Many times, I don't want to touch the memories of the past, so I will find that my scars are still there, as if I should forget everything clearly, but all the memories about that time are reproduced because of this theme.

My mother, an out-and-out housewife, looks ordinary and has read some books. She married my father before she was twenty.

Up to now, I can't understand how mom and dad feel about each other. People in those days were often matchmakers, and they decided to live for life. They have never been in love, but they have been in love all their lives.

My mother always said that she was a busy person and didn't even have time to live, die and die. No one knows the hardships and bitterness of this sentence better than I do. Everything is because of my father!

Dad grew up grumpy and paranoid, which is a typical male chauvinism. He often feels depressed. Because of a little thing, my mother will be scolded by him. In front of my father, my mother always looked down carefully, but still dared not say anything, for fear of causing more beatings ... once my mother couldn't stand it, drinking pesticides in the middle of the night. What makes me afraid to ask?

At that time, I was young and often hid in terror. I hate my father, his temper, his lawlessness, even more.

myself

I, a confident girl, enjoy the happiness of success and the pain of failure in the ocean of growth. They always knock on my door from time to time, and together with them, I have made myself confident and accepted the baptism of wind and rain.

The busy mid-term exam has passed, and everything has temporarily returned to its former calm, but my heart is still beating and I have not forgotten my nervousness during the exam.

I will never forget that day, the first Chinese exam in my life that made my heart beat faster. In retrospect, my hands are still cold and I keep sweating.

At eleven o'clock that day, when I finished all the Chinese examination papers, the stone in my heart fell to the ground and I looked up the questions happily. However, when reading the composition, it seems that a pot of cold water was suddenly poured in winter, and my heart was completely cold. God, my composition is beside the point. Maybe I was wrong. I was too nervous. How is that possible? However, my intuition and the facts in front of me tell me that it is really beside the point. Suddenly, I was shocked.

What shall we do? Rewrite a new one. However, time must end. I don't look at my watch carefully. It is definitely not enough. How come... I seem to see time slip through my fingers. No, no, come back! Tears filled my eyes. Why is it my turn? My hands keep rubbing against each other. How I wish time could come again!

No way! There is still more than half an hour, which is ok, otherwise I will be anxious for these hours. Anyway, pain is pain!

That important moment, I think. I hesitated between writing and not writing, and finally, reason finally made me decide to fight. Believe firmly and think confidently, I can do it. I am a confident person. What I try to do will succeed. Where there is a will, there is a way.

It's now 1 1 point 10, and it's still half an hour before the exam ends. I sat down with my composition paper. As soon as I got the pen, I began to write quickly. "Regret can be redeemed," I wrote. Thinking of the failure and success of the English exam, I quickly constructed an article.

Slow down, slow down, don't go too fast. I prayed in my heart. My hands are shaking, my heart is shaking, and I feel that I am working hard all over.

Finally, this long-awaited article finally came out. It's eleven thirty-seven. I really feel great. In such a short time, I succeeded. I think I have created a miracle.

The test paper was handed in. Although it is a short-term work, I still believe in it and myself confidently. I won't fail this time. The next week, the score came out, 90 points, although not the best, although the composition also deducted a lot of points, but I was still in high spirits, it was the first time I completed the composition exam in an extremely tense short time. It strengthened my confidence and witnessed my poor experience.

Nothing is impossible in the world. Impossible is not impossible, but it is not impossible. Believe in yourself and do what you dare not do, and we will see success beckoning to us.

Self-confident, I continue my growth journey and still accept the test of wind and rain. However, I have a precious memory in my memory and a confidence in my belief.

Pears are in one place

When the passage of time and the cycle of time have no trace, when you suddenly look back, you will find something hidden behind that long drama. The purpose of this passbook is: honesty.

This reminds me of my father. A person who has only one quality except the mud on his feet, always loses money in business and calls me vain.

What is dad doing at this time? Do you close your eyes under the pear tree? pear ...

The pear tree in my yard is only a few feet high, with sparse leaves and late flowers, but this does not affect my father's love for it at all. So this pear tree can still grow tenaciously. A few years ago, my father contracted the orchard. In spring, pear trees and fruit trees all over the mountain are in full bloom, red as fire, pink as chardonnay and white as snow. There are the most pear trees, and my father spends all his time in the garden.

It's really hard to predict. Who would have thought that the money he got was taken back by the god of wealth: the worm went straight into the pear core in the peel, and the whole pear surface was pleasing to the eye, but in fact … someone advised his father not to sign a contract with that customer? You put a bag in a paper bag, and then ... Father's face fell.

Those days were very hard at home: going to school in the city cost money at home, and my brother's marriage was coming soon. All this made my father at a loss. I can see that the prison engraved on my father's forehead is bleak, and his eyebrows seem to have collapsed, so that his eyes are sunken. Father has no habit of smoking and drinking. He sat on the steps all day, staring at the pear trees all over the mountain. Mother was afraid that he would not walk out of the dead end, so she changed hands behind her father's back. But how can you wrap the fire in paper? So, one day what should have happened finally happened. Voice from intermittent to high and low, and then curse, cry, silence. A few days later, my father led a man into the house, spread thousands of dollars on the table, and said, brother, if you take this money away, it is compensation. If it doesn't sell, I'll pull it back. ...

