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I've always wanted to write something about my father.
For my father, I used to hate it, but now I feel more distressed.
It's complicated. Not much is known about him.
His birthday is still unknown.
Only one black-and-white posthumous photo of him.
He didn't take a picture with me, my sister, my mother, anyone.
When I was 15 years old, he was hit by a car and died more than ten meters away from the zebra crossing on the streets of Beijing.
He was 45 years old.
Three months later, I took his ashes and went back to my hometown, and I don't know if he came back with him.
In the 15 years that his fate has been intertwined, we have not communicated much.
We also have an extremely bad relationship.
Because for as long as I can remember, his relationship with his mother has always been extremely poor.
The father even did it to the mother.
Mother was also a strong person.
I am from my mother's camp, and together I fight against this hegemony.
So he's always been a "tyrant" in my heart.
Hate him. hates him as the one who beats his wife from far and near.
Hating him made me unable to hold my head up in the familiar crowd at school.
Whenever someone said who I was, I immediately walked away silently.
When someone asks me whose family I belong to, I always only give my mother's name.
I left home at the age of seventeen and a half.
All the way upside down, Guangdong, Beijing, Hainan.
It's been almost twenty years since I left home.
Having experienced the hardships of life, the hardships of people's hearts, and the hardships of my own hearts, I slowly developed an understanding of my father.
even felt sorry for his difficulty and helplessness.
So he began to search for some memories related to him from his vague memories.
I went to school when I was five and a half years old.
I remember that day, he desperately woke me up and gave me scrambled eggs and fried rice.
After eating, he carried his schoolbag in one hand and me in the other, and enrolled in school.
During the summer vacation, my father would disappear for more than 20 days.
Later, I learned that my father was not only a farmer, but also a cobbler.
For more than 20 days, my sister and I had to earn tuition.
He carried a hand-cranked iron machine for sewing shoes in a basket, estimated at about 30 catties, and walked to the next village and next town to repair the shoes of the farmers.
The mountains of my hometown, the scorching heat, thirty catties, plus my own clothes and supplies, about fifty catties.
All day long, up and down the mountain.
When it was time to eat, I took out steamed buns or other dry food, found a shade, and ate a bite.
In the evening, I spend the night at a farmer's house repairing shoes wherever I go.
I wouldn't stay in a hotel and there was no hotel that year.
In this way, I walked for 20 days and 100 kilometers.
Our tuition is there.
It's time for him to go home and do his farm work.
Every time he comes back, he is lean and swarthy.
At that time, I just thought it was fun to go out.
I'll blame him for why he didn't take me.
The first time I faced death in my life was the death of my grandfather.
It was an autumn day.
In fact, grandpa can no longer walk on the ground, and has been lying in bed for many days.
Grandpa wanted to drink water that day, so I brought a glass of water and handed it to my grandmother.
Grandma helped Grandpa to feed him.
Grandpa didn't swallow it, and it came out of the corner of his mouth.
My family said, no.
My father went out to sell oranges.
But there was no ** back then.
When it was dark, my father stepped into the hall with a sack on his shoulder.
About ten minutes later, Grandpa was gone.
He should be waiting for him.
A few years ago, sorting out his relics.
I found that his pen and calligraphy are very well written.
He was also like a man of culture.
Remember, even when he works in the fields, he is never sloppy.
Carry a small comb with you.
The hair has not seen unkempt.
There is no stubble to be seen.
The clothes are also clean and tidy.
Our place is deep in the mountains where Wu Gorge and Xiling Gorge and Wu Mountain and Daba Mountain meet in the Yangtze River Basin.
Most of the old people, the farthest place they have been to in their lives, is the county seat.
The cultural terrain is similar to the border city under Shen Congwen's pen.
Most of the people who know only their own names are semi-literate.
My father graduated from junior high school and was more educated at that time.
I remember my father having fewer teeth in his mouth.
My mother later told us that my father had gone to the county town to sell vegetables, and because he had an argument with someone about setting up a stall, he had a few teeth knocked out by the bastard.
The father has no brothers, he is lonely, the family is old and young, and he can't afford to provoke each other.
He hadn't found those teeth, and he didn't need to look for them.
Grandma loves me the most (patriarchal).
In 2001, my grandmother walked in my arms.
There was no serious illness before his death, and he was considered to have lived a long and peaceful life.
Maybe his grandmother died, and he could travel far away with peace of mind.
At that time, I was going to go to the county seat to go to secondary school, and my sister was going to junior high school, and the amount of money I had to spend increased dramatically.
After 2003, when my father was 45 years old, he left for the first time in his life and went to Beijing to work as a dishwasher.
Because my father is not there, there is no quarrel at home, so I don't have to worry about my mother suffering.
I felt so easy by then.
Until the day of the summer vacation.
In the early hours of that morning, the neighbor under the roof called my mother's name and told her to pick up **.
After a while, my mother came back and woke me up, saying that my father had been in a car accident and was in the hospital.
We're going to Beijing.
A week later, when I arrived in Beijing, I learned that not long after the fight, my father had already left.
He lay in the freezer of the morgue, pulled out, braving the cold air, his face was sallow, his hair, eyebrows and eyelashes were mixed with ice ballast.
I just howled twice in the mechanical form of the six gods, sad and didn't know how to hurt.
My father was hit by **, and my mother saw it and said that I was still young and didn't show it to me.
Over the years, I often wonder if he had no relatives around him when he died, and whether he had ever thought about waiting for me and my mother.
His father was born in 59.
It is the grandson of a imprisoned landlord.
I guess when he grew up, he must have grown up being scorned, ridiculed, slandered, excluded, and bullied by the people around him!
Although he was not highly talented, he was considered knowledgeable in that era and region.
He should have ideals and aspirations, but for historical reasons, this is a luxury for him.
Shackled by fate, he couldn't get out, he couldn't reconcile with himself, and he had to accept reality.
At the age of 29, he found his mother to marry.
His mother married him despite the opposition of his grandparents.
He should have been grateful at the time.
But the father never loved the mother.
The mother is average-looking, uneducated, stubborn, and does not know how to understand and tolerate.
After the period of gratitude, my father even looked down on my mother.
But at that time, it was not suitable for divorce in the countryside, and I think this was the reason why they had been incompatible for a long time!
In short, life is terrible and messy.
Thinking about his goal, I'm afraid that all that remains is to be a qualified son and a qualified father.
Send away your parents and raise your children.
After all, he exchanged his humble blood for a little pension, and then annihilated.
As I experienced more, I guessed his helplessness, and the more I felt sorry for him and pitied him.
Except for hands-on to the mother.
Edit
I like Su Shi.
Ten years of life and death, without thinking, unforgettable. Thousands of miles of lonely graves, nowhere to talk about desolation. Even if you don't know each other.
Whenever I read this, I can't help but think of the grave on the hill in my hometown.
His mother would talk about him from time to time.
Many times I thought that if my father was still here, he would be less irritable, a peaceful little old man, and he should be able to live in peace with his mother.
When my sister and I go home, can we also have a drink or two under the moon, and talk about homely things.
When reading the story of Master Hongyi, there is a sentence that "life is a constant farewell".
I think so. But some people have some things that they don't have time to say goodbye to.
Unfilial piety.