In what moment will you feel sorry for yourself?

When I was 10, my father used a discarded milk powder can to poke a hole for me to use as a piggy bank. When I was 15, I opened the piggy bank to buy a bicycle that I had always wanted.

Only to find a pile of paper in the piggy bank.

At that moment, I collapsed and threw the piggy bank hard to the ground. The jar bounced on the ground twice, and the sound of the crash startled my mother, who was mopping the floor on the second floor.

She thundered: What are you doing? Dealer.

I wiped away a handful of tears, sniffed, picked up the can of milk powder and rushed to the second floor, handed the can to my mother and asked, Where is my money? Who has taken my money? Did my brother take my money?

My mother took a glance at the waste paper in the piggy bank and said, "There is nothing to eat or drink in the house. You don't have to spend money on clothes and shoes.

The family will not be poor to rely on me to save a few hundred dollars of change to live, but the mother felt that my money, is the money of the family, used on the use.

Always cowardly, I first lost my temper with my mother. I smashed the jar on the floor, shouted, "That's my money," and rushed out the door to "run away from home."

I didn't know where to go, I didn't know where to go, I just wanted to get away from the place.

Wiping tears all the way quickly walk on the village road, the people in the village saw, murmur, they should be thinking, I am not obedient scolded by parents, in temper.

Adults do not understand, why I will be so angry, is not a little money, your money is not taken from your parents.

That afternoon, I sat under the big banyan tree at the entrance of the neighboring village for a long time, crying from half past twelve to half past two, and then sitting until more than six when the sun had set.

I'm hungry and thirsty and I don't know what to do, but I don't want to go home.

My family went from house to house calling my name and asking me to come home for dinner. An old man in the neighboring village pointed my mother in the direction and said that your baby was sitting under a big banyan tree.

Mother found me and began to lash out, asking me where I had been all afternoon and running away from home. She was too bold.

The piggy bank incident, without a proper explanation or even an apology, seemed trivial in her mind.

After that, my father picked up the piggy bank and put it in my room. I didn't speak. When my father went out, I trampled the piggy bank hard several times, like to vent all the grievances, until the piggy bank flat into a piece of scrap iron, and then threw it into the back hill.

My grievance is not the money in the piggy bank, but why they didn't ask me.

As the eldest, I have always been sensible, too sensible.

My family was poor, and I began to work in the fields with my parents since primary school, planting rice and planting vegetables, cutting rice and feeding chickens and pigs and boiling water for cooking.

I was thin and weak, and the slop bucket I fed the pigs was not much taller than me. Every time, I carried the slop bucket with both hands, walking one step and two steps, staggering and dragging it half way.

My father went out to work, and my mother and I took care of the family. Since my mother had no income, she became very thrifty and loved money very much. When the vegetables in the field grew better, my mother would get up early in the morning to cut vegetables and sell them in the market.

I have to get up at 5:30 in the morning, to help mother cut vegetables, wash vegetables, the vegetable code together, tied into a small bundle with straw, then fire porridge, fried pickles boiled eggs, and then the younger brother and sister shouted get up, told them to put the homework together into the bag, finished eating to go to school.

I was 11 years old at the time.

My mother always had great hopes for me.

The words she repeated every day were:

"You are the elder brother, you must yield to the younger brother and sister."

"You are the elder brother, why do you want to fight chicken leg with younger brother and sister, they don't understand, you don't understand?"

"You are a brother, to sensible, don't let me hold more than a heart."

"You're the older brother... ."

I have to say, it worked for a long time.

I began to become very sensible, mother to brother and sister to buy new clothes and shoes, I never make, eat will put lean clip to brother and sister, will help them wash clothes, will assume all the housework at home.

Big summer, to go to the field to harvest rice, mother will let my brother and sister stay at home to help cook porridge watch homework, and then told me to wear a straw hat with her work.

The worst one was when my arms started peeling.

I tried to complain, I said my homework is not finished, can you ask my sister to work in the field, I have a rest at home.

