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I don't like the story of poor children reading. It's difficult at home. My father died and my sister-in-law was starving. But after he graduated from college, he insisted on going to graduate school, so my mother had to sell blood ... I thought that was a selfish student. It's a long way to learn. Why care too much for a few years? What's more, every minute is extremely bitter and needs mother's blood to irrigate! A person who can't even love his mother, who can he expect to love? How can a person who puts his own interests in the supreme position become a master who has dedicated himself to mankind? I don't like homeless people whose parents are seriously ill in bed and suddenly leave, no matter how many reasons you have. There is no one rotating on the earth, and there is no need to exaggerate personal strength to an incredible extent. On his deathbed, it is disrespectful to cut off his last hope in the world and travel in loneliness with despair.

I believe that every sincere and upright child has made a big wish of "filial piety" to his parents from the bottom of his heart. I believe that the days ahead will be very long, will come naturally, and I can be filial when I succeed.

It's a pity that people forget, forget the cruelty of time, forget the brevity of life, forget the kindness that can never be repaid in the world, and forget the fragility of life itself.

My parents left with deep concern for us. When our parents left, we felt that they would never return. You will never be filial. There are some things that we couldn't understand when we were young. When we understand, we are no longer young. Some things in the world can be made up, and some things can never be made up.

"Filial piety" is a fleeting attachment, and "filial piety" is an unrepeatable happiness. "Filial piety" is a past tense, and "filial piety" is a chain at the junction of life and life. Once it's disconnected, it can't be connected again. Be filial to your parents. Maybe a mansion, maybe a brick. Maybe it's a swan on the other side of the ocean, maybe it's a message close at hand. Maybe it's a pure black doctor's hat, maybe it's a red five in the exercise book. Maybe it's a table of delicious food, maybe it's a wild fruit and a small flower. Maybe it's a gorgeous skirt, maybe it's a pair of clean old shoes. Maybe tens of thousands of dollars, maybe just a coin with a body temperature ... but on the scale of "filial piety", they are equivalent.

Just, children of the world, we must hurry! When your parents were still alive.

-Miss my father.

In the middle of the night, I feel asleep, and the voice in my ears is like a crutch, from far to near ... Father, are you there? Suddenly woke up, everything was silent and I couldn't hear anything. Turning on the desk lamp, my father smiled at me in the warm light. That's the photo I took for him when I accompanied him to Hangzhou last year. He stood on the edge of the West Lake, smiling peacefully against the backdrop of flowers and lake light. The father in the photo can't be seen as a man in his eighties. Unexpectedly, this is the last photo I took of him!

A month ago, my father died suddenly. My mother called that day and said that my father was short of breath and was in a bad situation, so she told me to leave quickly. At this moment, there is an unexpected guest sitting in my study, an editor who has come from Xi 'an for an appointment. I hurried to ask him to leave, but it took five or six minutes. After seeing off the uninvited guests, I rode my bike to my father's house in desperation. It usually takes half an hour to ride, and only takes more than ten minutes. I don't know how to ride this more than ten miles, but I'm still a step late. Ten minutes before I went home, my father stopped breathing. A mouthful of phlegm blocked his trachea. He just whispered "I can't breathe …" and then he fainted and never woke up. The ambulance arrived before me, and the doctor saved my dying father, and finally came back in vain. When I rushed to my father's side, he was lying quietly, with no painful expression, and his face seemed to smile slightly, as if he were asleep. He will never reach out to me with a smile, never talk to me about his illness, never ask me about my life and creation with concern, never run to bookstores and post offices with crutches, never buy my books and publish newspapers with my articles, and never talk and laugh with my grandson on the phone … Father!

