When will Jason Chung be able to paint forever?

Night, so quiet, soft moonlight shed a silvery white; Night, so deep, my father's snoring echoed all night like a moving moonlight song. Looking at my sleeping father's face, my thoughts floated to the sacred night sky. ...

When I was a child, I was always proud of having such a father, because he could tell many beautiful stories and pinch many beautiful animals. Every day after school, I ride on my father's shoulder and shake my head like a triumphant little general. The envious eyes of my classmates made me fall in love with my father deeply.

But with the passage of time and the growth of age, this feeling gradually fades, replaced by vague inferiority and sadness. The idea originated from filling out file forms in middle school. When other students are writing in the column of "father"-factory director, manager and engineer, I can only write "worker" timidly. When I handed in my watch, I held it tightly in my hand for fear that others would see me smile. Ah, father, why don't you be a factory director, manager and engineer? ...

When the weather turned cold, my father said with concern, "It's cold, so put on more clothes." "Oh, I see." I answered casually. Suddenly looked up, my father's old face and concerned eyes came into my eyes. My heart trembled slightly. ...

The night is still so deep and silent; The moon is still so round and bright. I can't forget the figure that stood in the cold wind for a long time.

I only remember that it was so cold that night, and the humid air seemed to be mixed with rain. As soon as the bell rang, I rushed out of the classroom because I was frozen stiff. It was dark outside, and several deciduous old trees were shivering in the cold wind. Oh, the figure standing in the cold wind: like a pine tree, like a cypress tree ... he tried his best to find it in the crowd and let the cold wind lift his coat and get into his trousers. It turned out that my father knew I was afraid of the dark and came to pick me up like a child. ...

Oh, the wind is blowing and the moon is rising. In the moonlight, I can clearly see my father's face: high cheekbones, sunken eyes and wrinkled skin ... Suddenly, I realized what an unfilial daughter I was. Father, over the years, you have obviously become old and thin. Can you forgive your daughter's unfilial behavior?

The moon rose higher, and my father's old face became clearer against the moonlight.

Oh, love is deep in my heart ...

foot

On a beautiful evening, by a flowing river, there will always be an old man with rickets in his prime sitting on a faded old cane chair, staring at the sky dyed red by the sunset and the frost leaves dyed red by the autumn wind. Looking down at his little feet, sighing and doing nothing. She is my great-grandmother who is respectable and amiable.

I remember when I was a child, I often snuggled up to my great-grandmother and asked her innocently, "Why do you always sigh?" Why are your feet as small and short as mine? "But somehow, whenever I talk about grandma's feet, grandma's tears come out of her brown eyes like a flood. She said nothing but touched my head with trembling hands. At this time, my mother always said to me with a serious face: "children, don't ask blindly, play by yourself!" "However, this did not shake my curiosity at all, but sprouted in my young mind. As I grow older, I want to unveil that mysterious veil more and more.

By chance, I finally solved the mystery in my heart. It was a very dark night. I have something to find my grandmother. I just ran to the door excitedly. There was a scene that almost made me faint. From the cloth with almost no end in sight, I saw a little foot wrapped inside: short and thin, like a woven shuttle. The skin on the feet is like old bark, and the veins stand out one by one, and the five toes are squeezed together. Oh, what terrible feet! Suddenly, I understood: why grandma can only sit quietly and can't walk around! Why does grandma need her mother's help in her daily life? Why does she keep sighing! I raised my hazy eyes and found that my grandmother was getting old. Her weather-beaten face is like an eggplant that has been placed for a long time, and there are wrinkles everywhere, just like being carved by a knife. It is so deep, so much. It seems that every wrinkle contains a tortuous experience. Years have bent grandma's waist mercilessly. I was shocked: this is my great-grandmother-a great-grandmother who strongly provoked the burden of life with thin shoulders and brought up four children by her own strength! Tears filled my eyes. ...

