When I knew I was going to come to speak to you, I thought, "I gotta call my mother." I have a little Cuban mother -- she's about that big. Four feet. Nothing larger than the sum of her figurative parts. You still with me? (Laughter) I called her up. "Hello, how're you doing, baby?" "Hey, ma, I got to talk to you." "You're talking to me already. What's the matter?" I said, "I've got to talk to a bunch of nice people." "You're always talking to nice people, except when you went to the White House." "Ma, don't start!" And I told her I was coming to TED, and she said, "What's the problem?" And I said, "Well, I'm not sure." I said, "I have to talk to them about stories. It's 'Technology, Entertainment and Design.'" And she said, "Well, you design a story when you make it up, it's entertainment when you tell it, and you're going to use a microphone." (Laughter) I said, "You're a peach, ma. Pop there?" "What's the matter? The pearls of wisdom leaping from my lips like lemmings is no good for you?" (Laughter) Then my pop got on there. My pop, he's one of the old souls, you know -- old Cuban man from Camaguey. Camaguey is a province in Cuba. He's from Florida. He was born there in 1924. He grew up in a bohio of dirt floors, and the structure was the kind used by the Tainos, our old Arawak ancestors. My father is at once quick-witted, wickedly funny, and then poignancy turns on a dime and leaves you breathless. "Papi, help." "I already heard your mother. I think she's right." (Laughter) "After what I just told you?" My whole life, my father's been there. So we talked for a few minutes, and he said, "Why don't you tell them what you believe?" I love that, but we don't have the time. Good storytelling is crafting a story that someone wants to listen to. Great story is the art of letting go. So I'm going to tell you a little story. Remember, this tradition comes to us not from the mists of Avalon, back in time, but further still, before we were scratching out these stories on papyrus, or we were doing the pictographs on walls in moist, damp caves. Back then, we had an urge, a need, to tell the story. When Lexus wants to sell you a car, they're telling you a story. Have you been watching the commercials? Because every one of us has this desire, for once -- just once -- to tell our story and have it heard. There are stories you tell from stages. There's stories that you may tell in a small group of people with some good wine. And there's stories you tell late at night to a friend, maybe once in your life. And then there are stories that we whisper into a Stygian darkness. I'm not telling you that story. I'm telling you this one. It's called, "You're Going to Miss Me." It's about human connection. My Cuban mother, which I just briefly introduced you to in that short character sketch, came to the United States one thousand years