I wouldn't like my father if he didn't appear in my life as a father. Speaking of it, he is the kind of person who has both advantages and disadvantages, and it is obvious that he is not worthy of appreciation. But my mother told me that the first word I would say when I babbled was "dad". Kinship? It's really wonderful!
When I was young, I was very weak. After I was often stabbed by a nurse's needle in the hospital, I "threatened": "If you dare to hit me like this, I will let my father hit you!" They laughed at me without fear. At that time, I was puzzled: "Doesn't dad's fist hurt?" What is he busy practicing every day? "
Dad is a modest and educated man, but he loves martial arts. Up to now, there is still a shiny nine-section whip hanging in his study. When I was a child, many classmates envied me having such a father, but I didn't like him very much because my father was very funny. Once he has a rest, he will wander around, and he will simply give up the "Hope Project" and the family life that raised me. My father, who didn't go home for three days as a child, took on all kinds of burdens at work, so he lost too much love for his son. In my childhood when my father was away, adults often asked me, "Do you like my father or my mother better?" Even in my sleep, I will shout "Mom is the best". I don't know if dad who has been repeatedly "evaluated" will be sentimental, even though he is a "Tito" type of person.
Although my father is busy at work and enjoys little family happiness with me, I still have a vivid childhood scene in my memory: my father came home late, and if I didn't fall asleep, he always picked me up, threw me high, caught me, threw me up again … or just slapped me up. On a small support point, I sit higher than my father, and my heart is always proud. Think of a child, throw it away and don't be trapped by travel. That kind of courage is one of the treasures my father gave me, and it is also one of the few memories of playing with my father when I was a child.
Later, my father became a reporter and often wrote articles at home. The phenomenon of leaving early and returning late is much less, but I have grown up and passed the best age for fathers and children to cultivate feelings. At that time, it was difficult for me to find a fusion point between the love for my elders and the love for my father. He is a father who is not good at expressing fatherly love, and I am not sensitive to his implicit fatherly love. He is not a father who takes good care of his children. If I fall, he won't pity me, so I never cry in front of him when I fall. I am strong in front of him. He never helps me with my homework, but only pays attention to my composition book and diary. No matter where I hide, he will find that he "recites" loudly, studies word by word, and analyzes word by word until Xia Hong is all over my face. At this time, he also confidently boasted that "I can know how his Chinese is progressing just by reading his composition". When people ask me about my grades in other subjects, he always says "not bad", which is completely different from my mother's pride in saying my grades in front of others, but it is his indifference that quietly turns my pride into motivation. He didn't pay attention to communicate with me, and our communication was numbered. I only remember that one summer, after the power failure at home, my mother fell asleep, and our father and son were naked, waving fans and lighting candles, which felt like "fireflies with small fans". We will talk about A Dream of Red Mansions by candlelight, from stories to characters, from poems and songs to Cao Xueqin, to the views of famous critics such as Zhou, Liu, Zhang Ailing and Li Guowen, and so on. He also told me many stories of ancient and modern Chinese and foreign writers, many world famous works, and of course he didn't forget to tell me his own articles written in Shu Xiang Zhai. I didn't know until that night that dad actually knew a lot! My mother has repeatedly said that my father is good at basketball and table tennis, and my uncle said that my father is good at chess, but he never taught me and let me learn by myself. I am relatively independent, so I have to learn from teachers everywhere, and now I know a little about piano, chess and calligraphy. When I was a child, every time I did something wrong, I was always beaten by him. He is a bit "Bismarck" and "fascist", so I am a little afraid of him. And because I am used to living without him, I don't take the initiative to create opportunities to communicate with him, and I seem to be avoiding opportunities to get along with each other, even though I think we are not friendly enough.
That's what dad does. Conservatively speaking, there are remnants of feudal paternalism, and fashionably speaking, it is too "cool", and cool people are often difficult to understand. Therefore, my relationship with his father and son has always adhered to the moral of China tradition. When I began to be sensitive to the world and understand the feelings of people around me, I began to learn to understand my father and his love.
When primary school is about to graduate, bicycles shorten the distance between home and school. I woke up on a drizzly morning, but I couldn't find my father who got up the latest on weekdays. Looking out from upstairs, I vaguely found a familiar figure in front of the door-yes, it was dad, who was repairing my bike-and there was something wrong with the brakes yesterday. The small canopy at the door can't cover the falling rain. Dad works very hard. After he didn't notice the window of the balcony in the distance, his son was watching him quietly. His son's tears are brighter than the rain ... after a long time, dad came upstairs, his clothes were a little wet and his hands were covered with oil. He just walked in, silently as usual, without saying that he got up early to repair my car, or telling me that the repaired car was still parked under the privet tree in front of the door, silently, without a word. But I heard a voice in my heart saying, "this is dad, this is my dad!" " "
I often think that the relationship between father and son should not be so subtle, but my father likes subtlety and the subtle father-daughter complex between Feng Zikai and his daughter Po. He wrote in an article that the emotional distance between Feng Zikai and his daughter is actually a hidden "fatherly love distance". You see, dad is too subtle to express in words. He can only be described with a pen, but what impressed me most was his implicit nature.
When I was in junior high school, I was lucky enough to enter Chen Dong International School. From my hometown to my school, with the extension of the horizon, the space distance is far away, but I feel another kind of closeness with my father. I have never said anything to my face, and I have never said anything in detail. My father wrote in his article about the hardships of their previous generation and the unchanging truth in a changing world ... In my mother's eyes, I am still a child. She is caring and attentive and doesn't want me to suffer. Mother is like a warm harbor in my life; Dad let go. He is not afraid of my difficulties. He's afraid I haven't suffered. Then, like an eagle, he let me fly out of Ying Chao, facing the wind and rain, which aroused my fighting spirit and fearless confidence.
The first day, his father's birthday, he first heard his naughty son wish him a happy birthday on the phone. After that sentence, I was silent, and I suddenly didn't know where to start. Dad took a surprised tone, but then he was silent. He still has a lisp. Both sides were silent ... as usual, my mother answered the phone and talked a lot. One day, I went to fly kites with those "girlfriends" I met in primary school. The kites flew high in the wind. At that time, I thought, kite is free, because it can fly with the wind; The kite is constrained again, because the string that pulls it always stays where it started. Like me, no matter how far I go, the end of the line is at my father's place. ...
On the second day, my father specially brought fresh fruit-Shatian pomelo, which made me excited for a long time. And my mother's subsequent phone call deeply touched my happiness. Mom said that it rained continuously in winter these two days, and there was no real Shatian pomelo on the market. Those Shatian pomelos sent to school were all picked by my father at a friend's house in the country at five in the morning. At that time, holding a microphone, I looked up quietly, fearing that something would fall out of my eyes-in this winter far from home, I tasted the Shatian pomelo picked by my father for the first time in my life, with attractive fragrance and sweet spring breeze. ...
In fact, dad's shortcomings are obvious. His arbitrariness and carelessness have made me angry and complain, but at the critical moment, inadvertently, in my father's simple and honest behavior, I always find my father's love from the bottom of my heart, which can't make me say it all. That kept me speechless, but after his broad back, I was moved to tears.
I know that no matter how far apart, my father will look at me silently, and my heart is full of joy. Where the sight can't reach, but you can feel care at any time, it's like watching the bamboo shoots we planted together in the backyard break through the ground and grow into bamboo, climbing higher and higher, changing from light yellow to green and then growing on the fertile soil carefully cultivated by him. ...