Famous short essays about father's love

Zhu Ziqing's back, Zhao Lihong's wave - it should be okay to miss my father

Back view:

My father and I have not seen each other for more than two years. , what I can’t forget the most is his back. That winter, my grandmother died and my father's errand was handed over. It was a day when misfortunes never come singly. I went from Beijing to Xuzhou, intending to go home with my father for the funeral. When I went to Xuzhou to see my father, I saw the mess in the courtyard and thought of my grandmother again, and I couldn't help but shed tears. My father said, "It's what happened, so there's no need to be sad. Fortunately, there's always a way out!"

He went home and sold off the mortgage, and his father repaid the shortfall; he also borrowed money to pay for the funeral. These days, the family situation is very bleak, half because of the funeral and half because of the father's unemployment. After the funeral, my father was going to Nanjing to find a job, and I was going back to Beijing to study, so we went together.

When I arrived in Nanjing, a friend asked me to go sightseeing and stayed for a day. On the second day in the morning, I had to cross the river to Pukou and get on the train in the afternoon to go north. Because my father was busy with work, he had already decided not to see me off and asked a familiar waiter from the hotel to accompany me. He repeatedly asked the waiter to be very careful. But he finally felt uneasy, fearing that the waiter might be inappropriate; he hesitated for a while. In fact, I was already twenty years old at that time and had already been to Beijing two or three times, so it wasn't that important anymore. He hesitated for a while and finally decided to send me there himself. I tried to persuade him two or three times not to go; he just said, "It doesn't matter, it's not good for them to go!"

We crossed the river and entered the station. I bought the ticket and he was busy taking care of the luggage. There was too much luggage, so I had to tip the porter to get through. He was busy negotiating the price with them again. I was really too smart at that time, and I always felt that what he said was not very nice, so I had to interrupt myself. But he finally agreed on the price and sent me to the car. He picked out a chair for me by the car door; I spread the purple fur coat he made for me on the seat. He told me to be careful on the road and to be alert at night so as not to catch cold. I also asked the waiter to take good care of me. I secretly laughed at his tortuousness; they only recognized money, and it was nothing to support them! And for someone as old as me, can’t I still take care of myself? Well, now that I think about it, I was so smart back then!

I said, "Dad, let's go." He looked outside the car and said, "I'm going to buy some oranges. Just stay here and don't move around." I looked at the moon over there. There are several sellers waiting for customers outside the fence of the platform. When you get to the platform over there, you have to cross the railway, jump off and climb up again. My father is a fat man, so it would be more troublesome to walk there. I was going to go, but he refused, so I had to let him go. I saw him wearing a black cloth cap, a large black cloth mandarin jacket, and a dark blue cloth cotton robe. He staggered to the side of the railway and slowly leaned down. It was not a disaster. But it was not easy for him to cross the railway and climb to the platform over there. He clung to it with both hands and retracted his feet upwards; his fat body leaned slightly to the left, showing an effort. At this time I saw his back, and my tears flowed down quickly. I quickly wiped away my tears, fearing that he would see me and others would see me. When I looked out again, he had already hugged the scarlet orange and looked back. When crossing the railway, he first scattered the oranges on the ground, climbed down slowly, then picked up the oranges and walked away. When I got here, I quickly went to help him. He walked with me to the car and put oranges on my fur coat. So I patted the dirt on my clothes, feeling very relaxed, and said after a while, "I'm leaving; I'll write you a letter over there!" I watched him go out. He walked a few steps, turned around, saw me, and said, "Go in, there's no one inside." When his back blended in with the people coming and going, and he couldn't be found anymore, I came in and sat down, and my tears came again. .

In recent years, my father and I have been traveling here and there, and the situation at home has deteriorated day by day. He went out to make a living as a young man, supported himself by himself, and did many great things. Who knew that Lao Jing was so depressed! He was so sad that he couldn't help himself. When he is depressed in his heart, he will naturally express it outwardly; trivial matters in his family will often make him angry. He gradually treated me differently than before. But after not seeing each other for the past two years, he finally forgot about my faults and only thought about me and my son. After I came to the north, he wrote a letter to me. He said in the letter, "I am in good health, but my arm hurts a lot. I have a lot of inconveniences in lifting chopsticks and pens. I think my death is not far away." I read this , in the glistening tears, I saw the fat man's back again, wearing a green cloth cotton robe and a black cloth mandarin jacket.

well! I don’t know when I will see him again!