ago. I was born in 19 -- I forget, and I came to this country with them in the aftermath of the Cuban revolution. We went from Havana, Cuba to Decatur, Georgia. And Decatur, Georgia's a small Southern town. And in that little Southern town, I grew up, and grew up hearing these stories. But this story only happened a few years ago. I called my mom. It was a Saturday morning. And I was calling about how to make ajiaco. It's a Cuban meal. It's delicious. It's savory. It makes spit froth in the little corners of your mouth -- is that enough? It makes your armpits juicy, you know? That kind of food, yeah. This is the sensory part of the program, people. I called my mother, and she said, "Carmen, I need you to come, please. I need to go to the mall, and you know your father now, he takes a nap in the afternoon, and I got to go. I got an errand to run." Let me parenthetically pause here and tell you -- Esther, my mother, had stopped driving several years ago, to the collective relief of the entire city of Atlanta. Any vehicular outing with that woman from the time I was a young child, guys, naturally included flashing, blue lights. But she'd become adept at dodging the boys in blue, and when she did meet them, oh, she had wonderful, well, rapport. "Ma'am, did you know that was a light you just ran?" (Spanish) "You don't speak English?" "No." (Laughter) But eventually, every dog has its day, and she ended up in traffic court, where she bartered with the judge for a discount. There's a historical marker. But now she was a septuagenarian, she'd stopped driving. And that meant that everyone in the family had to sign up to take her to have her hair dyed, you know, that peculiar color of blue that matches her polyester pants suit, you know, same color as the Buick. Anybody? All right. Little picks on the legs, where she does her needlepoint, and leaves little loops. Rockports -- they're for this. That's why they call them that. (Laughter) This is her ensemble. And this is the woman that wants me to come on a Saturday morning when I have a lot to do, but it doesn't take long because Cuban guilt is a weighty thing. I'm not going political on you but ... And so, I go to my mother's. I show up. She's in the carport. Of course, they have a carport. The kind with the corrugated roof, you know. The Buick's parked outside, and she's jingling, jangling a pair of keys. "I got a surprise for you, baby!" "We taking your car?" "Not we, I." And she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a catastrophe. Somebody's storytelling. Interactive art. You can talk to me. Oh, a driver's license, a perfectly valid driver's license. Issued, evidently, by the DMV in her own county of Gwinnett. Blithering fucking idiots. (Laughter) I said, "Is that thing real?" "I think so." "Can you even see?" "I guess I must." "Oh, Jesus." She gets into the car -- she's sitting on two phone books. I can't even make this part up because she's that tiny. She's engineered an umbrella so she can -- bam! -- slam the door. Her daughter, me, the village idiot with the ice cream cone in the middle of her forehead, is still standing there, slack-jawed. "You coming? You no coming?" "Oh, my God." I said, "OK, fine. Does pop know you're driving?" "Are you kidding me?" "How are you doing it?" "He's got to sleep sometime." And so we left my father fast asleep, because I knew he'd kill me if I let her go by herself, and we get in the car. Puts it in reverse. Fifty-five out of the driveway, in reverse. I am buckling in seatbelts from the front. I'm yanking them in from the back. I'm doing double knots. I mean, I've got a mouth as dry as the Kalahari Desert. I've got a white-knuckle grip on the door. You know what I'm talking about? And she's whistling, and finally I do the kind of birth breathing -- you know, that one? Only a couple of women are going uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh. Right. And I said, "Ma, would you slow down?" Because now she's picked up the Highway 285, the perimeter around Atlanta, which encompasses now -- there's seven lanes, she's on all of them, y'all. I said, "Ma, pick a lane!" "They give you seven lanes, they expect you to use them." And there she goes, right. I don't believe for a minute she has been out and not been stopped. So, I think, hey, we can talk. It'll be a diversion. It'll help my breathing. It'll do something for my pulse, maybe. "Mommy, I know you have been stopped." "No, no, what you talking about?" "You have a license. How long have you been driving?" "Four or five days." "Yeah. And you haven't been stopped?" "I did not get a ticket." I said, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, but come on, come on, come on." "OK, so I stopped at a light and there's a guy, you know, in the back." "Would this guy have, like, a blue uniform and a terrified look on his face?" "You weren't there, don't start." "Come on. You got a ticket?" "No." She explained, "The man" -- I have to tell you as she did, because it loses something if I don't, you know -- "he come to the window, and he does a thing like this, which tells me he's pretty old, you know. So I look up and I'm thinking, maybe he's still going to think I'm kind of cute." "Ma, are you still doing that?" "If it works, it works, baby. So, I say, 'Perdon, yo no hablo ingles.' Well, wouldn't you know, he had been in Honduras for the Peace Corps." (Laughter) So he's talking to her, and at some point she says, "Then, you know, it was it. That was it. It was done." "Yeah? What? He gave you a ticket? He didn't give you a ticket? What?" "No, I look up, and the light, she change." (Laughter) You should be terrified. Now, I don't know if she's toying with me, kind of like a cat