Father's feet

　　I used to see a commercial, a public service announcement of a small child washing his mother's feet, which made quite an impression on me, I was only about ten years old at the time, and the child appeared to be only eight or nine years old.

　　On the screen, the mother was busy, her face sweating with hard work, and her son saw his mother working on the side, and his eyes were filled with concern and worry. So her tiny son turned and went into the room and came back with a basin of water in his hand and said to his mother, who was standing in front of him, "Mom, I'll wash your feet." The voice was so kind and so lovely. Mom sat down, and her son washed her feet with a smile on his face. When I saw that scene, I don't know why. I shed tears and didn't speak for a long time. Whenever I am at home, in my free time, the image of my son washing his mother's feet comes to me, and every time it comes to me, I feel shocked and moved. I can't forget this loving image, and I don't dare to forget it. In this way, time and time again, time and time, this image has remained in my memory, touching it can not be removed. I look at my parents who have worked around me for most of my life, and I feel my heart ache.

　　One summer a few years ago, our hometown was in the season of picking tobacco leaves, where every family was immersed in a busy and tense atmosphere. Cigarettes are the main source of our economy here, and almost all farmers rely on them for their yearly living expenses, so in the eyes of our rural families, they are all we have. To have a better life in the future, farmers are very busy in this season. Many farmers go to the field to pick tobacco leaves at five o'clock in the morning, and often have to eat from noon until noon, close to one o'clock, and even more surprisingly at night, busy until two o'clock, which can be said to be a daily routine for farmers. On such busy days, our elders do not know how many have gone through. And how much do I know about what they have gone through and the hardships they have suffered?

　　It was during such a season that an event occurred that I'm afraid I can never forget in my life, it was about my father, the memory is so deep, the picture is so clear ......

　　As usual, this day, my family woke up early and went to the field to pick tobacco leaves, everything went so normal, nothing different, the day was about to pass. My father was also doing the last thing - loading all the tobacco leaves into the baking room. Because of the late work, it was already dark when the tobacco was loaded, and the baking room was dark, so my father could only do his business silently in the darkness. It was at this time that tragedy struck. My father accidentally fell from a distance of four or five meters, which no one could have predicted. I didn't know how my father felt at the time. Was it numbness? Or was it a sharp pain that rushed into his heart? At that time, the home was far from the hospital, and it was dark, so the family invited a doctor to the village, and after the doctor's examination, my father's ribs were broken twice. I only felt that the house was as silent as death.

　　That weekend, I returned home, the night was very dark and unusually hot. My father was lying on the sofa with the heat and pain, my mother was busy with all kinds of household chores, and all the farming work at home fell on my mother's shoulders during my father's illness.

　　That night late, my mother was still busy, and my father lying flat, I was thinking about some problems, and I forgot to help my mother do the housework. After a while, my father looked at me with some melancholy in his eyes, and he suddenly opened his mouth and said to me faintly, "Come help me up, I've been lying down for a long time and I feel very sore, I want to get up and sit down." There was a groan in the voice, which I could feel. After hearing my father's words, I immediately went over and gently helped him up and sat on the sofa. Hearing his moans and seeing that difficult scene, I couldn't stand it anymore, my nose was sore and my eyes were moist, but I didn't dare to shed tears in front of my father, I could only force it down and suffer in silence. At a later time, I helped my father to go out for a while and then came back again. I sat by my father's side and thought, "How did my father live during the days I was away from home? He had an extremely hard time moving around, didn't he? And mother. We sat for a while, my father was sleepy and wanted to sleep, he wanted to wash his feet, so I poured hot water for him and put it on the floor, when my mother suddenly said, "You help your father wash his feet, I have something to do." After saying that, my mother went out to continue her business and did not come back. I helped my father wash his feet. I was a little surprised, when I was small, it was my parents who washed my feet, now, I have to wash my father's feet, this is the first time I washed my father's feet, the feeling is very deep. I squatted down and began to wash my father's feet, and he didn't say anything, and neither did I. Each one did his own. I lifted my father's feet and washed him silently, and every time I touched his feet, my heart felt a sense of fear. Is it awe? Or was it moving? I couldn't find the answer.

　　My father's feet are so rough, the calluses on the soles of his feet are so thick, that he seems to have walked a long and difficult road. Every mark is deeply engraved on his rough yellow feet.

　　I finished washing my father's feet with tears in my eyes, but he didn't notice.

　　Afterward, I sat quietly alone, pondering. What was my father working so hard for? Why were his feet so rough? So many calluses? I looked at myself again. What had I done for my parents since I started studying? It seemed too little, I was only 15 or 16 years old, what could I think of?

　　My father's feet, I can't seem to forget, until now, it is still like the picture in the advertisement, clear and bright.

　　It was the first time I washed my father's feet, and it was the first time I felt the deep love from my father in their silence. Father's feet, always running on the road, for mother, for children, with direction and purpose.

　　In this world, how many pairs of feet like fathers with thick calluses, they are running in silence for their families, running for society, without any hard work, despite the hardships? And we, for the most part, ignore their hard work, with no gratitude, and return.

　　Let go of the fame, let go of the desire, let us return to our parents' side, silently guarding our love, not to let the tragedy of "the son wants to raise but his parents do not wait" happen to us. As long as everyone can give love, everywhere with a grateful heart, our parents will still leave us? Will this society still leave us?