Waving hands - Missing my father:

Late at night, as if sleeping and waking up, there is a sound in my ears, as if a cane is touching the ground, from far to near... Father , are you here? When I woke up suddenly, it was completely silent and no sound could be heard. Turning on the desk lamp, my father smiled at me in the warm light. It was a photo that I took for him when I accompanied him to Hangzhou last year. He was standing on the edge of the West Lake, with the shadows of flowers and the light of the lake setting off his peaceful smile. The father in the photo cannot be seen to be a man in his eighties. Unexpectedly, this was the last photo I took of him!

A month ago, my father died suddenly. That day my mother called and said that my father was angry and in bad condition, and asked me to go quickly. At this time, there was an uninvited guest sitting in my study. He was an editor from Xi'an who requested a manuscript. I quickly asked him to leave, but it was still delayed for five or six minutes. After seeing off the uninvited guest, I rode hard to my father's house. The journey that usually takes half an hour took only ten minutes. I don't know how I rode the more than ten miles, but I was still a step late. My father stopped breathing ten minutes before I came home. A mouthful of phlegm blocked his trachea. He just said softly twice: "I can't breathe..." and then passed out and never woke up. The ambulance arrived before me, and the doctor tried to resuscitate my dying father, but ultimately failed. When I rushed to my father's side, he was lying calmly, with no expression of pain, and seemed to have a slight smile on his face, as if he was asleep. He would never again reach out to me with a smile, never tell me about his illness, never ask about my life and creation with concern, never again go to bookstores and post offices with a cane, Go buy my books and newspapers and magazines that publish my articles, and never laugh loudly on the phone chatting with your grandson again...Father!

Because their father passed away suddenly, the children were not able to see him off. After my father stopped breathing, I was the first to rush back to him. I carried my father's body back to his bed, scrubbed his body, shaved his beard, and put on clean clothes. I rarely did such things for my father when he was alive. When he was sick, my mother took care of him alone. When I was a child, my father often took me to the bathroom to take a bath. I still remember the scene of him washing my face and rubbing my back in the steaming bath. Unexpectedly, when I had the opportunity to do these things for my father, he had already passed to another world. Father, can you feel my hug and touch?

My father is a kind and gentle man. In my memory, he always has a generous smile on his face. Growing up, he never scolded me, let alone hit me, and he did the same to other children. I have never seen him quarrel with anyone. My father was born in 1912, the second year after the fall of the Qing Dynasty. His grandfather named him Hongcai, hoping that he could change the family's predicament and bring glory to his ancestors. In his life, there were successes and more failures. When he was young, he was a legend in his hometown: the son of a poor tenant farmer, relying on his own efforts, he actually opened several prosperous shops, bought dozens of houses, and became a success that many people envied. who. The old people in my hometown still talk about my father in awe. He also took some risks when he was young. In the early days of the Anti-Japanese War, under the blockade of Japanese bayonets and guns, he drove a small boat to transport goods needed by the people from other places back to his hometown. He not only did good things for his father and fellow villagers, but also So I made a little fortune. After the Anti-Japanese War, in order to enable the employees in his shop to escape the Kuomintang army's "capture of young men", my father gave up the shop in his hometown and went to Shanghai to open a small textile factory. He originally wanted to imitate those all-powerful national capitalists and "save the country through industry," but he never expected that this would be the beginning of his career decline. In the vast ocean of Shanghai, my father's small factory was just a tiny shrimp. In addition, he didn't have much experience in industry and factory management, so it was only natural that the small shrimp became a delicious meal for big fish and crabs. His factory suffered losses from the beginning, and by the time of liberation, the factory had actually closed down. However, his father wanted to save face and was unwilling to admit the reality of failure, so he managed to maintain the business by borrowing money. By the time of the public-private partnership, his little assets were enough to become a capitalist. In order to maintain the business, he took the lead in reducing his salary to less than that of ordinary workers. He also donated a building he built after arriving in Shanghai to a public-private partnership factory. As a result, our family lost our place to live and had to stay at relatives' homes. It took a long time to rent a few rooms in Shikumen Lane. Room.