batting back a mouse, batting back a mouse -- left paw, right paw, left paw, right paw -- but by now, we've reached the mall. Now, you have all been at a mall during the holidays, yes? Talk to me. Yes. Yes. You can say yes. Audience: Yes. Carmen Agra Deedy: All right, then you know that you have now entered parking lot purgatory, praying to that saint of perpetual availability that as you join that serpentine line of cars crawling along, some guy's going to turn on the brake lights just as you pull up behind him. But that doesn't happen most of the time, right? So, first I say, "Ma, why are we here?" "You mean, like, in the car?" "No, don't -- why are we here today? It's Saturday. It's the holidays." "Because I have to exchange your father's underwear." Now, see, this is the kind of Machiavellian thinking, that you really have to -- you know, in my mind, it's a rabbit's warren, this woman's mind. Do I want to walk in, because unless I have Ariadne's thread to anchor -- enough metaphors for you? -- somewhere, I may not get out. But you know. (Laughter) "Why do we have to take pop's underwear back now? And why? What is wrong with his underwear?" "It will upset you." "It won't upset me. Why? What? Is something wrong with him?" "No, no, no. The only thing with him is, he's an idiot. I sent him to the store, which was my first mistake, and he went to buy underwear, and he bought the grippers, and he's supposed to buy the boxers." "Why?" "I read it on the Intersnet. You cannot have children." "Oh, my God!" (Laughter) Olivia? Huh? Huh? By now, we have now crawled another four feet, and my mother finally says to me, "I knew it, I knew it. I'm an immigrant. We make a space. What I tell you? Right there." And she points out the passenger window, and I look out, and three -- three -- aisles down, "Look, the Chevy." You want to laugh, but you don't know -- you're that politically corrected, have you noticed? Correct the other direction now, it's OK. "Look, the Chevy -- he's coming this way." "Mama, mama, mama, wait, wait, wait. The Chevy is three aisles away." She looks at me like I'm her, you know, her moron child, the cretin, the one she's got to speak to very slowly and distinctly. "I know that, honey. Get out of the car and go stand in the parking space till I get there." OK, I want a vote. Come on, come on. No, no. How many of you once in your -- you were a kid, you were an adult -- you stood in a parking space to hold it for someone? See, we're a secret club with a secret handshake. (Laughter) And years of therapy later, we're doing great. We're doing great. We're doing fine. Well, I stood up to her. This is -- you know, you'd think by now I'm -- and still holding? I said, "No way, ma, you have embarrassed me my entire life." Of course, her comeback is, "When have I embarrassed you?" (Spanish) And she's still talking while