Fatherly love is like wine.

Time flies. In a blink of an eye, my father has left me for two years. People's feelings are so strange. He is always ignored by you when he is around you. His nagging and words and deeds bore you. When he is gone, you will feel lost and understand that the person who loves you the most in the world has left you, and your guilt will never be made up.

Looking back now, my father is actually a vague figure in my heart. Growing up, there will always be a bicycle bell that goes out early and comes back late. Still sleeping in the morning, I was awakened by the messy footsteps outside the door, and the neighbor's dog barked. It was my early father who hurried to work and disturbed my good dream. And I can't understand his hard work, but I complain that other people's fathers can accompany me. Father is not good at words, and my favorite tofu flower always serves in the morning. The familiar smell has been with me until I graduated from junior high school.

At that time, my father rode out to collect waste products every day to maintain the life and study of our three brothers and sisters. The harvest in the field was limited and there was not much money left. As we all know, the harder you work, the better your academic performance will be, and you will always be the first in your class, and most awards will be indispensable in every midterm exam. I took the prize and showed it to my father happily. Although he can't read, a long-lost smile appeared on his dark face. I always say to him, dad, I'll buy you good wine when I make money in the future. Because I know that in order to save money for our study, he has given up the only enjoyment of drinking for a long time. Due to long-term running and fatigue, he got a serious leg disease. When the season changed, he was swollen and the pain was unbearable. At this time, he relied on wine to relieve himself. He can't sleep every night, and he never wants to go to treatment. It broke my heart to come here.

The night before my brother was admitted to college, my old father finally fell down, like a weather-beaten old tree, unable to stand the erosion of time any longer, and had no time to say anything, leaving us with endless thoughts and grief. The villagers said, blessed is your father, who left in a hurry and didn't commit any crime. With tears in my eyes, I packed his things, opened a white-washed green canvas bag and found a stack of account books in it, remembering the daily income and expenditure. There is a small bottle of wine in it, which I can't bear to drink. I have been saving it to celebrate my brother's happiness in further education, but I can't wait for this day. My tears flow like a flood that burst its banks. Father, the father who has worked hard for me all his life, why can't he wait until I unload the burden on your shoulders and enjoy that day?

At the funeral, I spilled wine on the grave. Yuan Ye in spring is full of the breath of recovery. I think my father would understand if he knew. Today, many years later, I entered his inner world. His bumpy life, his love for me, his father's love like wine, lasts forever, and after years of precipitation, it exudes a refreshing fragrance. Like this tough earth, I shed a sigh.