Flowers still bloom every year, but they are different every year. With the passage of time, different me gradually understood similar him.

Teenagers don't know the taste of sorrow. When I was young, I was like a tender seedling, a ray of sunshine and a drop of dew, which made people happy. At that time, he was like a stout tree, strong and generous. He will carry me on his shoulders, buy me toys, and … he seems to know everything. I have always been proud of him, grew up with peace of mind under his protection and enjoyed a happy childhood.

Between talking and laughing, I was exhausted. As I grow older, I am still proud of him, but I am young and like to argue with him. He seems to be a target standing in front of me. I am determined to surpass him, so I love to argue with him everywhere. I can talk to him for an hour on a topic just to prove that even he can be wrong. Gradually, I seem to start to see the silver thread on his sideburns-he is beginning to shed leaves.

Wine becomes sorrow, acacia becomes tears. Finally, one day, I grew thick branches and pulled out vigorous young leaves. At this time, I gradually understood his hardships and fatigue, but I could not understand his cowardice and his compromise. Just like my idol collapsed, I don't want to get along with him anymore, and I don't want to talk to him. I just want to grow up and grow up so that he can't catch me anymore. In desperation, cups of turbid wine turned into tears of missing.

Even after autumn, when it is ground into dirt and turned into dust, plum blossoms still emit fragrance as usual. Now, I grow into a tree, but he turns to dust and quits the stage of history. I understand him as a man understands another man. He is my father. He has a dream, but his edges and corners are smoothed by reality. He wants to fight his fate, but he can't. His concession and compromise only provided me with a stable environment, and his later years gave me more opportunities. He has already passed the flower season, but the fragrance of flowers lingers in my hair and melts in my blood. ...

Father loves like a mountain and is worth relying on; Father's love is like water, tolerant and willful; Father's love is like a house, sheltering from the wind and rain; Father's love is like a book, which is intriguing. Father is like that scattered flower, quietly waiting for the successor of life to discover his infinite fragrance. ...