Write my father's prose.

Prose is a narrative literary genre, which expresses the author's true feelings and flexible writing style. The following are 8 essays written by my father, which I collected and sorted out. I hope it will help you!

Text 1: Father's short message. I haven't called home these days. Are you busy? A good home, don't study! "Looking through the mobile phone screen, a warm current came to my mind. I just realized that I haven't called home for several days. In the face of my father's short message, I feel guilty and guilty, which makes me feel ashamed as the eldest son.

My brother and I are away from our parents all the year round, which undoubtedly becomes the concern of the elderly. Mom and dad have been sick for many years, and there is a grandmother in her 90 s at home. All this is not a child's trouble. My brother and I call home every week to ask about the health of the elderly and report on our work. Every weekend night, mom and dad will stay by the phone, waiting for our voice. It has become a fixed habit for my younger brother to call home on weekends, because the military school is strictly managed and my younger brother can only be free on weekends. I don't have a fixed time to call home. I can call my parents anytime and anywhere. Sometimes I forget to call home, because I am busy with my work, and sometimes I am careless. My father or mother will call me. As soon as I see my home phone number, I feel a little scared and uneasy, always worrying about whether something is wrong at home. Sometimes, I call home, my parents are working in the field, and the phone goes unanswered for a long time. My heart suddenly became impatient, and I thought it would be okay at home, right? Later, I gave my dad an old mobile phone that I eliminated. If he gets the treasure, rough hands fiddle with his mobile phone and say happily, "It's better to be high-tech. This thing is really amazing. No matter where you go, you can make and receive calls at any time. "

Father fiddled with his mobile phone and said thoughtfully, didn't he say that his mobile phone can write letters? I told him it was called "SMS", and my father echoed, "Oh, SMS." He asked me whether texting is more expensive or cheaper than calling. I said, save money, of course. Sending a text message is only a dime. He said, great. You can't send messages to each other after that? My father looked at me and asked tentatively, as if asking for advice. I said yes. No problem. Father frowned: "you have no problem, I have a problem." I don't know how to send and receive text messages. You have to teach me. " This time, the father became his son's "student". My father has only been in primary school for a few years, and he can write well, which is somewhat literate. He is a little rusty on Chinese Pinyin. Starting with "A, O, E", I taught my father pinyin reading and writing, taught him how to use and choose homophones, how to use punctuation marks, how to send, how to view and receive information, and so on. Father put on his reading glasses, and his mobile phone fiddled with his rough big hands. He looks serious, like an obedient pupil.

After that, even if I forget to call home, my father won't call me. He always says "Good home, don't miss it!" Send me a message. I sometimes call his mobile phone, and he will hang up as soon as possible, and then send me a message telling me that he is watering the land.

My father is introverted, shy and difficult to express. A father will never say anything about his children's love and care. When I was a soldier abroad a few years ago, he only used letters to express his deep fatherly love. Now, my father has learned to write and send short messages. The love between father and son is a line of old-fashioned, simple, warm and heavy words that jump like elves on the screen of a mobile phone. I like to collect my father's short messages and admire his deep fatherly love.

Chapter 2: Father is old. Father is old. Sweat steamed out of the air, the sunset lingered, and a wet lonely shadow hung by candlelight. Father has lost weight, and there are new rings in the sky. Father smiled and the years piled up into wrinkles. That smile is like a frozen hemp rope, cold and hard. When a gust of wind blows, it trembles and becomes speechless.

When my father is old, he is as quiet as a bald winter tree. As time goes by, chunks fall. My father is old, whining and completely deaf. When my father is old, tears are woven into cobwebs, dense and sticky.

Father is old. There is no footsteps when walking, but the back is a curved hook and mottled rust, which captures the black and white of history. Tortuous, but strictly symmetrical, without cracks and lines. When my father is old, his life is full of pieces of pine bark. Father is old. Just like a piano, there is no string, only a bow. If it is loose, its elasticity and tension will never be restored.

Heaven and earth only shook hands once. Mountains and seas are on a par, once. Now, the sun is cloudy and lonely, and it is wrinkled.

I am always interrupted by the sound of the piano. The piano is nearby, and I stand in the depths of my memory, motionless.

Listening to the sunset singing at dusk, you light a sallow cigarette and let the accumulated cigarettes slowly wind around the antique face of bronze.

