Thinking of my father

My father left last year. These days my father's voice and smile have been haunting my mind, appearing in front of my eyes, as if his old man had never left, the early morning of the second day of the Lunar New Year dreamed that my father was snuggled up next to me, perhaps he knew I was going back home to see him that day, but in reality, I know my dear father has left me forever ......

The tree wants to be quiet but the wind is not, the son wants to be filial but his parents are not. Whenever it is late at night, I can't help but think of my father and the little things he did when he was alive, and I can't sleep at night when I think about it. When I thought that I would never see my father again, my eyes would not fight and my tears would soak my pillowcase again and again.

From the time my father fell ill to the time he passed away, nearly six years ago, he had been in and out of the hospital countless times, but I clearly remember taking only two slightly longer leaves of absence, one for inpatient surgery and one for the death of an old man. During this period, although I used holidays, often home to visit, and occasionally to visit the hospital to accompany, I know I did not completely do my son's responsibility, more things are brothers and sisters in silent commitment and pay. I also feel regret and guilt for this, and I am deeply sorry for my father.

My father is very strong. Whether it is the hardships of life or the torture of illness. I never saw him bow his head, bend his back, let alone see his tears. Even during his serious illness, he endured a lot of pain for fear that our children would worry. Especially in the later stages, his body has been tortured by the disease as thin as a bone, but he did not say once in front of us pain. Whenever I see my father lying in bed with a thin and frail body, I can't help but weep, but my father "blamed" me and said: "What is there to cry about, you should do things that are done, but also afford me, and now you all have a family and a career, I died at 13 years old son. "Father himself is like that, he still comforted us, do not want us for his heart sad.

Father is very simple. When my father was a child, his family was poor, his father left early, did not go to school, and could not read. Due to the hardships of life since childhood, he was a hardworking and steady officer, loyal and honest, and was well received by his neighbors and townspeople. Since he was twenty years old, he was elected as a production leader and has been one for forty years. Forty years a day is enough to show that the villagers recognize him as a person, although it can not say that he has made any contribution, at least to fulfill the mission of duty. We remember from childhood that he took the collective matters of the production team very seriously, alone in the rain to block culverts, storage of water to prepare for plowing is a common occurrence. Whenever a family in the production team needed help, my father would do everything he could to help, even if he couldn't help himself, my father had to think of someone who could help with this. In those days, it was not uncommon to borrow rice or rice or a few dollars or tens of dollars and even borrowed rice or money from other families. My father did not study, and could not speak much, but the neighbors trusted him, and anyone who had a big event at home would take the initiative to discuss it with my father, and every time he would treat him with sincerity. Perhaps these simple words and actions are his belief in life.

My father was very strict. In my memory, my father is a very majestic person, not smiling, the team of children aisa little afraid of him, and our sisters are even more severe. To be honest, we were afraid to tell him anything when we were young and inwardly kept a certain distance from my father. I remember one time when I was in elementary school, I didn't finish my homework, I was left in the classroom at noon to do my homework, and I wasn't allowed to go home to eat, and I saw that the parents of other students sent meals, but no one sent meals to my family, and I was hungry until I got home from school in the evening, and I was thinking how my parents didn't care that I was hungry. Later, I realized that my father did not allow the food to be delivered so that I could learn from my mistakes and not make them again. I remember one summer evening, after a long day's work, the adults were cooling themselves on the bamboo stools at the entrance, and a few naughty friends from the village and I met to steal persimmons from other people's houses. The next evening, while I was sitting in the bathtub taking a shower, my father took a bamboo stick and beat me up until I admitted my mistake and promised never to do it again.

My father was also very kind and optimistic, and he had many qualities that I cannot express in words. My father was my initial initiation teacher and my eternal teacher for life. It was you who taught me how to behave and how to face difficulties and challenges with every word and deed. The kindness, simplicity, diligence, and good learning that you taught me are healthy qualities that enable us four siblings to be solidly grounded in society, to behave honestly and on the ground, and to be responsible people on the ground.

Father, may you rest in peace under the grave!