she puts the car in park, hits the emergency brake, opens the door, and with a spryness astounding in a woman her age, she jumps out of the car, knocks out the phone books, and then she walks around -- she's carrying her cheap Kmart purse with her -- around the front of the car. She has amazing land speed for a woman her age, too. Before I know it, she has skiddled across the parking lot and in between the cars, and people behind me, with that kind of usual religious charity that the holidays bring us, wah-wah wah-wah. "I'm coming." Italian hand signals follow. I scoot over. I close the door. I leave the phone books. This is new and fast, just so you -- are you still with us? We'll wait for the slow ones. OK. I start, and this is where a child says to me -- and the story doesn't work if I tell you about her before, because this is my laconic child. A brevity, brevity of everything with this child. You know, she eats small portions. Language is something to be meted out in small phonemes, you know -- just little hmm, hmm-hmm. She carries a mean spiral notebook and a pen. She wields great power. She listens, because that's what people who tell stories do first. But she pauses occasionally and says, "How do you spell that? What year? OK." When she writes the expose in about 20 years, don't believe a word of it. But this is my daughter, Lauren, my remarkable daughter, my borderline Asperger's kid. Bless you, Dr. Watson. She says, "Ma, you got to look!" Now, when this kid says I got to look, you know. But it isn't like I haven't seen this crime scene before. I grew up with this woman. I said, "Lauren, you know what, give me a play-by-play. I can't." "No, mama, you got to look." I got to look. You got to look. Don't you want to look? There she is. I look in bewildered awe: she's standing, those Rockports slightly apart, but grounded. She's holding out that cheap Kmart purse, and she is wielding it. She's holding back tons of steel with the sheer force of her little personality, in that crone-ish voice, saying things like, "Back it up, buddy! No, it's reserved!" (Laughter) Ready? Brace yourselves. Here it comes. "No, my daughter, she's coming in the Buick. Honey, sit up so they can see you." Oh, Jesus. Oh, Jesus. I finally come -- and now, it's the South. I don't know what part of the country you live in. I think we all secretly love stories. We all secretly want our blankie and our Boo Bear. We want to curl up and say, "Tell it to me, tell it to me. Come on, honey, tell it to me." But in the South, we love a good story. People have pulled aside, I mean, they've come out of that queue line, they have popped their trunks, pulled out lawn chairs and cool drinks. Bets are placed. "I'm with the little lady. Damn!" (Laughter) And she's bringing me in with a slight salsa movement. She is, after all, Cuban. I'm