Therefore, in the following decades, he has been a capitalist in name only, and this hat has made our family suffer for a long time. During my childhood, my family always lived a poor and frugal life. I remember that when I was a child, I always wore old clothes made from the clothes worn by my brothers and sisters. After I went to school, I had to apply for installment payment every time I paid my tuition before school started. Regarding poverty, my father was indifferent and calm. He said: "It doesn't matter if you are poor. What matters is to be a decent person and a person who contributes to society." We have never felt shame or embarrassment because of poverty, which is consistent with my father's Attitude related. During the "Cultural Revolution", the "rebel team" from my father's factory also came to our house to ransack it, but the old workers in the factory knew our family background. Apart from visible furniture and furnishings, there was nothing valuable in the house. The man who came to search the house said, "If you have any gold or silver, you can just hand it over yourself." I remember my father and mother whispered a few words, and my mother opened the drawer of the chest of drawers and took out a tarnished fine thread from a small box. The thin gold necklace was handed into the hands of the "rebel team members". Later I found out that this necklace was my mother’s dowry back then. This is the only "gold and silver treasure" in our family...

One night in the early days of the "Cultural Revolution", the "rebel team" broke into our house and took away my father. When he said goodbye to us, my father was very calm and showed no fear. He comforted us and said, "I have never done anything wrong. They can't do anything to me. Don't worry about me." At that time, I felt that my father was very strong. Not a wimp. During the "Cultural Revolution", my father, as one of the "Seven Black Categories", naturally lived like a year. But even in the most tense days, there were still old workers in the factory who secretly came to see my father and secretly gave money to support our family. Such a thing was simply a fantasy at the time. From this, I learned about my father’s personality, and also understood that the relationship between people is not necessarily a life-or-death class struggle. My father has always said: "The career I am most proud of is my children, all of whom are good." I think that our brothers and sisters can all make some achievements in their own positions, and be in harmony with my father's conduct and relationship with him. Our influence has a lot to do with it.

In my memory, my father's hands are always waving in front of my face...

I think of the three outings in my life, all of which were sent by my father to see me off. He stood on the road, waving his hand to me from a distance. The figure standing on the roadside grew from big to small until I could no longer see him...

The first time I saw him off was when I graduated from elementary school. I went to a suburban residential middle school in the early 1960s. When I reported to school that day, it was my father who sent me there. My father was still young at that time, and the bulging bedroll did not seem heavy in his hands. The middle school was far away, so I took two trams and then took a bus to the suburbs. A lot of unfamiliar scenery passed by outside the window, but I had no intention of admiring it. I am only fourteen years old and have never left home or my parents. I can't help but feel a little scared and nervous when I think about living a boarding life alone in school. Along the way, my father rarely spoke and just looked at me silently with a smile. When the bus was speeding on the suburban road, my father looked out the window at the green fields, his expression became very cheerful. I felt that I was getting farther and farther away from home, so I asked uneasily: "Are we almost there?" My father did not answer me directly. He pointed to the green rice fields outside the window and the tree shadows fluttering in the wind, and said indifferently: "You Look, how beautiful the green color is here." He glanced at me and probably noticed my confusion and uneasiness, so he gently touched my shoulder blade and said, "Smell the smell of the wind and the city. The smell here is different. There is the smell of grass and leaves in the countryside, but not in the city. This smell is good for people's health. When I was a child, I left my parents to study business. I was only twelve years old. You are still two years younger." When my father spoke, he never moved his hand from my shoulder. "It was also a season like this when I left home. It was a little later than now, and the yellow leaves started to fall on the trees that year. It was very early. I had only been away from home for a few days when I suddenly felt cold. It was so cold that the crops in the field were frozen to death. I had no cotton-padded jacket and only two pairs of unlined clothes. I was shivering from the cold and almost died of the cold. "My father talked about the past events of his boyhood in a very relaxed tone. All the hardships and severity melted into his gentle smile. In my impression, my father was not a deep person, but when he talked about the distant past, even though he smiled, I felt his depth. After arriving at school that day, my father accompanied me to register, then accompanied me to find my dormitory, and helped me make my bed.

