以下是小編整理的情感類英語美文欣賞：一盤豌豆， 希望對(duì)你有所感觸。

　　A Plate of Peas 一盤豌豆

　　My grandfather died when I was a small boy, and mygrandmother started staying with us for about sixmonths every year. She lived in a room that doubledas my father's office, which we referred to as "theback room." She carried with her a powerful aroma. Idon‘t know what kind of perfume she used, but itwas the double-barreled, ninety-proof, knockdown,render-the-victim-unconscious, moose-killingvariety. She kept it in a huge atomizer and applied itfrequently and liberally. It was almost impossible togo into her room and remain breathing for any length of time. When she would leave the houseto go spend six months with my Aunt Lillian, my mother and sisters would throw open all thewindows, strip the bed, and take out the curtains and rugs. Then they would spend severaldays washing and airing things out, trying frantically to make the pungent odor go away.

　　This, then, was my grandmother at the time of the infamous pea incident.

　　It took place at the Biltmore Hotel, which, to my eight-year-old mind, was just about the fanciesplace to eat in all of Providence. My grandmother, my mother, and I were having lunch after amorning spent shopping. I grandly ordered a salisbury steak, confident in the knowledge thatbeneath that fancy name was a good old hamburger with gravy. When brought to the table, itwas accompanied by a plate of peas. I do not like peas now. I did not like peas then. I havealways hated peas. It is a complete mystery to me why anyone would voluntarily eat peas. Idid not eat them at home. I did not eat them at restaurants. And I certainly was not about toeat them now. "Eat your peas," my grandmother said.

　　"Mother," said my mother in her warning voice. "He doesn‘t like peas. Leave him alone."

　　My grandmother did not reply, but there was a glint in her eye and a grim set to her jaw thatsignaled she was not going to be thwarted. She leaned in my direction, looked me in the eye,and uttered the fateful words that changed my life: "I'll pay you five dollars if you eat thosepeas."

　　I had absolutely no idea of the impending doom. I only knew that five dollars was anenormous, nearly unimaginable amount of money, and as awful as peas were, only one plate ofthem stood between me and the possession of that five dollars. I began to force the wretchedthings down my throat.

　　My mother was livid. My grandmother had that self-satisfied look of someone who has throwndown an unbeatable trump card. "I can do what I want, Ellen, and you can‘t stop me." Mymother glared at her mother. She glared at me. No one can glare like my mother. If there werea glaring Olympics, she would undoubtedly win the gold medal.

　　I, of course, kept shoving peas down my throat. The glares made me nervous, and every singlepea made me want to throw up, but the magical image of that five dollars floated before me,and I finally gagged down every last one of them. My grandmother handed me the five dollarswith a flourish. My mother continued to glare in silence. And the episode ended. Or so Ithought.

　　My grandmother left for Aunt Lillian's a few weeks later. That night, at dinner, my motherserved two of my all-time favorite foods, meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Along with them camea big, steaming bowl of peas. She offered me some peas, and I, in the very last moments ofmy innocent youth, declined. My mother fixed me with a cold eye as she heaped a huge pile ofpeas onto my plate. Then came the words that were to haunt me for years.

　　"You ate them for money," she said. "You can eat them for love."

　　Oh, despair! Oh, devastation! Now, too late, came the dawning realization that I hadunwittingly damned myself to a hell from which there was no escape.

　　"You ate them for money. You can eat them for love."

　　What possible argument could I muster against that? There was none. Did I eat the peas? Youbet I did. I ate them that day and every other time they were served thereafter. The five dollarswere quickly spent. My grandmother passed away a few years later. But the legacy of the peaslived on, as it lives on to this day. If I so much as curl my lip when they are served (because,after all, I still hate the horrid little things), my mother repeats the dreaded words one moretime: "You ate them for money," she says. "You can eat them for love."