thinking, "Accelerator, break. Accelerator, break." Like you've never thought that in your life? Right? Yeah. I pull in. I put the car in park. Engine's still running -- mine, not the car. I jump out next to her going, "Don't you move!" "I'm not going anywhere." She's got front seat in a Greek tragedy. I come out, and there's Esther. She's hugging the purse. "Que?" Which means "what," and so much more. (Laughter) "Ma, have you no shame? People are watching us all around," right? Now, some of them you've got to make up, people. Secret of the trade. Guess what? Some of these stories I sculpt a little, here and there. Some, they're just right there, right there. Put them right there. She says this to me. After I say -- let me refresh you -- "have you no shame?" "No. I gave it up with pantyhose -- they're both too binding." (Laughter) (Applause) Yeah, you can clap, but then you're about 30 seconds from the end. I'm about to snap like a brittle twig, when suddenly someone taps me on the shoulder. Intrepid soul. I'm thinking, "This is my kid. How dare she? She jumped out of that car." That's OK, because my mother yells at me, I yell at her. It's a beautiful hierarchy, and it works. (Laughter) I turn around, but it's not a child. It's a young woman, a little taller than I, pale green, amused eyes. With her is a young man -- husband, brother, lover, it's not my job. And she says, "Pardon me, ma'am" -- that's how we talk down there -- "is that your mother?" I said, "No, I follow little old women around parking lots to see if they'll stop. Yes, it's my mother!" The boy, now, he says. "Well, what my sister meant" -- they look at each other, it's a knowing glance -- "God, she's crazy!" I said, (Spanish), and the young girl and the young boy say, "No, no, honey, we just want to know one more thing." I said, "Look, please, let me take care of her, OK, because I know her, and believe me, she's like a small atomic weapon, you know, you just want to handle her really gingerly." And the girl goes, "I know, but, I mean, I swear to God, she reminds us of our mother." I almost miss it. He turns to her on the heel of his shoe. It's a half-whisper, "God, I miss her." They turn then, shoulder to shoulder, and walk away, lost in their own reverie. Memories of some maddening woman who was the luck of their DNA draw. And I turn to Esther, who's rocking on those 'ports, and says, "You know what, honey?" "What, ma?" "I'm going to drive you crazy probably for about 14, 15 more years, if you're lucky, but after that, honey, you're going to miss me." (Applause)
