In July, I went to work in the field. It rained continuously during the national day. I didn't go home. My father came near the end of the holiday.
"When my daughter is old, don't even go home." The words are sour.
'it doesn't rain.' The tone of disapproval, in fact, is clear in my heart that I am just greedy for the so-called freedom and unwilling to go home under the guise of rain.
My father stayed here for two days and left me a lot of autumn clothes and food when I left. Although I felt free and easy when my parents were away, I still felt a little empty when my father started the car.
Take the door and walk alone by the river. The wind blew, wet, mixed with the peculiar smell and saltiness of the river water. He buried his head in his collar, vaguely smelled the smell of Xu family, and got into his nostrils with strong fishy and salty.
Years are like sickles. Those hidden small things are like seedlings. Many things begin to taste slowly in the erosion of time. Without the severity of his childhood, his father spoke more like an old friend he had known for many years.
'what is my father?' I have been looking for this adjective for fourteen years. In the third grade of primary school, the teacher once wrote such a composition question. Standing on the seat, he stirred his skirt with his hands until his face turned red, and then he said: my father is my father. I only remember that at that time, the whole class laughed and slapped on the table, so that this matter will be ridiculed after dinner in the next three years.
Today, time flows. The silly answers of childhood have drifted away. Push open the door of the hoarse memory of wind and frost, and pour out bits and pieces about my father. With the dignity of history, it blooms into a beautiful Daisy at the bottom of my heart, lightly fragrant in the past years. Years have a quiet power.
I have always loved my father very much. This is a simple feeling, outlining the old memories in the trivial things.
I grew up in the army. I never know what my father's arms and shoulders are, and even dilute the whole concept of 'father'. Instead, many uncles in camouflage clothes. My uncle fed me and took me to play. But there is always a vague face in my memory, but every time I fall, this face will suddenly become clear. The eyebrow peak condenses with a pair of sharp eyes, and then the cold three words always pop up: 'don't cry!' The tone is firm and irrefutable. The four eyes are opposite. Under the fierce severity, the grievance is always just a pool of soft mud. It is always me who loses. I can only turn around in my eyes, store tears and moving corners of my mouth, and still struggle there. So, at the age of three or four, I kicked it away completely before I could touch the coquettish tail. Even if my arm was dislocated, I stubbornly refused to shed half a drop of tears.
I always thought my father was unkind. Every time I was sick, what I saw in the hospital was not my father's concerned eyes, but sharp scolding. Seeing other people's fathers booing and asking for warmth, only in the dead of night, lying alone on the narrow steel wire bed, chewing his father's words and biting the quilt. Finally, the warm liquid fascinated my eyes.
Until the age of 5, he had a high fever and was once considered meningitis by the hospital. At that time, his father was leading the army in Nanjing. Later, my mother said that my father rushed back to Hangzhou overnight. The doctor asked me to take bone marrow, but my father insisted. Everyone was flustered. Only my father remained firmly by my side and told the doctor to wait another day.
Fortunately, I'm fine. Now my father often takes the feat of that year to me. Bring a cup of tea and listen to my father's endless talk. Those distant and vague histories wander in my mind. How many things can be really printed in my heart except listening to them as a story? The story always ends in a burst of heartless laughter. No one will care about these old things. However, whenever we all leave, my father still sits quietly with a tea cup for a long time. Occasionally, he looks up out of the window and shows an unprecedented coagulation in his eyes.
At that moment, my heart will always feel a little heavy, like filling with lead and desperately pulling you down. My mother said that my father held me in his arms that day and didn't sleep all night. The next day, the high fever miraculously retreated, and my father returned to Nanjing.
Sitting alone by the river, the boat cuts through the skin of the river and heals in an instant. Some of today's leaves are drifting away. The wind shakes the branches of the years, and the thoughts wither and fall with the water to the end of the world. Pick up the broken memory, put it together, and some past events float up. My father took me to the river the day before he changed his job.
'I'm leaving tomorrow.' Voice behind, accompanied by a short sigh. At that time, my father was also staring at the river in a daze, and his eyes fell away.
'Do you think Dad is too cruel to you? ' My father spoke.
Blinking, I suddenly felt that my father was a little strange. I wanted to nod, but after thinking about it, I still raised my neck and shook my head.
The cool wind blows gently, mixed with the faint fragrance of flowers. Not far away, a duckweed whirled around with a small vortex, ups and downs.
'that's a group of duckweed children. ' The father pointed to duckweed and said, 'you see, the scarred life is home everywhere, but he smiles wherever he goes.'
When I was young, I didn't understand my father's words. I just looked at the water curiously and tried to stretch my ears to listen, trying to capture the duckweed smile my father said. My father smiled. For the first time, I saw my father smile, confused but true.