My mother would scold me for not being sensible and for not being a big brother.

My sister is only one year younger than me.

Later, accustomed to, I will not complain, obediently work, but also less to attract a scolding.

That piggy bank, it's the only thing I've ever believed in, and it's the only thing I've been able to make decisions for myself for years.

At that time, many classmates have a piggy bank, they save the New Year's Money, save enough to buy their favorite things, to show off in the class.

I have no private money, New Year's money every year obediently count good, on the mother to help supplement the family.

My father would tell me to keep some of my loose money, $2.50 a piece, and I kept it in a shoe box and counted it in my spare time, but I never used it to buy snacks.

One day, when my father came back from work, he took out some cans of milk powder from the bag, saying that his employer did not want them. So he collected the cans and sold them for scrap iron.

When I saw the jar, my first reaction was to ask for the jar and put in my change.

My father sealed the jar with a tool and made a slit in it so that I could put enough money in it but could not get it out. At that time, my father smiled and said, when you save five or ten years, you will have a lot of money. When you graduate from high school, you can buy something you like with this money.

I worked hard to save and earn money to fill my piggy bank.

In the final exam, the top three of the grade have cash rewards, respectively 50 yuan, 30 yuan, 20 yuan, my grades are not bad, one effort, squeeze into the top three no problem.

But the first 50 yuan ah, I began to seriously listen to the class, write homework at 10 o 'clock in the evening, and then review the lessons again, my goal is to get 50 yuan in the second year.

The money in the piggy bank, there is my reward money, new 50 dollars, 20 dollars, I solemnly put money into the piggy bank.

Every Spring Festival, relatives to the New Year's money, I put more than 10 yuan of paper money to the mother, leaving loose money when pocket money, save up should have dozens of pieces.

After five years of hard work, there was more than money in it, but also the joy and expectation of a little boy.

In high school, I was admitted to a key middle school in the city. It is a long way to go to school, and many students go to school by bike.

I thought about it for a long time, and decided to reward myself by buying a bicycle. At that time, the price should be 200 to 300 yuan.

When I pried open the piggy bank and found all the money in it was waste paper, I felt like the sky was falling.

My mother kept taking money out of the piggy bank when I wasn't home and sealing it with the kind of white plastic clay my father worked in construction.

After living in junior high, I spent less time holding the piggy bank, and the clay at the top was the same. I didn't notice it, and even if it was a little different, I didn't think about it that way.

I still don't know how much money I had in my piggy bank for five years.

After that, I hated the piggy bank and stopped saving.

My father once said he would take me to a stationery store down the street to buy a real piggy bank that wouldn't open.

I remember my father looking at me and asking me again: Do you want to buy one?

No, I replied coldly.

I love my parents' hard work.

When the family was poor, they worked hard to earn money and save money to feed and clothe us. They wore the same clothes for seven or eight years.

Environmental impact, I understand earlier than other children, but also tried to use a small shoulder to help parents share the hardship of life.

Fulfill the elder brother's responsibility, take good care of the younger brother and sister, and brother and sister rob things, is the hope that parents do not have to worry about the family.

Study hard, get good grades, but also hope that my parents can be proud of me, feel that their hard work is not in vain.

Later, when I grew up, I came to realize that we always love others dearly. Have we ever loved ourselves for a moment?

Mother culture is low, do not know how to raise children that one, she only know, have clothes to wear, have a meal to eat, have to learn, that is how happy.

She doesn't understand that children are to be respected.

If at that time, mother and I said, can you put the money in the piggy bank for the family to do household.

I thought I would give her the piggy bank without hesitation.

Only, she didn't ask me in the end.

I love my piggy bank, I love my enthusiasm, and I love myself too much.

In this lifetime, most of us owe our parents a thank you, and parents owe our children an sorry.

Some of the past, some broken read, some not worth mentioning, but let me remember the small things now.

At what moment will you feel sorry for yourself?