There is a sea in father's love

It was past five o 'clock in the afternoon when I returned to the Hut on the Golden Coast from the sea.

I was one of the last people to come back from the seaside. In fact, I could have come back yesterday.

I wouldn't have stayed here longer if I hadn't taken more pictures of "sea charm" to impress my students who haven't seen the sea. Radio, TELEVISION and newspapers have been announcing the typhoon's arrival the day after Tuesday.

Yesterday more than half of the tourists had returned to the city. Today only half were left, and all the rest were hurriedly packing their bags at the Golden Coast hut, ready to leave.

The Golden Coast hut was a small hut made of thick iron sheets on six sides, with only a small door open on the seaward side. This is probably the best design for a storm survivor's cabin.

The cottage had some simple amenities that people could make do with. I took some close-up photos of it the day before yesterday. The cottage is nearest to the sea, and seaside visitors often stop here for a rest. In fact, it takes more than an hour to walk to the beach.

God, always sullen, as if ready to be angry. If it weren't for the fact that the owner of the gold Coast blared a radio, the gold Coast would have lost its vitality. During the peak tourist season, the Golden Coast is as crowded as the bustling city.

"The gold coast made of iron is not the gold coast, everyone quickly pack things downtown, hide in the thick hotel to go." The little boss kept Shouting.

People gathered their things and said little. My few things were packed away. Suddenly, I saw two men.

They were a father and a son. The father was 40 years old, and the son was only about 10 years old. Father and son did not move, and the child leaned weakly against the adult.

My father was carrying a paper bag that seemed to contain only a towel and a bottle. But they did not panic, as if tomorrow's typhoon had nothing to do with them.

"Father and son." I approached and spoke, and the father figure answered by nodding his head.

"Pack up and let's go." I am a lonely person, he added.

Father and son were silent, and my 40-year-old father smiled at me but didn't answer. I guess they're still wary of me.

"Do you think there will be a typhoon tomorrow? "Asked the father, staring at me. I nodded heavily. Disappointment crept over his face.

It was still more than an hour before the bus came to pick us up and take us back to the city. I also took out my food, a whole chicken, a bag of cookies, and two cans of beer.

"Let's eat." I said to both of them.

"No. Yes." "Said the father, shaking the bottle in his paper bag. It was a bottle of pickled mustard, and there was half of it left.

As I began to eat the drumsticks, the father turned to look at the people in the distance, and his son's throat began to squirm and swallow. I looked at him carefully.

He was so thin, he looked like a monkey beside his father. I knew the child must be hungry, tore a chicken leg, gave the child. My father turned around and said thank you to me, and I handed over a chicken wing to the father, who was embarrassed to take it in his hand. When the son finished eating the chicken legs, the father handed the chicken wings to his son.

The son did not speak, took the chicken wings to his father's mouth. The father licked it down and ate a mouthful. The son was relieved to eat it.

I handed the father a few more cookies and said, "Eat them, or you'll break down." My father put the cookies into his mouth, looked at me with gratitude, and asked, "Do you think there will really be a typhoon tomorrow?" "Yes, the day before yesterday the radio, TV and newspapers were saying, don't you know?" I said. My father was silent, disappointment clouding over his face.

"You don't want to go back?" I asked.

The father sighed and said, "How can I go back?" From the corners of his eyes, a few clear tears spilled.

"What's the matter?

"Children like the sea most, children want to see the sea ah." He wiped a tear from his eye. Like I was afraid I'd see it.

"What's the matter? We can come back later." I consoled.

"You don't know," my father said to me, "the boy is sixteen years old. He looks about ten. That's when he was diagnosed with leukemia. Six years, the first two years his mother and I were borrowing money to pay for his chemotherapy and keep him alive. But what are the possibilities for a countryman?He has borrowed where he needs to, and can't borrow any more money. He has to be dragged along like this.

The year before last, his mother said to go out to work to earn money for his treatment, but now there is no whereabouts. The child followed me, and he and I knew that we would not be together for long. The child said to me, Dad, I want to see the ocean.

Father and son are connected at heart. I've sold the last of my belongings, I've collected money for the journey, and I've taken the train to this city, and here I am at this little house by the sea, with a view of the sea, to satisfy my child's desire, and yet, yet..." The father began to cry, in a low voice.

"Anyway, we'd better go back." "I urged.

"No, I must let the child see the sea." "My father said firmly.

The bus to pick up the tourists arrived, and the tourists scrambled to get on the bus. I was too busy getting father and son. The father kept saying "thank you," but he held his son tightly and did not move. But I had to go.

After I handed the father 300 yuan, I got on the bus as it started. Because I thought there might be another bus that they could take back. When I got downtown, I asked the driver, who said it was the last bus. I wished I had forced him and his son to get in the car and go back. But then, remembering the look on my father's face, I thought it was in vain.

They seemed to feel at ease after giving 300 yuan, but what was the use of that 300 yuan for them?

That night, as I sat in my hotel room watching TV, ALL I could do was pray that tomorrow's storm would come later.

However, fire and water are always ruthless. The next day, the storm came as expected, and I heard the wind howling outside the room, with the sound of falling trees.

My heart was cold, and my thoughts were always on the father and son. After the typhoon, I'm going back to work in my town. Before returning to the city, I looked up the phone number of the Gold Coast cabin, wondering what had happened to the father and son. In the afternoon, the telephone was connected.

The little owner of The Gold Coast remembers me. I asked about the father and son, and the boss said, "I've just come back to the hut, too, and I saw the father a while ago." My heart relaxed a little. "According to the father," he added, "father and son went to the coast the day the storm came, and luckily they got back to my Gold Coast cabin in time.

Oh, my God, this time the sea rose a little and flooded my hut. Will he still be alive? When the typhoon came, the thin child closed his eyes forever, lying in his father's arms, with a happy smile on his face..."

Holding the phone, I stood stunned. Outside the window, the sky was so beautiful after the storm.