When I read this famous book, my heart was filled with regret and indignation. I am glad for myself, because the feudal ethics of cannibalism has been buried, and I live in a happy 2 1 century. I have a warm home and love my parents.
My father is a big man, with an angular bronze face, and he is very handsome. His bushy eyebrows and high nose all show his domineering. Although he works hard, he loves me dearly.
That was when I was eight years old. Unfortunately, I was infected with typhoid fever and my fever reached 40 degrees Celsius. I stayed in the local hospital for two days and didn't get better. My parents sent me to the county hospital overnight. A hospital admitted to the emergency room, only felt that doctors and nurses were shuttling back and forth, busy taking temperature and hanging infusion bottles; I heard my mother sobbing softly. All night, my parents kept wiping my palms, soles and armpits with warm water ... At dawn the next day, the high fever finally subsided. At this time, there was a strong wind outside the window, and soon it rained heavily, and the rain didn't ring until it hit the glass window. My stomach started growling and I pouted. Dad saw me unhappy and quickly asked, "What's the matter, baby?" "I, I ..." Dad said kindly, "What do you want?" "I want to eat KFC porridge and fried dough sticks." I regretted it as soon as I said it. KFC is two stops from the hospital. It's raining outside, there is no umbrella, it's not bright, and there is no taxi. How does dad get there? At the moment of my doubt, my father had rushed out of the ward. More than 20 minutes passed, and the father who was drenched into a "drowned chicken" came in with a bowl of preserved egg lean porridge and a bag of reassuring fried dough sticks. "Slow down, or you'll burn yourself," Dad said with concern. Tears blurred my eyes. I took a sip of porridge gently. Salty tears mixed with steaming porridge, I slowly finished eating. Dad smiled and said, "Jiang Mumu is so nice and great!" "Looking at tired dad, tears rolled down his cheeks again.
My mother is a primary school teacher. She is strict in teaching and gentle to her students, but only to me. That was when I was in the fourth grade. I once forgot to do my homework and thought, "My mother taught me anyway, so it doesn't matter if I don't write." Unexpectedly, my mother slapped me in front of the whole class. I was in tears, as if I heard my classmates say that the teacher's children were useless: so were the teacher's children. I was flushed with shame, and I couldn't wait to crack a crack under my feet and get down. After class, my mother called me to the office, gently touched my red cheek and said earnestly, "Jiang Mumu, my mother did it for your own good today. You will understand when you grow up. " In an instant, the knot in my heart opened, and I choked and said, "Mom, I was wrong, and I will never let you down again."
This is my home, which gives me warmth when I am injured and guides me forward in time when I am lost. I want to say loudly: "I love my family, I love my parents."