After my dad died, my home was locked for ten years.
A father's love is like a mountain, and a mother is like a river.
Dad is a mountain that cannot be crossed, and he always holds up a piece of the sky for the children in silence.
Even if it is a difficult day, it will be like he has found a blue sky.
When we find out one day that Dad is too old to walk, or no longer alive, we will understand that he has worked hard all his life, but he is alone at home, and he is under heavy pressure.
Dad's love is always so deep, so silent, and so heartbreaking.
His father left without even saying a word.
I'm from the 70s and grew up in the countryside from childhood to middle school.
The houses in my hometown were built on the hillside, and in the early days they were made of bark and then replaced with tiles.
The houses are made of adobe, and the windows and windows are made of wood.
Even in such a dilapidated room, it took a lot of effort on his part.
Dad picked up soil in his free time, made bricks, and dried it in the sun. He would take a dime and a half cigarette and run to his neighbors for help.
A large number of neighbors helped build the walls and foundations. Even the carpenters in the next village worked together and according to the procedure.
He spent all his family's money to build the building. He also worked in the village's lime kiln to earn money to pay for his children's education. It was very hot and dusty.
I often see my father covered in dust, even if his eyes are still blinking, which is really sad. But my father smiled and told me, "You have to learn more Xi and then go to the city to work, so that you can have hope." ”
When I went out to work, I had more opportunities to meet my parents. I can still recall that in the 90s of the last century, I didn't go home for the first two years of working in Dongguan.
Every Spring Festival, I will make a ** in front of the factory, first make a ** call with a small shop in the village, make an appointment to meet today, and let him wait in the factory. Although there were some twists and turns, he finally got in touch with his father. In the short conversation, there was not too much politeness, only Dad's calm tone: "It's okay, we're all fine, very good." ”
Now that mobile ** is becoming more and more popular, and I work in the county again, it will be much easier to go back. However, it was more than 50 kilometers from the town to my hometown, and I had to climb five or six mountains in between, which still separated me from my father.
I often thought about whether to take my parents to the city, but my father said, "No, there is land and food in the countryside." "It's okay. ”
As a result, my father was not in good health. On a clear spring morning, he collapsed and never woke up again.
Some say it's a brain hemorrhage. Even if you hit ** to the city, it's too late. Think about it, how can you wait for hours for a sudden illness?
I hurried home, holding my father's hand and still warm, a little at a loss.
His brother and sister brought him new clothes and put them on him.
My sister said: This dress has been around for more than two years, and my father has never worn it. 」
Suddenly, she thought of a poem Lao She wrote to her mother: "In her life, she has never enjoyed happiness, and at the end of her life, there is only some rough food." Hey, what do you have to say?My heart hurts!”
Isn't that true of my dad?He has been eating coarse food all his life, and before he died, he still thought about his field, and even bought some grain seeds and sharpened his sickle.
The hometown of the fatherless teaches people to know the "three things".
After my dad was buried, we were worried that she was home alone, so we took her to the city.
The old house was locked, and the door was locked with a heavy one.
Although we also return to our hometown every year during the Qingming Festival, we just push open the door of the house, carry a hoe and sickle, sweep away the weeds on my father's grave, and then light an incense candle and hurried back to the city.
The exterior walls of the old house have begun to leak, and I don't know how long it will last. A scythe hanging from the wall, sharpened by his father ten years ago, is now rusty, almost useless.
Daddy's poncho was still there, but it had a thick layer of ash on it. No one wants to touch it, afraid of the dust falling, afraid of tears slipping down.
The stove was empty, everything was neatly packed, but there were no more fireworks. The roof beams are covered in huge cobwebs.
The only thing that could be seen was the black bottom of the pot and the chimney.
When the second uncle next door heard the sound here, he immediately ran over. He said, "Come and eat at my place." ”
But it's not good for me to continue to trouble the second uncle, after all, he is in his eighties, how can he have the time to entertain guests?
The people next door seem to have gone into the city, and the old house is locked. Some of them don't even close the door, so you can see in at a glance, but they are also "surrounded by walls".
I also met a few children on the way, but they were all unfamiliar faces. As He Zhizhang said: "When the children meet, they don't know who the other party is
The old house without my father taught me a lot.
First of all, he could not return to his hometown.
In the past, he would go home during the Chinese New Year, but now, his family is gone, and he doesn't have any point in going home again.
My younger siblings are gone, and I finally have a chance to eat here. Otherwise, they may not see each other for a year.
The old house is still there, but it's impossible to go back. After all, your current life is not for you.
Secondly, back to our hometown again, we are just passing by.
You are no longer a landlord in your hometown, but just a passerby in a hurry.
Perhaps, we are originally passers-by in the world. Our hometown can only accommodate our short lives.
The scenes when he was a child, in his eyes, became more and more unfamiliar, and he couldn't see many scenes.
Later, he passed away, and the children's impression of him became weaker and weaker.
After my father died, whenever we talked about it, we couldn't help but shed tears. However, over time, we have gradually become accustomed to talking about dad. Even without Dad, we're going to be doing well.
Memories can't withstand the erosion of time, it's not that love no longer exists, it's just that it can't bear it.
On the way back to my hometown, I often wonder if our children and grandchildren can still feel homesick
Can they experience the life of carrying rice and vegetables to school, lighting oil lamps to learn Xi, and watching black-and-white televisions?Will they try to jump bands, jump lattices, catch loaches, or climb trees?
The rice fragrance is overflowing, but Dad's shadow is gone.
I shouted into the wheat field, "Daddy!".”
A "Daddy" came from the mountains, but he didn't hear his father's trademark reply, "Yes, I'm here." ”
When I was a child, I heard my father's reprimand and cried, but I turned around and smiled;When he remembered his father's reprimand, he laughed, and then turned back to cry.