    漂    亮    的    花     体    字    把    诗    认    认    真    真    地    重    新    誊    写    了    一    遍   , 还    用    彩    色    笔    在    它    的    周    围    描    上     一    圈    花    边   。 将    近    七    点    钟    的    时    候   , 我    悄    悄    走    进    饭    厅   , 满    怀    信    心    地    把    它     放    在    餐    桌    父    亲    的    位    置    上   
 七    点   。 七    点    一    刻   。 七    点    半   。 父    亲    还    没    有    回    来   。 我    实    在    等    不    及     了   。 我    敬    仰    我    的    父    亲   , 他    是    一    家    电    影    公    司    的    重    要    人    物   , 写    过    好    多    剧     本   。 他    一    定    会    比    母    亲    更    加    赞    赏    我    这    首    精    彩    的    诗   
 快    到    八    点    钟    时   , 父    亲    终    于    推    门    而    入   。 他    进    了    饭    厅   , 目    光    被    餐    桌    上    的    那    首    诗    吸    引    住    了   。 我    紧    张    极    了   
 这    是    什    么   ? 他    伸    手    拿    起    了    我    的    诗   
 亲    爱    的   , 发    生    了    一    件    奇    妙    的    事   。 巴    迪    写    了    一    首    诗   , 精    彩    极    了   …… 母    亲    上    前    说    道   
 对    不    起   , 我    自    己    会    判    断    的   。 父    亲    开    始    读    诗   
 我    把    头    埋    得    低    低    的   。 诗    只    有    十    行   , 可    我    觉    得    他    读    了    几    个    小    时   
 我    看    这    首    诗    糟    糕    透    了   。 父    亲    把    诗    扔    回    原    处   
 我    的    眼    睛    湿    润    了   , 头    也    沉    重    得    抬    不    起    来   
 亲    爱    的   , 我    真    不    懂    你    是    什    么    意    思   ! 母    亲    嚷    道   , 这    不    是    在    你    的    公    司    里   。 巴    迪    还    是    个    孩    子   , 这    是    他    写    的    第    一    首    诗   , 他    需    要    鼓    励   
 我    不    明    白   , 父    亲    并    不    退    让   , 难    道    世    界    上    糟    糕    的    诗    还    不    够    多    吗   ?
 我    再    也    受    不    了    了   。 我    冲    出    饭    厅   , 跑    进    自    己    的    房    间   , 扑    到    床    上    失    声    痛    哭    起    来   。 饭    厅    里   , 父    母    还    在    为    那    首    诗    争    吵    着   
 几    年    后   , 当    我    再    拿    起    那    首    诗   , 不    得    不    承    认    父    亲    是    对    的   , 那    的    确    是    一    首    相    当    糟    糕    的    诗   。 不    过    母    亲    还    是    一    如    既    往    地    鼓    励    我   , 因    此    我    还    一    直    在    写    作   。 有    一    次   , 我    鼓    起    勇    气    给    父    亲    看    了    一    篇    我    新    写    的    短    篇    小    说   。 写    得    不    怎    么    样   , 但    也    不    是    毫    无    希    望   。 根    据    父    亲    的    批    语   , 我    学    着    进    行    修    改   , 那    时    我    还    未    满    十    二    岁   
 现    在    我    已    经    有    了    很    多    作    品   , 出    版    了    一    部    部    小    说   、 戏    剧    和    电    影    剧    本   。 我    越    来    越    体    会    到    我    当    初    是    多    么    幸    运   。 我    有    个    慈    祥    的    母    亲   , 她    常    常    对    我    说   : 巴    迪   , 这    是    你    写    的    吗   ? 精    彩    极    了   ! 我    还    有    个    严    厉    的    父    亲   , 他    总    是    皱    着    眉    头   , 说   : 这    个    糟    糕    透    了   。 一    个    作    家   , 应    该    说    生    活    中    的    每    一    个    人   , 都    需    要    来    自    母    亲    的    力    量   , 这    种    爱    的    力    量    是    灵    感    和    创    作    的    源    泉   。 但    是    仅    有    这    个    是    不    全    面    的   , 它    可    能    会    把    人    引    入    歧    途   , 所    以    还    需    要    警    告    的    力    量    来    平    衡   , 需    要    有    人    时    常    提    醒    你   : 小    心   , 注    意   , 总    结   , 提    高   
 这    些    年    来   , 我    少    年    时    代    听    到    的    这    两    种    声    音    一    直    交    织    在    我    的    耳    际   。  精    彩    极    了   ! 糟    糕    透    了   ! 精    彩    极    了   ! 糟    糕    透    了   !…… 它    们    像     两    股    风    不    断    地    向    我    吹    来   。 我    谨    慎    地    把    握    住    我    生    活    的    小    船   , 使    它    不    被     哪    一    股    风    刮    倒   。 我    从    心    底    里    知    道   , 精    彩    极    了    也    好   , 糟    糕    透    了     也    好   , 这    两    个    极    端    的    断    言    有    一    个    共    同    的    出    发    点   , 那    就    是    爱   。 在    爱    的     鼓    舞    下   , 我    努    力    地    向    前    驶    去   

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