Father is the Lion King

My father is a story-teller, and I like his lion King stories best.

As for how the Lion King went through his childhood, how he experienced dangers and obstacles, how he defeated opponents, and how he dominated the grassland, these have become the most beautiful plot in my childhood dream. In my dream there is always a big lion leading the little lion running, just like father said, he is the lion king, I am the little lion.

When I was eight years old, my father was forced to work in the city. At that time, the city was the farthest place I had ever heard of -- Harbin. After my father left, I was like a rudderless boat drifting lonely on the endless sea, and I tasted for the first time what it was like to be without my father.

I noisy mother told me a story, listen to listen to actually able to cry out. Mother asked me why I was crying, and I told her, aggrieved, that she did not speak as well as father. In my father's mouth, the old Lion King's breathtaking defeat of the hyena made me scream, the old Lion King's journey to find hope moved me, the old Lion King's death let me disappointed. And the growth of the little lion makes me look forward to, these, appealing.

Maybe my mother told my father about it, and then my father wrote me a letter from somewhere like Harbin. I took the envelope and showed it off to all my friends in the village, thinking it contained the best thing in the world, and none of them had it.

When he opened the envelope, he was rather disappointed. There were several crooked words on it and no signoff: "My child, remember that you are a little lion. The Lion King had no father when he was a child. Because of my father's "deceit", I no longer believe that there is a Lion King in this world. Never before and never will.

The day before the college entrance examination, I am in the village middle school collective charter car to the county exam. My father said he would come back and see me off. I waited for him by the school bus. With five minutes to go, I tiptoed around looking for dad, beads of sweat rolling down my forehead because of the heat. He probably won't come, I reasoned. After a while, I heard the sound of the school bus starting. I rushed in with my heavy suitcase and grabbed a window seat.

"Little North, little North." I heard someone calling my name, and the voice was very anxious. It was father.

I put my head out of the window and saw my father running fast. He ran so fast that the wind tore off his straw hat. Still he ran and shouted, "Little North, little North." Every time he cried, my heart trembled.

"Dad, go home." He probably didn't hear me and ran faster and faster. The driver sensed something was wrong and turned off the gas. My father approached and caught up with the car. But my father was so short and the window was so high that I could not see his face. Instead, I saw a pair of rough hands coming up from below with a red bill between their fingers. And the father's finger still wrapped in a layer of gauze, should be sickle cut.

"Dad --" I cried out excitedly, but the bus didn't give us any chance to talk. As I tried to stick my head out the window, I saw my father standing there further and further away from me. Then he kept running back. The wind blew his clothes bulging, only to leave me a running back.

The one hundred yuan my father gave me was wrapped in a piece of paper, on which there was only a short sentence: "You are a little lion, and sooner or later you will become a lion king."

I closed my eyes and saw a lion King running. It was father.