My father is an honest farmer and has never made much money in business. He complained about his low culture; Neighbors said that he was too dishonest. At the farmer's table, when my father faced me, I only bowed my head and grilled rice. He looked down on my bad faith, such as always being late for appointments. I hate to admit it, but I'm changing. Therefore, I prefer to look at his back, which makes people think infinitely from scratch and stretch this integrity back and forth in boundless time and space.

Pear blossoms wither in spring, which is too hasty. It is said that the pear blossoms are blooming and spring is back. But because of my father's frankness, I said that the pear blossoms, flying beads and broken jade scattered all over the place were full of the luster of this old farmer's quality. Even if they are scattered into mud and crushed into dust, they will smell as good as ever!

Affectionate, my pear flower ...

curiosity

Why?

Two people are old, but the room is separated by a few meters. What is the need to shout every few minutes?

Every time I go to grandma's house, it always arouses my curiosity.

Grandma is eighty, but she is not blind or deaf, and she can narrow her eyes and sew in the house. Grandpa who is three years older than her can't do it. He doesn't want to walk. He always sits on a cane chair in the sun.

Only a few meters apart, grandma will put down her work in a few minutes, "old man!" " "Grandma called it that.

Grandpa shouldn't. Grandma was in a hurry and walked to the front. Grandpa is fine. He slept soundly on the cane chair. So he smiled like a child and said, "This dead old man is ignored by others."

Such things happen every day.

I am curious.

Is grandma bored? Nobody talks? Then why did she just shout instead of talking to grandpa?

What do you call grandpa for? Still shouting so much? I think of grandma seeing grandpa's good and contented back. The sun always shines on grandma at the perfect angle, and every time such a picture shines with warm brilliance.

As long as someone agrees, okay? I continued to wonder.

That's good. When this happens again, I will cover my mouth and answer slowly like my grandfather's voice, but every grandmother can see whether I cover my voice with cloth or cotton to make it realistic. "Little girl is making trouble here ..." Grandma's wrinkled hand will pat me to show her reproach. Smile.

Grandma is still the same.

My curiosity increased, not decreased.

Forget it. I'm burning my bridges. "Grandma, what are you always shouting? Don't hate it. "

Grandma looked at me and smiled tolerantly: "Girl, you don't understand. Knowing that he is good, he is relieved. "

My heart is wet. It is a drop of dew in the stamen. The curiosity of biting my heart like a bug for several days has been satisfied.

If you were here, you would feel at ease. This is the most beautiful scenery in the world. What's wrong with plain tea and rice? What does it matter to be old? If you were here, you would feel at ease.

I think the so-called love is so much. It's the people I love, the people I miss, and they must exist where I can see, where I can reach and where I can walk.

I am glad that I have curiosity to understand the care, warmth and love of grandma's generation. I see, that voice phone is saying, with you, the whole world is here.

Live poetically

Grandpa is old, in his seventies, almost eighty, and grandma is sixty. In their time, it was normal for men to be ten years older than women. In short, they got together, and then they had their father, and then we, an ordinary family living in the countryside.

Grandpa seems to have been busy as long as I can remember. He went out with a hoe on his back to help his farmland and land; He grows vegetables and fruit trees in the garden; He tries his best to help others ... He is healthy, happy and comfortable. Grandma is feeding chickens at home, shouting two dogs and washing clothes for grandpa, while waiting for grandpa's unchanging "order" for many years: "old woman, what are you doing?" Make tea quickly! " Grandma put down her work and pretended to complain, "Come back to rest so soon." Then I made tea for grandpa seriously, sent it to grandpa, and chatted with him while drinking tea.

Grandma has been frugally and simply holding her and grandpa's home. Although her children have grown up and become married, she doesn't have to scrimp and save, but she still uses the most primitive firewood stove. She said that burning coal for cooking is too wasteful and gas is too expensive, so it is better to burn wood. So, in those weeds growing seasons, my sister and I followed grandpa's axe in Shan Ye, cut it down, tied it up, carried it home, arranged it, dried it, and bundles of firewood entered the woodshed. So, countless times, my sister and I can see grandma's red smiling face in grandma's kitchen hall. Especially in winter, grandpa makes a fire, grandma cooks, and my sister and I compete to snuggle up next to grandpa to keep warm. A string of laughter rose into the sky with the smoke, telling the warmth of winter.

I wonder if grandparents also have love, you know? Grandma once told me that she was introduced by grandpa. Maybe at first, there was nothing between them. However, under the tempering of time, in mutual dependence and trust, their feelings have surpassed love. On one occasion, grandpa suddenly fell ill, very ill, and grandma secretly shed tears behind her back. I comforted her that it was okay and grandpa would be fine. But she said something that almost made me cry. She said, "If the old man dies, I will go with him." From then on, grandma took care of grandpa. Only then did I know that there really is an eternal existence in this world.