當我知道我將要來向你們演講, 我想, 我要打電話給我媽。 我有一個古巴籍的媽媽 -- 她大概有這麼高。 四呎 - 比她象徴的部分也大不了多少。 你仍在聽著我嗎? (笑聲) 我打電話給她, "你好, 親愛的, 你好嗎?" "媽媽, 我要和你談談。" "你已經在跟我談了。什麼事?" 我說, "我要對一群很好的人演講。" "你常常都是對好人演講, 除了你上次去的 白宮之外--" "媽, 別這様!" 我告訢她我要來TED, 她說, "有什麼問題?" 而我說,"我不肯定。" 我說,"我要告訴他們一些故事。 而這個故事要關於科技,娛樂及設計。" 而她說,"當你編故事, 你就是進行設計, 當你說故事, 就是娛樂, 還會用到麥克風(科技)。" (笑聲) 我說,"謝謝妳喔! 爸在嗎?" "有什麼問題? 智慧的珍珠 像旅鼠般從我的嘴唇中跳出, 不是很棒嗎?" (笑聲) 然後, 我爸來了。 我爸 - 他很老陳 一個來自卡馬圭的古巴男人。 卡馬圭是古巴的一個省。 他來自佛羅里達州。 他1924年在那裏出生。 他在一些骯髒的房屋中成長, 而那些建築是泰諾人常用的那種, 我們遠古的阿拉瓦克祖先。 我爸以前很聰穎, 亦有諷刺性的幽默感, 但辛酸的經歴令你透不過氣來。 "爸爸, 幫幫我。" "我已聽過你媽媽說。我覺得她是對的。" (笑聲) "你剛剛是沒聽見嗎?" 在我整個生命裏, 我的爸爸都在那裏。 我們談了數分鐘, 然後他說, "為什麼不把你相信的告訴他們?" 我想, 但我們時間不夠。 好的說故事技巧,是創作人們想聆聽的故事。 好的故事是放開的藝術。 所以我現在要告訴你一個小故事。 記著, 這個傳統是來自我們的 而不是由遠古的亞瓦崙而來的, 在我們開始在紙莎草紙繪畫我們的故事前, 或在我們在潮濕的山洞牆壁繪畫之前, 在那時, 我們已有迫切的需要, 去說故事。 當凌志向你推銷汽車時, 他們在告訴你一個故事。 你有沒有看過那些廣告? 因為我們每個人都有這種慾望, 即使只是一次, 去說我們的故事, 並且被聆聽。 在不同的階段, 你會有不同的故事。 有些故事, 你可能會 在幾個人享受美酒的情況下說的。 而有些故事, 你可能會在深夜告訴你的一位朋友, 可能一生就一次。 而有些故事, 我們只想向黑夜說。 我將要說的故事並不是這些。 我將要告訴你這個故事。 這個故事叫,"你將會掛念我。" 這個故事是講人與人之間的關係。 剛才我簡單介紹過的, 古巴籍的媽媽, 矮小的那位, 在一千年前去了美國。 我生於19-- 我已忘記是那一年, 而我來到這個國家 是在古巴革命之後, 和他們一起來的。 我們由古巴的哈瓦那,到喬治亞州的第開特。 而第開特是喬治亞州南方的一個小鎮。 我就是在這個小鎮中成長, 並且聽著這些故事成長。 但這故事只是發生在數年前。 我打電話給我的媽媽。 那是一個星期六的早上。 而我打電話是想問媽媽如何煮一個古巴的湯。 這個湯很美味。 這個湯會令你垂涎三尺。 連腋下都流口水,你懂嗎? 就是這種食品! 刺激你的感官阿 我打給媽媽, 而她說, "卡蔓, 請你過來, 我需要你。 我要去商場, 而你爸 在睡午覺, 而我必須離開。 去處理一些雜務。 讓我在這裏停一下, 並告訴你 -- 我媽, 伊斯妲, 在數年前已開始停止開車, 整個亞特蘭大市都鬆了一口氣。 當我還小, 坐媽媽的車出去時, 就會有警察閃著燈追她 但她變得很熟練地避開警察, 如果被追到了, 她很會處理。 "小姐, 你知道你剛才衝了燈嗎?" (西班牙文) "你不懂英語?" "不。" (哈哈) 但每個人都會有報應, 而她結果被告上法庭, 在法庭上, 她與法官爭辯, 希望可以給她打折。 這實在是歴史上的一個創擧。 現在她已年過七十, 不再開車。 而這表示家裏的每個人都要自願 去帶她去染頭髮啦, 染那種古怪的藍色, 還跟她的尼龍褲子相襯, 你知, 和別克的顏色一樣。 有沒有人? 可以。 當她做針線工作時, 在腳上留下了一些痕跡。 Rockports鞋-可以這樣動。 所以它們有這樣的名字。 (笑聲) 這是她給人的印象。 就是這樣的女人想我在星期六早上過去 我有很多事要做, 但這不需要太多時間, 因為古巴的內疚是一件很繁複的事。 不想討論太政治性的議題, 總之我去了我媽媽那裏。 我出現了。她在車棚。 當然, 他們有一個車棚。 你知, 有波狀屋頂的那種。 那輛別克就泊在外面, 而她正在搖晃兩條鎖匙。 "親愛的, 我有一個驚喜給你!" "要開你的車嗎?" "不只如此。" 她伸手入袋中, 並拿出一個災難來。 有人在講故事。是一個互動的藝術。你可以和我談話。 呀, 是一張駕照 -- 一張完全有效的駕照。 是由她住的Gwinnett車管局發出的。 他媽的白痴。 (笑聲) 我說,"這是真的嗎?" "我想是。" "你看見嗎?" "我想我看見。" "啊, 上帝!" 她上了車, 坐在兩本電話簿上。 我沒有說謊, 因為她太矮了。 她改造了一把雨傘, 讓她可以把門關上。 她的女兒, 即是我 -- 村裏拿著雪糕的白痴 仍站在那裏, 驚嚇得把口張大。 "你來不來?" "啊, 上帝。"我說,"可以。爸爸知道你開車嗎?" "你在開玩笑嗎?" "你怎麼做得到?" "他要睡覺嘛。" 所以趁爸熟睡時離開, 我知道如果我不跟著我媽 我爸會殺了我, 所以我們一同上了車子。 媽倒了車, 以55的高速倒車。 我正在戴上安全帶, 我由後面戴上安全帶, 並打上兩個結。 我的口和卡拉哈里沙漠一樣乾。 我緊張地握著車門的扶手。你知道我在說什麼嗎? 而她在吹口哨, 而我最終 像在生孩子般呼吸 - 你知啦, 那一種? 只有幾位女士點頭。對。 而我說, "媽, 你可以慢下來嗎?" 因為她選了285號公路, 在大西洋的周邊 -- 那裏有七條車道 - 她七條都開, 對, 全部。 我說, "媽, 選定一條車道吧!" "他們給你七條車道, 就是要你用它們。" 而她就這樣繼續開車。 我不敢相信, 她這樣開沒被攔下。 我想, 我們能談談。 可能有轉機。 這可幫助舒緩我的呼吸。這可能對我的脈搏有幫助。 "媽, 我知道你被攔過了。" "不, 不, 你在說什麼?" "你拿駕照後。車開幾天了?" "四或五天。" "對。而你沒被攔過?" "我沒收到紅單。" 我說,"對對對, 來吧, 來吧。" "我在紅綠燈前停下來" "後面一個人過來。" "這男的是不是穿著藍色制服" "臉上掛著驚嚇的表情?" "你不在那裏, 別念我。" "拜託。你有被開單吧?" "沒有。"她解釋 -- "這男子" -- 我要像她那樣告訴你 因為如果我不這樣做, 會失去那感覺 -- "他來到窗口, 並這樣做 -- 這告訴我他都有一定的年紀, 你知啦。 所以, 我向上望, 而我在想, 可能他覺得我很可愛。" "媽, 你還來這套?" "親愛的, 這有效的。" 所以我說, (西班牙語) "你不知道, 他會講西文。" (笑聲) 他跟她講著講, 突然, 她說, "然後, 事情就是這樣。" "什麼?" 他開了紅單還是沒有? 什麼?" "不, 我向上望, 然後那盞燈, 轉了。" (笑聲) 你一定很驚慌。 現在, 我不知道她是否在玩弄我, 好像一隻貓打回一隻老鼠,打回一隻老鼠-- 左爪, 右爪, 左爪, 右爪。 那時候, 我們到了商場。 你們都一定在假期時到過商場, 對? 告訴我。對。對。你可以說對。 觀眾: 對。 現在, 你知道進入那個似煉獄的停車場是怎樣的, 祈禱希望有空位出現 你會加入那長長的車龍, 有人總會亮起停車燈 當你在他後面停車。 但在大部分情況, 這都不會發生, 對? 所以, 我先說, "媽, 為什麼我們在這裏?" "你是指, 在車裏?" "不 - 為什麼我們今天在這裏? 