'you'll understand when you grow up.' Father patted me on the head and stopped talking. In the distance, duckweed sank and faintly, I heard a string of indifferent laughter.
After changing jobs, my father became more busy and rarely met my father. It's just rare. I'll go home for dinner. I like to eat shrimp. My father will buy a bag of shrimp when he comes home for dinner. Every time I listened to my father's footsteps by the door, I would laugh and ask, 'dad, you've brought these fools back again.' Then I would watch these stupid little shrimps jumping in the water in the kitchen and sing the song we created together with my father: I am a little shrimps. The shrimps can't run fast. When a big crab comes, the shrimps have nowhere to escape. Finally, the shrimps die & hellip& hellip;
The song is fading away. A messy song, like those shrimps, is so stupid that it contains thousands of words. That's my father's good intentions.
Fade the colorful color of the past, fleeting time is only in a moment.
In the fifth grade, my father began to pay close attention to my math. At that time, I was most afraid of mathematics. My father will catch me and give me counseling as soon as he is free. Maybe it's because he was a soldier. My father is a very impatient person. Every time I don't understand the topic he talked about, he will become very impatient and furious. Over time, I had a fear of mathematics. I was often stunned and couldn't hold a word in the face of my father's questions. Then, after I polished all my father's patience, the palm would fall heavily on my shoulder.
Every tutoring ended with his father's scolding. Therefore, all I can do every day is silently pray to God, hoping that my father can have dinner today, so that I can escape. God still cares for me. My father's entertainment is always more than I have eaten. Most of the time, there are only me and my mother at home.
In junior high school, the difficulty of mathematics gradually deepened. My father also felt that he was a little weak, so he rarely gave me remedial lessons as before. I am an extremely unconscious child. When I first entered grade one, I spent almost every day in the teacher's criticism. I can only say that I have a thick skin. No matter how ugly the teacher says, I still go my own way and live a leisurely life. The examination papers that should have been taken home to sign for my parents were just tossed around in my hand and hurried back. I always thought I could hide it from the world, and I was glad of my wisdom until the parents' meeting was held.
For the first time, I panicked and hid in my grandmother's house to pray for God and worship Buddha, hoping to escape this time again. Unfortunately, even God was completely disappointed with me, and it betrayed me.
I can imagine the teacher criticizing my mother by name at the parents' meeting, spitting everywhere, a happy look after punishing the black sheep. There are also the examination papers filled with red bars, 'Hula la' flying over my mother's head.
That night, my mother called and cried. Vaguely, I heard my father's voice, full of anger.
When I came home the next night, the living room didn't turn on the light or the TV. Just through the street lamp outside the window, I could vaguely see the two figures sitting in the house and the flickering cigarette butts. In the room, smoke swirled. Father looked at me with a gloomy and ugly face. Unexpectedly, instead of yelling as usual, he sat quietly on the sofa in the living room, spitting out smoke rings. My father was quite strong, but at that time I found that the tree like body was twitching slightly, as if it would collapse at any time.
'Dad & hellip& hellip;' I wriggled my lips to say something first to give myself the upper hand.
'don't say anything. ' My father snuffed out the 21st cigarette and interrupted me. His tone was calm without any ripples. 'I'm useless and didn't teach you well.' Leaving aside this sentence, my father said nothing, got up slowly and walked back to his room. Every action was so slow and powerless. The thick wooden door stood between us, with an impenetrable diaphragm. There seemed to be a slight sound from the depths of the invisible diaphragm, like something was broken.
The setting sun will not fall, and the poised pen power will be sprinkled in the sky, smearing half of the country into a mess. The ferry was empty, and the sky remained silent. The river is smiling and speechless, hiding everything silently. Maybe some things can never be seen through.
Cloud dream barrier, the vision of life, always along the time direction of the river, guide the road under our feet. The parents' meeting became the first turning point in my life.
The high score of 647 in the middle school entrance examination was the pride that my father preached everywhere. My father smiled happily, like a child who ate candy.
After high school, his temperament changed greatly. Lofty, arrogant and arrogant have become the main factors of being isolated and excluded by students. I began to be tired of learning, began to escape, and even tired of everything. I called my father, cynical. At the other end of the phone, my father only said eight words: dry your tears and learn to face it. Eight words, such as negative Beiyue, are not heavy, but very heavy.
A boat sailed by, the river pushed waves and quickly hit the heart. Even now, I still chew these eight words repeatedly. Maybe the experience of high school is not a bad thing. At least it makes me understand what commitment is. Sometimes life is in the form of a river, rushing through the canyon and drifting in this life. Living is actually a very sharp thing.
During the third year of senior high school, because of too much pressure, my heart was floating and angry all day. I couldn't make a topic or read a book, but I didn't