Eyes hidden behind your back, 2000 words.

Even if you are a master of Dan Qing, it is difficult to outline your strong backbone and your bloodshot and turbid eyes; Even a master of literature can hardly describe your indomitable spirit and your selfless dedication. Even a superstar, it is difficult to sing your silent concern for me, and it is also difficult to sing your warm love that came into my heart like running water. On the road of life, those eyes hidden behind me have been growing with me. I sincerely thank you, my father.

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They all say that the first word I can spit out from babbling to whispering is "dad"; They all say that the first person I went to find from crawling to toddler was my father; They all said that I liked to ride on my father's shoulders when I was a child. But now with the passing of my childhood, I gradually alienated from him, deliberately alienated.

Although I know, it was my parents who brought me into this world, who greeted my new life with sweet tears and happy smiles, who shouldered the burden of the whole family and gave me a good living environment, and who embraced all my advantages and disadvantages with broad minds and deep love. I know he loves me, but my heart is always full of contradictory and shallow hatred for him.

I have an ordinary father. He is a cook. He cooked countless exquisite and delicious meals. Counting 200 dishes a day, the number reached tens of thousands. Such a huge number makes many people stunned. Even I can't imagine how hard it is to cook in a heavy iron pot for hours in a smoky kitchen. The skin on my father's face has always been dark yellow, and my face is as white as a grain of dust. My mother always jokes that he looks like an old man who collects garbage, but he smiles disapprovingly, touches my face and says, "I am destined to be a prince riding a white horse in my life, but I want my daughter to be the noblest princess in the world." His calloused hand gently rubbed my face, but still scratched the skin on my face slightly. Probably aware of something, he withdrew his hand and smiled apologetically at me.

My father, he is not an endless sea, he is not like the sea; My father, he is not an unattainable mountain, he does not carry everything like a mountain; My father, he is not a dazzling sun, he is not as radiant as the sun, shining on the earth. His love is like a dark and quiet night, invisible, intangible and bottomless. He hummed a tune for me with a rich voice, stuffed his thick arms on the corner of the quilt, and shed tears for me with weather-beaten eyes. He generously gave me a space of my own, let me breathe free air with open arms to embrace the life I wanted, but he did not hesitate to give me warmth when I needed it.

I am very grateful to him for all he has done for me. If, if he hadn't insisted on divorcing his mother at that time, regardless of his family's opposition and my tearful plea, he would definitely walk into the divorce hall with his mother. I don't think I will mix the complicated and heavy thing of hate into my original deep love for him.

During my parents' divorce, my father became a cold and distant statue in my mind. The wrinkles on the forehead and the white hair on the head become more dazzling and depressing. His eyes are gray as if there were no emotional rain, and his mouth droops slightly with a cold feeling of rejecting people thousands of miles away, as if he could resist all the injuries with such a quiet face, and he is becoming more and more silent. I looked on coldly. In revenge, I throw his clothes aside every time I change clothes. He often spends his pocket money by buying things without restraint. Wandering online all night, sleeping in class during the day. Aware of my change, out of remorse and guilt, he deliberately quit his job as a chef and began to take care of my daily diet.

But these remedies can't replace my injury as a child in a single-parent family. I turned a blind eye to what he did, and what's more, I went to the direction of the problem girl, and the time to go home became later and later, less and less. I completely ignored his anxious waiting and frequent phone calls, and still wandered between my classmates' home and the Internet cafe, proving with my own actions what an unforgivable mistake he made. Because of my persistent education, teachers and class teachers are very helpless and have to call my father to school. My father was silent for a long time after learning from the head teacher about my bad behavior at school. He finally gave a wry smile and said to the class teacher, "Teacher, give her another chance. My daughter is not bad. " He lowered his head slightly, as sincere as a child who made a mistake.

For this reason, the school specially put me on a long vacation for half a month to go home and reflect. This is undoubtedly a great honor for me as a freshman. Vacation means going out to play games and go shopping, quarreling and fighting with uneducated teenagers in the street, but the first day didn't go as smoothly as expected. Another night, I came home late. I twisted the door and walked into the living room. I am a little surprised that my father didn't lock the door. The house is very quiet. Father was sitting at the dining table, apparently with food that had been cold for a long time. Hearing the sound, he raised his eyes and shot me. I saw his eyes. These big eyes, which should be full of love and mystery, are full of anger at this time. There is a little helplessness and desolation in his eyes that I can't explain, which is overwhelming. ...

Suddenly I felt guilty. I spread my legs and walked towards him. He suddenly stood up and pushed the chair behind him. He raised his broad palm and was about to call me. I closed my eyes in fear and tears fell. 1 of "bang", this slap did not fall on my face, but on the side of the table.

He always smokes these days. He often leans against the yellowed concrete wall and stares blankly into the distance. From time to time, he takes a deep breath of the cigarette in his hand and then slowly spits it out. His eyes wandered in the air, covering his thin and dull face. Now I feel an extremely lonely posture and an extremely sad picture.

That night, instead of hitting me, he called my mother with trembling hands. On the other end of the phone, he told my mother in a hoarse voice that he was sorry for me, but he couldn't teach me because I was getting farther and farther away. He said that if I went to live with my mother for a while, maybe the environment would change.

On the bus at six o'clock in the evening, he prepared my favorite food in advance, put it in a thermos bucket, prepared my favorite momchilovtsi, and took me to the bus with a suitcase. He didn't say a word during the long journey from home to the station. I thought I would leave without fear, but at the moment he turned around, tears welled up and blurred my vision. There were many outsiders standing, and my father didn't have an umbrella. He just walked away in the rain in late autumn, and his strong back became smaller and smaller. I couldn't help sticking my head out of the window and sobbing loudly at my father's back: "Dad, I was wrong!" " Through the heavy crowd, he turned to me in disbelief, with tears in his eyes, intertwined with the rain. It turns out that my father's love for me is so wordless, so silent and so forbearing.

Behind every family lies such a pair of eyes. It silently watches your growth, your joys and sorrows, and looks back silently. In fact, along the way, whether it is a calm day or a stormy road to growth, we are not alone. Because behind us, there are a pair of eyes watching silently and a pair of hands supporting gently. He is our eternal patron saint, and he is our father.

I am very grateful to my father. Thank him for all his love and cultivation, for holding my hand tightly in time, and for his wordless love. Gratitude is gratitude. Here, I thank him in the name of a child. I sincerely thank you, my father!