Now, grandma has been dead for many years, and all this has become a thing of the past, getting farther and farther away from me and never coming back. In the depths of my memory, I can often see clearly: by the flowing river, my amiable great-grandmother is sitting on that yellow cane chair, quietly watching the beautiful sunset, and the cool breeze is telling an ancient and moving story. ...

Recall the third day

When I stood in front of the finish line of Grade Three, I had many feelings. Looking back on the special period of grade three, I feel that grade three is like a song-a song that is difficult to understand, sing and learn.

On the third day, I didn't grope on the court or think in front of "cars", "horses" and "guns"; Say goodbye to leisure time on weekends and happy time on holidays. I want to embrace the dusty football again and walk into the black and white world; I wanted to put on the chessboard again and kill each other ... But it's the third day! Parents' exhortation, relatives' entrustment and teachers' warning tell us that Hua Song has built an invisible thick wall to separate us from the world. With us, we can only swim in this ocean of knowledge by holding the diligent paddle and taking hard work as the boat.

The world is full of contradictions-even if we lose a lot, we gain a lot. Parents who are not rich in life buy "melatonin" and "life number" to supplement their children's nutrition at this time, which is their selfless care for us; Teachers always repeat the words "go home and review well" after school every night, which is a kind concern for us. With this, even if we lose a lot, we will say-value.

It's the third grade, and friendship seems special. No one wants to bring the contradiction between senior one and senior two to senior three, because we all know that the days together are running out. In the morning, I opened the English textbook under the tree, and a note slipped quietly: "It's the third day, let's make up!" " "In a short sentence, the iceberg that has melted for several years is the true feelings of friendship in grade three.

We are in the third grade, but we are still a group of teenagers of fifteen or sixteen. We might as well steal some leisure from our busy schedule. In the debate, we exchanged angry words and wisecracks; On the podium, we are eloquent and gushing; In the stadium, we jump and jump, full of energy. ……

There are many, many past events in grade three. On graduation, they jumped around in my mind like jumping fish, which made me excited and unforgettable. But I know that hope is still ahead-the dream is still far away and the road is still long. I will follow the footsteps of grade three without hesitation.

Yongheng bicycles

In every city in China, every morning, you will see children riding bicycles to school in the street. The most common bicycle is model 28, which is tall and big. Most people who ride this kind of car are fathers. Children and boys who ride bicycles like to sit on the beam in front of the car, as if to imply that they will face the world in the future, and their father is their support. Girls like to sit in the back seat of the car, which seems to show that their lives will be much calmer than those of boys and they need more care, and their father is their most reliable shelter.

In my memory, that eternal scene will appear from time to time. Father rides a bike, which is a very common type 28, tall and big; There is a boy in front of the car. Bicycles are always slow, and it is unusual for other two-wheeled or four-wheeled vehicles to rush by. In the morning, the father took his son to school. My son sat in front of the car and looked at the street gloomily. Father and son have nothing to say along the way. When the sun goes down, the father slowly takes his son home. My son was in high spirits all the way and told everything that happened at school. Occasionally, the father will ask his son if he is listening attentively in class and if the teacher praises him ... but most of the time, the father always listens to his son quietly and rides his bike slowly-very peaceful and carefree.

Gradually, my son grew up. I don't like riding a bike after school, because he often bends down and sits on a narrow beam, which is a little uncomfortable. But my father talks more and more every day, but he still cares, telling him to concentrate in class and not to run around after school.

Finally, one day, the father gained weight and the son grew taller. My son naturally has his own bike, a beautiful mountain bike. After school, there is always a whirlwind. Father's bike, outdated, quietly parked in the corner of the carport. The handlebars, beams and rims that my father has been polishing have already been covered with thick dust. A flat tire looks tired and weak ... Father's bike is old! It's time to relax.

Occasionally on an outing, my father would push the old bike out of the shed, wipe off the dust, inflate it, lubricate it, adjust the brakes, and then hit the road. This scene is so familiar and intimate.

Oh, I miss my father's bike. That forever bike! It carries wordless love and eternal happiness.