Next, I will send my father off. I want to send him to the school gate. At the school gate, my father patted me on the shoulder, touched my head, and then said with a smile: "From now on, everything will depend on you. It doesn't matter if you don't get used to it at first, you will get used to it gradually." After that, he He strode out of the school gate. I stood in the school gate, watching my father’s back. There was a main road outside the school gate, and my father walked slowly forward without looking back. I think my father will definitely look back at me. Sure enough, after walking more than ten meters, my father turned around and saw that I was still standing still. He turned around, waved to me vigorously, and told me to go back. I just felt my vision blurred... In my young heart, this was the first time I felt so attached to my father.

The second time my father gave me a gift was during the "Cultural Revolution". That time, I was traveling far away, and I wanted to "jump in and settle down" in the countryside. At that time, my father was a "problematic" person and could not move around casually. He could only send me to a station not far from home. That day, I was carrying my luggage by myself, and my father walked silently beside me. When we were about to break up, he said, "Be careful. Write home often when you have time." I got in the car, and my father stood at the station and looked at me. There was no parting sadness on his face, but the gentle smile he always had, just a little forced. I know that my father doesn't feel good. He is afraid that I will be sad, so he tries not to show his sad emotions. The car started moving, and my father waved to me while walking forward in the direction of the car. At this time, I saw crystal tears shining in his eyes...

The third time my father sent me off was the day I was admitted to college and registered. This is already the spring of 1978. My father has long since retired and is almost seventy years old. That day, my father insisted on sending me to school, but I refused. My father couldn't resist me, so he gave in and said, "Okay, I'll take you to the entrance of the alley." This time, my father's journey to see me off was much shorter than the previous two times, but before I left the alley, I noticed that his pace slowed down. Looking back, I was a little surprised. My father, who was helping me carry a small bag, was actually in tears. He had never been so emotional when sending me off before. Compared with the previous times, my prospects for leaving home this time should be the brightest. Why is my father so sad? I was a little strange, so I quickly asked: "I am going to college, which is a good thing. Why are you so sad?" My father wiped his tears and replied: "I know, I know. But, I wonder why it is always How many more times can I send you away from home?" As he spoke, tears welled up in his eyes again. At this time, I suddenly discovered that my father’s gray hair was much thinner than in previous years, and his forehead also had wrinkles that I had not noticed before. My father is a bit old. Alas, there is no way around this. The growth of children is always at the expense of the passage of youth and even aging of their parents. This process always happens quietly without people knowing it. No one can stop this process.

My father was in poor health in his middle age, and severe tuberculosis almost claimed his life. A fortune teller once told him his fortune, saying that he would be "riding a horse across a bamboo bridge" at fifty-seven, which would bring misfortune and good fortune. If he could pass this test, he would live a long life. At the age of fifty-seven, my father became seriously ill, but he finally walked staggeringly across the bamboo bridge of fate. After he turned sixty, my father's health got better and better, and he looked ten or twenty years younger than his actual age. Some people once mistakenly thought that our father and son were brothers. Before he turned eighty, he looked like a man in his sixties, neither talking nor walking looked old. A few years ago, my father often came to my house suddenly alone. As long as his slow and steady footsteps sounded on the stairs, I knew it was him. Before the door even opened, his smiling voice could be heard outside the door. Shout... Four years ago, my father broke his tibia and femur and had surgery in the hospital to replace it with a metal artificial joint. Since then, he has been tortured by illness, suddenly aged much, and never regained his previous vibrant mental state. He has a cane on his hand and walks much slower than before, making it difficult to go out. However, whenever he is in good spirits, he will come to my house with a cane.

