Student essays
When I saw the end of the movie "Hello, Li Huanying", my eyes were full of tears, and in the crystal I saw my mother again, and I saw my mother's little oil lamp.
It is the mother who leads us forward with the light of the oil lamp, and nourishes the life of her children with the original intention of a loving mother.
To this day, I still remember it vividly!
Mother left us: 566 cents in her left hand; The hands are thick and hard, waxy and shiny, and the subcutaneous tissue has been calcified, but the face is kind and kind, and the expression is persistent and firm.
According to the custom of our hometown, we lit oil lamps for our mother, and the oil lamps accompanied her, as did our five siblings and her six grandchildren. In the flickering lights, in the hazy teary eyes, I saw my mother's small oil lamp and remembered my mother's past.
Mother's oil lamp——
a five-petal clay dish with rough patterns;
a slender and well-proportioned wick;
a light dish of fragrant canola oil;
a five-inch-high pillar made of clay;
A thick base with a round bottom, large and small;
It was a small oil lamp in my house until the electric light came to the countryside.
In my heart, the oil lamp is my mother, and my mother is the oil lamp.
That is the beacon of our lives.
My mother was a rich daughter of culture, absolutely white and beautiful at that time, married into the Xing family, went up to the hall, down to the kitchen, and was also an expert in production and labor.
In the evening, my mother came home from the production team, mostly when she was holding the lamp. She lit the fire in the stove first, and then used a hay pole to light the oil lamp from the stove, perhaps saving a match. My mother was cooking and cooking on the stove, and we also helped to light the fire and carry firewood, and the smell of food diffused in the air, and the faint light of the oil lamp flickered and flickered, and the house was warm and happy.
After dinner, my mother hurriedly cleaned up the dishes and chopsticks, wiped the table, put down the movable iron hook on the roof beam, and lit the oil lamp with a glass cover, and the table suddenly lit up a lot. The oil lamp was like a class bell, and our brothers and sisters immediately took out our books, or reviewed our homework, or finished our homework. She washed the dishes and brushed the pot by the faint light, maybe her father admired the soft golden jumping halo, or he was reluctant to lose this faint but brilliant light, or maybe he understood that teaching by example is better than words is the best tutor, and he also took out newspapers and periodicals to read silently. When our homework was completed, my mother, who had been a substitute teacher, checked them one by one, stroked her head if she had done well, and gave encouragement; Where there are defects, not only warnings, but also immediate corrections.
Then, my mother held an oil lamp and urged us: wash up early** go to bed, and we can't be late for school tomorrow morning. Seeing that we had finished going to bed, she quickly brought up pig food to her father to comfort the pigs who were singing.
When we fell asleep, our parents were still flickering the lights, busy in the kitchen, in the pyre, in front of the house. The oil lamp is in**, the mother is in**, the oil lamp is the mother, and the mother is the oil lamp. Mother repeats the same work every day, like a perpetual motion machine.
I wonder when she rests at night? How long to rest?
I was the eldest in the family, and sometimes my dad was out for meetings, and she couldn't stop all day. I took the initiative to accompany my mother to patrol the night: whether there was enough grass for the piglets to sleep in, whether the grass that the cow brother ate was still added, and the chickens, ducks, geese and eggs had to be counted. At this time, my mother was holding an oil lamp in her left hand and her right hand shielding from the cold wind, and I saw my mother's rough hands, and my eyes were moist: my mother, who was standing at the age of her life, her hands were like ancient bark, and the backs of her hands were covered with cracks of different shades, and the threads were engraved on the surface of her hands, and the green tendons were inlaid in between, and her palms were calluses, and there was no light, and it felt so painful, but she always turned up the corners of her mouth in front of us, and smiled.
In the sky, the stars blink lazily; Mother's lamp, desolate and bursting with flowers, tired but tenacious in the winter night shimmered softly.
The rooster pulled his throat and beat the third watch, and the mother was still under the dim oil lamp, with her knees on her torn cotton jacket and sewing clothes; Cut the uppers, pull the soles, and make the new shoes to be given to us on the 30th night of the Chinese New Year's Eve. Sometimes she picks the wick that is about to burn out, sometimes she can't stop nodding and dozing, the needle sticks in her hand, she is suddenly startled, and she is busy sucking the bloody needle with her mouth and quietly staying up all night with the oil lamp.
Looking at my beautiful and gentle mother, who was full of tiredness in her kindness, my eyes were hazy with tears.
If one day.
The heart went to a distant place.
Pluck a petal to make wings and fly in the wind.
If one day.
Understood sorrow. Thinking about it will give you a good dream.
The daylilies bloom at the end of the sky in the distance.
Each one is the one I care about.
Let it drive all over the way I wait for you to go home.
It's as if I never left you.
The theme song pulled me back to reality, the theater lights were on, and I was already in tears.
Yes, Mom's lights are out, and our "home" is gone!
However, my mother's little oil lamp will always shine in the hearts of each of us.