今天是星期六。今天是假期。" "因為我要換你爸爸的內衣。" 你看, 這是一種馬基雅弗利主義的思想, 你真的要 -- 你知道, 在我的腦海中, 這是一個狡兔窟, 這個女人的腦袋。 除非我有阿麗雅德妮的錨繩(希臘神話), 我真不敢進去 這暗喻夠嗎? 我可能困在迷宮走不出來。 但你知道 -- (笑聲) "為什麼我們要現在把爸爸的內衣帶回來? 為什麼? 他的內衣有什麼問題?" "這會令你不高興。" "這不會令我不高興。為什麼? 什麼? 有什麼不妥?" "不不不。有問題的地方就只是, 他是個白痴。 我叫他去商鋪那裏 - 這是我第一個錯誤 -- 他去買了內衣, 及夾子, 他應當也要買短褲。" "為什麼?" 我在網上看見的。你不能生小孩子。" "啊, 我的天!" (笑聲) 奧利弗? 吓? 吓? 那時候, 我們又爬行了四尺, 我媽最後向我說,"我知道, 我知道。 我是個新移民。我們會創造空間。告訢你, 在這裏。" 然後她指著那乘客的窗戶, 我向外望, 三條横巷外面 -- "你看, 那輛車." 你想笑, 但你不懂 -- 你在那裏是政治正確的 - 你有注意到嗎? 現在改正到另一個方向, 現在好了。 你看, 那輛車 -- 他正在向這邊駛來。" "媽媽, 等一下, 等一下, 等一下。 那輛車在三條橫巷之外。" 我望著我好像我是白痴 -- 她在和這個白痴說話時, 必須說得很慢及很清楚。 "親愛的, 我知道。先出去 然後在停車格佔著, 等我過來。 我要投票。來吧, 來吧。不, 不。 有多少個你曾在你的 - 你曾是個小孩子, 你曾是個大人 - 你站在停車格等人的? 看, 我們是一個秘密的組織, 有一個秘密的握手。 (笑聲) 經過多年的治療, 我們現在很好。 我們現在很好。我們現在很好。 我站起來。 你知道, 你想我現在, 仍拿著? 我說, "不, 媽, 你令我整個人生都蒙羞。" 當然, 她的回應是,"我何時令你蒙羞?" (西班牙文) 當她泊車時, 她仍在說話, 踏在緊急剎車掣上, 把門打開, 而她擁有和她年紀不相配的活力, 她跳出車外, 敲動了電話簿, 然後在四周走動-- 她仍然在攜帶她那個便宜的錢包 -- 她走到車子前面。 對她這個年紀的女人來說, 她有一個驚人的速度。 在我醒覺之前, 她已跳過了停車的地方 在車子中間穿過, 而在我後面的人們 都在尖叫, 嘩嘩。 "我正在過來。"她跟著用意大利的手語。 我匆匆離去。我把門關上。我把電話薄留下。 我講超快的 - 跟得上嗎? 我們會等那些慢的。 我開始時 - 這是一個孩子告訴我的 - 這故事沒有效, 如果我在之前已把她的事告訴你。 因為這是我簡潔的孩子。 這個孩子的所有事情都是簡潔的。 你知, 她吃的份量很少。 語言對她來說是一個懲罰 你知, 她說話只是用一些很短的音素。 她常常會帶著記事薄和筆。 她有很大的力量。 她聆聽, 因為這是每個講故事的人首要做的事。 但她間中會停下來, 並說, "這個事怎樣串? 什麼年份? 好。" 當她寫了二十年的故事, 別相信她的一句說話。 但這是我的女兒,勞倫,我非凡的女兒, 我將近有亞斯伯格症的孩子。 沃森博士, 祝福你。 她說, "媽, 你看!" 當這個孩子叫我看時, 你知道。 但我並不是之前沒有看過這些犯罪場面。 我與這女人一起成長。 我說, "勞倫, 給我一個現場報道。我不能 --" "不, 媽媽, 你一定要看。" 我要看。你要看。 你不想看嗎? 她在那裏。 我很驚訝地望著 -- 她站著, 搖著的Rockports鞋 , 揮舞著她那便宜的錢包, 她像是在用全身的力量攔住千噸的鐵 以她細小的性格, 用一把不悅耳的聲音, 像在說, "朋友, 支持我吧! 不, 這已被預留!" (笑聲) 準備好了沒有? 勇敢一點。 "不, 我的女兒, 她開著她的別克來了。 親愛的, 坐好, 讓他們可以看見你。" 我的天! 我的天! 我終於來到, 現在它在南面。 我不知道你住在哪裏。 我想私底下我們都喜愛故事。 私底下, 我們都喜愛我們的被窩及小熊。 我們都想撒嬌地說,"告訴我吧! 告訴我吧! 來吧, 親愛的, 告訴我吧!" 在南方, 我們喜愛一個好的故事。 人們站在一旁, 我的意思是, 他們離開了人龍, 他們放好他們的貨車, 拿出椅子及凍飲。 開始下注。 "我是在那位小女子的那邊的!" (笑聲) 她以一個跳舞的節奏帶我進來。 她 -- 始終 -- 是一個古巴人。 我在想, "加速器, 請壞吧!" 就像你從沒想過那様? 對? 是呀。 我在公園把車子停下來。 引擎仍在轉動 - 不是我的, 我的車。 我跳到她的身旁, 說"別動!" "我那裏也不會去。" 她坐在前面。 我出來, 而埃斯特在那裏。 她拿著她的錢包, 拿得很緊。 "什麼(西文)" 表示 "什麼?" - 還有很多意思。 (笑聲) 媽, 你不羞愧的嗎? 四周的人都在看著我們呢。" 現在, 他們某些人 -- 你要創作呢。 商業秘密。 猜一下? 這些故事, 我在這裏作一些, 在那裏作一些。 它們就在這裏。把它們放在這裏。 她向我說了這些。 後來, 我說 -- 讓我提醒你一下 -- "你不覺得羞恥嗎?" "不。我放棄了連褲襪 - 它們太捆綁了。" (笑聲) (掌聲) 對, 你可以拍掌, 但你距離完場只有三十秒。 當我正將一個脆枝般折斷, 有人在我的膊頭上敲了一下。 一個勇敢的人。 我在想, "這是我的孩子。她竟敢這樣做? 她從車子裏跳出來。" 這是可以的, 因為我媽吼我, 我就吼我女兒。 這是一個很漂亮的制度, 而它是可行的。 (笑聲) 我向後轉, 但這不是一個孩子, 而是一個少女。 比我稍高少少。淺綠色, 而且有趣的眼睛。 和她一起的是一個少年 - 丈夫, 兄弟, 愛人 - 不干我的事。 然後她說, "不好意思" - 在那裏, 我們是這樣說話的 -- "她是你媽嗎?" 我說, "不, 在停車場裏, 我習慣跟隨一些細小的老女人 對, 當然是我媽!" 這個男孩, 現在說 "我的姐姐的意思是" -- 他們互相對望 -- 這是一個熟悉的對望 -- "天啊, 她瘋了!" 我說 (西班牙語), 那位少女及少男說, "不, 不, 親愛的, 我們想知道多一件事。" 我說, "看, 請, 讓我照顧著她, 沒問題的, 因為我認識她, 並相信我, 她像一個細小的核武, 你知, 你想小心翼翼地處理她。" 而那女孩說, "我知道, 說真的, 我可以向上帝發誓, 她令我們想起了我們的媽媽。" 我差點錯過了。 他轉過身, 對著她。 輕聲地說, "天啊, 我掛念著她。" 他們同時轉身, 肩並肩, 然後離開, 在他們的夢想中消失。 這是一個瘋巔的女人的回憶。 埃斯特正在搖動鞋子, 而我轉身對著埃斯特說, "親愛的, 你知道嗎?" "什麼, 媽媽?" "在未來的14或15年裏, 我都會把你弄瘋, 如果你幸運的話, 之後, 親愛的, 你將可能會掛念我。" (掌聲)