儿子的作文PK老子的翻译

无意中看到儿子的一篇作文，一时高兴，翻译出来和他比个高低：
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不一样的音符

“很好，那么这道题呢？” 我手里拿着另一张色彩鲜艳的卡片问道，语气有些疲倦。荷西一边掰着手指一边思索着。

“12、14、16、18！” 他骄傲地宣布。

我重重地叹了口气。“不，荷西，答案是24。看见没有？2、4、6……”我跟荷西解释着，他张大了嘴巴两眼直勾勾地盯着卡片。每堂课都这样一遍遍地重复着。荷西的自闭症使得他根本学不好数学，这好像是在教一个两岁的孩子学微积分一样。“他什么都做不好的。”我脑袋里一个细小的声音在责骂道。我连忙赶走那个声音，又举起另一块卡片说道：“我们来试试这个问题，准备好了吗？”

随着辅导课的进行，荷西变得越来越不耐烦，因为他老是答不对问题。我决定不时地给他一些简单的题目，好让他平静下来。荷西发起脾气来，就像一头愤怒的公牛一样难以制服，更别提他弄的那一片狼藉了。下课铃响了，走廊里传来嘈杂的脚步声。

“今天做得不错，荷西，”我打起精神说到。“课间玩得开心，我们明天见！”我看着他跑出教室，心里感到一丝的悲哀。由于来到一个新的学校，又身带残疾，荷西没有朋友，也可能永远不会交到朋友。

休息时我从走廊穿过，我听到储藏室里传来一阵天使般快乐的乐曲声。困惑中，更是出于好奇，我走过去轻轻地推开了那扇门。屋里，在一大堆发霉的纸板箱和破桌子中间，有一台老式的旧钢琴，坐在那儿弹奏的，正是荷西。



【儿子的一位同学患有自闭症，却弹得一手好钢琴，在他发作的时候，唯有音乐才能使他安静下来。另外，儿子这篇短文的题目我翻译的很不满意，这里‘tune’应该是双关的，中文里对应的是什么？请各位赐教】

A Different Tune

“Very good. Now, how about this one?” I asked in a tired tone, holding up another brightly-coloured flash card. Jose considered this while counting on his finers.

“12, 14, 16, 18!” he exclaimed proudly.

I sighed heavily. “No Jose, this answer is 24. See? 2,4,6…” As I explained to him, he gazed at the card with his open-mouthed stare. Just a repeat of what happened every lesson. With his autistic manner, he would never be good at math; it’s like trying to teach calculus to a 2-year old. He will never be good at anything, a small voice in the back of my head chided. Shaking it away, I took up another flash card.“Let’s try this one. Ready?”

As the lesson carried on, Jose became increasingly frustrated at his inability to answer the questions correctly. I opted to give him an easy question occasionally to keep his temper down. When he had a tantrum, he was as hard to constrain as a raging bull, not to mention the mess he would make. The recess bell rang, followed by the blatant sound of feet trampling the hallway.

“Good job today Jose,” I cheerfully said to him. “Have fun at recess, and I’ll see you tomorrow!” As I watched him run off, I felt a tinge of sadness. He had no friends, being at a new school, and with his disability, it was unlikely that he’d make any.

As I walked down the hall during the break, I heard a jovial tune come from the old storage room. Perplexed, and even more curious, I went up to the door, and slowly opened it. Inside, surrounded by a mass of musty old cardboard boxes and worn tables, was an ancient-looking piano. Seated at the piano, playing it, was Jose.