I often watch my grandparents and my wife singing together, and feel that a truly poetic life should be like this. Poetry is in the most ordinary life!

Straw rope in mother's hand

Just last night, I stretched out my hand and touched the straw rope under my pillow, and my chest was covered with blood. ...

Mom, have you ever known that you sat in front of the door knitting a straw rope, that blue cloth jacket, and those agile and diligent hands twisting the straw rope-that photo has been with me for more than ten years, mom, and it is an indelible memory that has been with me year after year. ...

I still remember the time when you were ill. It happened that I went home on holiday. My father gave me a handful of change and asked me to buy you some dishes you like. I walked in the crowd with my head down, slowly with the sadness of the last exam. In this noisy market, I have no intention of observing all kinds of people around me, just walking sadly ... occasionally looking up at the pile of dishes and looking for your favorite dishes. Actually, I never thought about what you like to eat. I only remember that you like to eat my favorite food ... and I occasionally look up, and the old man is tying the food with straw rope, which is extremely cooked ... Isn't this the straw rope that my mother has been knitting? Mom, your thin body is leaning against the door, and your hands are twisting straw into a rope. ...

Remember that night? It's getting dark, and my father is smoking a stuffy cigarette in the room, which is full of smoke. You are still knitting a straw rope outside the door. When you pull your hand, the straw is woven into a straw rope. I feel very heavy, and I can't ask for tuition after school. ...

Time seems to stay at that moment, horribly quiet, just like my heavy heart. The sentence "Mom, Dad, I can't go" turned around in my mouth and swallowed it back. Only I know how eager I am to learn, but at home … Mom, your hand is still twisting the straw into a part of the rope. Father suddenly put out his cigarette and got up and went to his neighbor's house. My heart is still heavy, and you still twist straw into straw rope with your hands. ...

I came to my senses and bought your favorite food in a hurry, and I didn't forget to ask for a straw rope. ...

Mom, I am a straw rope in your hand, growing up ... The back of you weaving a straw rope at the door and Shuang Yi's jumping hands will never fade in my memory.

Later, on my way to school, I never forgot to put a straw rope under my pillow. When I saw it, I saw your figure. Your never-ending hands and bumpy straw ropes have passed year after year ... You used those hands to tell me what self-improvement is. ...

I grew up in your hands, from grass to a rope like straw ... Your hand spent night after night with me, and time never stopped blowing the straw rope in your hand, not to mention Shuang Yi's bumpy hand ...

Rice grain-rice grain-sweat

This is the first time he went to a lesbian's house for dinner and walked into her door. Only then did he know what luxury was. What kind of home is this: ivory ceiling, bronze walls, blue carpet ... "Hey, there are so many Forbidden City in Beijing!" He secretly admired in his heart.

When eating, the enthusiastic host brought him a bowl full of snow-white rice, and the snow-white rice grains exuded an attractive aroma and went straight to his nostrils. He swallowed and told himself, "Don't eat too fast, be gentle." He almost counted the grains of rice. When there was a shallow bottom left, he was puzzled: "Did you eat none, or did you deliberately leave some bottom?" When his father sent him to the car, his exhortation echoed in his ears again: "honey, city people have never touched the soil in their lives." They don't know the hard work of farming and the preciousness of rice grains. After eating, you should deliberately leave some bottom. Don't let others look down on us. Don't lick the bowl after dinner. " In fact, he has long formed the habit of licking bowls. Every time he eats, his father always watches him finish his meal before letting him go. But now, do you want to eat clean or leave some bottom? He secretly looked up to find some inspiration from his master's bowl, only to find that the master had finished eating and was sitting on the opposite sofa watching him, and he didn't know when the dishes were removed. Now he feels like a clown performing and eating on the stage-his father used to stare at him for dinner, but now? He can't tell the strange feeling.

Helpless, he beat in the bowl with chopsticks. Suddenly, the white rice turned yellow. It was a grain of wheat, the same color as his father's bronzed face. His heart trembled, and the scene of delivering food to his father as a child reappeared. It was a hot summer noon, and his father was sitting on the ridge and eating the food he sent. It was also when he reached the bottom that a few yellow particles were exposed. "Throw it away, Dad." "Nonsense!" My father growled like a leopard. He has never seen his father so angry in his life, and the following situation will never be forgotten: his father put chopsticks on the ridge of the field, picked them up one by one with muddy hands, put them in his mouth, frowned and swallowed them hard ... "Son, that's the sweat of our farmers!" Father said to him who was full of grievances.

"Yes, this is the blood and sweat of our farmers." He picked up a piece of tofu and tried to swallow the rice with yellow sweat. "Somehow, the price of rice is so low now." The host said something intentionally or unintentionally.

"The blood and sweat of peasants should not be profaned." He said to himself, swallow the things in the bowl happily.