Chapter 3: How time flies! Pay tribute to my distant father! Father has been away from us for almost half a year. Whenever I see my father's legacy, I always miss him; Whenever I think of what my father said before his death; Whenever I see someone who looks like my father; I can't help shedding sad tears. I can't get out of this shadow. Today, I pay tribute to my dead father and mourn!

On the fifteenth day of the first month of this year, I am happily preparing to go home to visit my parents. But before I went out, I received a phone call from my mother saying that my father had passed away. Hearing this news is like a bolt from the blue, and my heart aches! I packed everything in a panic and set foot on my way home. I don't know how I got home. I knelt beside my father, caressing his body, tears streaming down my face, and I felt so guilty. What a pity! I haven't even seen his old man for the last time ... My father was ill for nearly two years, and he was able to walk around at home at first. Later, his condition worsened and he was hospitalized several times. My health is getting worse every day, and I have less activities. Until last year, I was lying in a hospital bed with medicine and needles. I don't know how many pinholes I have. All the places that have been hit by the needle are very hard, which makes me very distressed. Father left us in pain under the torture of illness. He is busy with his children's work all day, neglecting to take care of the elderly and failing to fulfill his filial piety! Even leave yourself with lifelong regrets.

My father is an ordinary worker: he is frugal and never wastes. A dress is almost rotten when it is white, so I can't bear to throw it away. There is no requirement for food. You can eat whatever you have. My father has been generous and helpful all his life, and he can get along with everyone. Others like to ask him for help in everything, and he never shirks what he can do. Everyone knows his father's character and respects him! My father likes to take charge of injustice. No matter what happens, no matter who this person is, he will not hesitate to ask the reason and put himself in the right and wrong of others, but he only stands on the side of truth. He is also a model worker in the factory. He is diligent, hard-working and not afraid of hardship. No matter what you do, you get ahead, rest less than others and never complain. The work you do always satisfies the leaders. He is worthy of this model worker. At home is strict father: Educate children from childhood to be caring, honest and kind! Be a good person, even if you don't have much skill. The children follow his example and always remember their father's teaching. I am proud to have such a father!

Father went, really went, and left like this. What I left behind was my deep memory of him! Father! I want to thank you for giving me life; Thank you for teaching me the truth of being a man; Thank you for your kindness. Your daughter has nothing in return for your kindness! Only by remembering my father's teachings, doing things seriously and being a down-to-earth person! Father, I will always remember your old man and pray for your soul. Rest in peace! Father, may you be safe and happy in the distant heaven. ...

My "magnetic father" my father has no special hobbies, no smoking, no drinking, no playing cards and no friends. He seems to live in a small circle. Since primary school, my father and I have been almost inseparable, which can be said to be my protector. He always likes to take me to school and pick me up after school every day. As long as he is at home, it must rain or shine. I didn't feel anything when I was young, but I felt that my father loved me very much and loved me very much. I often hear my neighbors praise me for being such a loving father. At that time, I had an unspeakable happiness.

With the growth of age, my feelings began to change slowly, from being loved and spoiled to being bound and uneasy, and I gradually felt that my father's concern was a burden and a fetter. For example, I don't want my father to know about my interaction with my classmates, my performance at school and many of my living habits. I don't like being arranged by my father In short, I hope to have my own world and grow up freely. I don't know when I began to hate what my father did to me.

So, I think my father has become a "magnetic" father. His magnetic field is so strong and his magnetic lines are so dense that it seems to weave an invisible net and trap me firmly. Sometimes I even feel breathless.

After high school, my father's behavior made me even more embarrassed. I have become a young man, but in the eyes of my father, I am still an immature child. Some of his practices also make me look like a child in the eyes of my classmates and teachers. The contemptuous eyes of classmates and the strange eyes of teachers hurt my heart as deeply as needles. I just felt that my personality was getting more and more introverted in depression, and I really wanted to escape from it at that time. But where can I hide? I have no ability. At that time, I could only say to my father from the bottom of my heart: Please, cut me some slack and let me grow up freely, okay?

It was in college that I really understood my father. A father's love for his son is unparalleled. His love is reflected in his life, but also deeply hidden in his heart, permeating every corner. It's just that my childish heart at that time couldn't understand it. Now I understand this, but it seems a little late. I don't know if I ever hurt my father. I can only say: sorry, father, forgive my son's ignorance. I want to warn today's children not to have any worries under the care of their parents. In fact, this is a very normal thing and should be regarded as a powerful driving force. Because such a "magnetic" father is very rare, perhaps better than a loving father.