the whole village knows that my father is mute.
As the villagers he hated said, his father had nothing but the suona.
Half an acre of land, a thatched cottage, bedspreads that don't change all year round, cabinets made of wood and bricks, and agricultural tools covered with rust are no longer available. His family's assets can't be counted with one hand.
Father is stupid, at least he thinks so. Every time something is planted, when it is picked and bought, it will always be played by people. The money brought home is always so unsatisfactory. Every time I was chased around by those naughty children and shouted 'mute!' When, his face was not angry, but a sad smile. He couldn't stand his indifferent expression. His indifferent face made him feel that his father was not only a mute, but also a deaf and a fool. Why is there such an incompetent father? He asked himself not only once.
He likes to blow the suona every evening until the moonlight shines a blank and his father's fingers jump on the suona. He remembered the scene of sadness but not sadness all his life.
It snowed that day. In such weather, my father didn't dare to go out. He kept shivering while guarding the firewood at home. The dress that can survive the winter is for my son to wear to school. Today, however, there was a sound of Suona in the quiet classroom. The gentle voice was the call of my father. Through the frosted glass window, I saw a man squatting in the snow, trembling constantly, his cheeks bulging, his face flushed, but his hands were purple with cold. Under the heavy snow, with a lunch box in his arms, he stared at the school gate. It was full of yearning suona, as if he was looking forward to the spring with warm flowers and willow flying warblers. Planted in his father's arms, he was like a wounded goat licking his wound. Hold up the trembling father, tears, have already burst the embankment.
The lunch was still pickled vegetables and white rice. It was hard for him to swallow a mouthful of his father squatting in the snow. This is the first time my father came to his school. My father knows that he also has dignity. My father didn't want the students to know that he had a father who couldn't speak. But the most worried thing happened. All the students call him 'dumb baby', and some even call him 'dumb' directly. Then he really knew why his father didn't resist, because they were telling the truth. Having nothing to say, he still moved his hand. The result was obvious - he was beaten. At the same time, his father was scolded bloody by his classmates' parents. He also understood what humiliating living is. Since then, he hated the villagers even more, and the word 'mute' was deeply branded in his childhood.
Now, he has left the countryside and can go to school in the city, eliminating the day of being laughed at again. Only he knew that his honest father was still in the village, working at sunrise and resting at sunset, looking forward to the day when he returned from his studies.
The suona sounded every day until the sunset lengthened his thoughts and the cold wind hurt his cheeks. Father could not speak, but he sounded his call in the distance.