Among all my readers, the one who cares most about my articles and books is my father. Ever since I first published my work many years ago, as long as he knew which newspaper or magazine had published my words, he would always take the trouble to go to a bookstore or post office to look for it. If there was no one in this store, he would go to the next one , until purchased. To do this, he traveled countless miles. I was ashamed and felt that my words were not worthy of my father’s journey.

However, it was useless to talk to him again. He always reads my words with admiration. Although he does not praise me in front of me and rarely makes comments, from his expression when reading, I know that he is very proud of his son. He is always more excited about my achievements than I am. Sometimes I felt that this kind of excitement was too much, so I smiled and said to him half-jokingly: "Your son is very ordinary, don't be too proud." He didn't refute me, just smiled happily, like a naughty child. When he was frail in his later years, this excitement was still the same as it was more than ten years ago. A few years ago, I once published a new book and was going to sign it for readers at Xinhua Bookstore on Nanjing Road. My father knew about it and called me to tell me that he wanted to go take a look because this big bookstore was not far from my hometown. I repeatedly warned him that there were many people in the bookstore and it was very crowded, so he must not join in the fun. That morning, the bookstore was indeed packed with people, and the bookshelf counter was almost overwhelmed by enthusiastic readers. I thought with relief. Fortunately, my father didn't come. Otherwise, he would have been in trouble in the crowd with his crutch. So I had nothing else to do and concentrated on signing autographs for readers. About an hour later, when I looked up inadvertently, I suddenly found my father. He was leaning on a cane, standing far away from the crowd, watching me silently from a distance. Alas, father, he is here anyway, he has been standing aside for a long time. I can't imagine how he managed to get upstairs through the crowd on crutches. Seeing me looking up, he smiled at me and waved to me. I felt hot in my heart, and the words I wrote were wrong...

Last spring, our family accompanied my parents to Hangzhou and stayed for a few days by the West Lake. Every evening, we take a walk by the lake together, and my father’s crutches leave a gentle echo on the Bai Causeway and Su Causeway. When we were tired from walking, we rested on a bench by the lake. My father watched his grandson jumping tirelessly around him, smiled and said to himself: "Oh, it would be nice to be younger..."

Death is the inevitable destination of life. Hugo said that it is "the greatest equality and the greatest freedom." This is always an unacceptable fact for the dead and for the living who have lost their loved ones. . Two months before his father passed away, the disease had been tormenting him, but it was not an incurable disease, just a strange disease called "shingles". My father was tortured by severe pain every day and could not sleep or eat well. Because it was too tiring to see my father walking to the hospital for a physical check-up, I sent him a wheelchair and sat next to him for a long time that night. He had a cold, his tongue coating was red and swollen, and he struggled to speak. He rarely spoke and just listened with a smile. We talk. Before leaving, my father looked at me with a distant and melancholy look, and said to me almost as if begging: "Do you want to leave? Sit for a while." When I left him, I felt very sad. I thought I would have to do more in the future. Come visit your father and talk to him more. I never thought that there would be no "after", and that this night was the eternal farewell between our father and son. Two days later, he left in a hurry. The night before my father passed away, I had a phone call with him. On the phone, I said I was going to see him tomorrow, and he said, "You don't have to come because you are busy." In fact, he wanted me to be by his side and talk to him every day. , I know this, but I didn’t accompany him every day in his last days! I remember the last words he said to me on the phone were: "Take care of yourself." Father, you are in pain, but you still want me to take care of myself. The last words you said to me will echo endlessly in my ears and in my heart, making my life forever immersed in your love and care. Father!

Now, whenever I calm down alone, the image of my father always appears in front of me. He smiled at me as usual. He was standing not far from me, waving to me, just like when he saw me off many years ago, he turned around and waved to me on the road, just like he waved to me while standing outside the crowd in the bookstore a few years ago. Same... Sometimes I think that the short life is actually like a hurried wave of the hand. Between the wave of the hand, everything has passed and has become a passing smoke. However, I cannot forget the image of my father waving to me. I think this is a symbol of father's love. My father reveals his love, his expectations, his regrets and pain in this gentle wave of his hand.