Because my father left suddenly, none of my children could see him off. I was the first person to come back to my father after he stopped breathing. I carried my father's body back to bed, scrubbed him, shaved him and put on clean clothes and pants. Before my father died, I seldom did such a thing for him. When he was ill, 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 when he washed my face and wiped my back in the steaming bath. Unexpectedly, when I had the opportunity to do these things for my father, he had gone 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 neither did other children. I have never seen him quarrel with anyone. My father was born in 19 12, the second year of the Qing dynasty. Grandfather named him Cai Hong, hoping that he could change the family's predicament and honor 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, relying on his own struggle, actually opened several prosperous shops and bought dozens of houses, and became a successful person envied by many people. Old people in their hometown still respect their father. When he was young, he took a little risk. In the early days of War of Resistance against Japanese Aggression, under the blockade of Japanese bayonets and guns, he rocked his boat and transported the materials needed by the people back to his hometown from other places, which not only did good things for his fellow villagers, but also made a small fortune. After the Anti-Japanese War, in order to let the employees in his shop escape from the Kuomintang army, my father gave up his hometown shop and went to Shanghai to open a small textile factory. He wanted to learn from all-powerful national capitalists and "save the country through industry", but this was the beginning of his career decline. In Wang Yang-like Shanghai, my father's small factory is a tiny shrimp. He doesn't have much experience in industry and factory management, so this shrimp naturally becomes a delicious meal for big fish and big crabs. His factory lost money from the beginning, but it actually closed down when it was liberated, but his father was proud and unwilling to admit the reality of failure, and managed to maintain the enterprise by borrowing money. Speaking of public-private partnership, his few assets are just enough to be a capitalist. In order to maintain his business, he took the lead in lowering his salary below that of ordinary workers. He also donated a building behind his trip to Shanghai to the factory after the public-private partnership, which caused our family to lose their shelter and had to go to relatives. It took a long time to rent several rooms in Shikumen. So in the next few decades, he has been a capitalist who is not worthy of the name, and this hat has also made our family suffer for a long time. In my childhood, my family always lived a poor and frugal life. I remember when I was a child, I always wore old clothes made of clothes worn by my brothers and sisters. After the start of school, you must apply for installment payment every time you pay tuition before the start of school. For poverty, my father is indifferent and calm. He said, "It doesn't matter if you are poor. The important thing is to be a decent person and make some contributions to society. " We have never felt ashamed and embarrassed because of poverty, which is related to our father's attitude. During the "Cultural Revolution", the "rebels" in my father's factory also came to our house to rob our property, but the old workers in the factory knew that there could be nothing valuable at home except visible furniture. The person who came to the property said, "If you have any gold and silver treasures, just hand them over yourself." I remember my father and mother whispering a few words. My mother opened the drawer of the chest of drawers, took out a thin tarnished gold necklace from a small box and handed it to the "rebel". Later, I learned that this necklace is still my mother's dowry. This is the only "baby" in our family ...

One night in the early days of the Cultural Revolution, the rebels broke into our house and took my father away. When he said goodbye to us, my father was calm and fearless. He comforted us and said, "I didn't do anything wrong. They can't do anything to me Don't worry about me. " At that time, I thought my father was strong, not a coward. During the "Cultural Revolution", as the "black seven categories", fathers naturally lived like years. But even in the most tense days, there are still old factory workers who secretly come to see their father and quietly plug in money to help our family. Such a thing was impossible at that time. From this, I understand that the relationship between father's character and class struggle between people is not necessarily a life-and-death relationship. My father always said, "My proudest career is my children. They are all very well." I think all our brothers and sisters can make a difference in their posts, which has a lot to do with our father's personality and his influence on us.

In my memory, my father's hand was always waving in front of me. ...

I remember three hiking trips in my life, all of which were given by my father. He stood on the road and waved to me from a distance. The figure standing on the side of the road changed from big to small until I couldn't see it. ...

The first farewell was when I graduated from primary school. I was admitted to a boarding middle school in the suburbs, which was in the early 1960s. My father sent me to school that day. At that time, my father was still young, and the bulging bedding was not heavy in his hand. Middle school is far away, so I took two trams and changed buses to the suburbs. Many strange scenery passed by the window, but I didn't have the heart to enjoy it at all. I'm only fourteen years old. I have never left home and my parents. I can't help but feel a little scared and nervous at the thought of going to school alone for boarding life. Along the way, my father seldom spoke, just smiled at me silently. When the bus galloped on the highway in the suburbs, my father looked at the green fields outside the window and his expression became very cheerful. I felt farther and farther away from home, so I asked nervously, "Are we almost there?" My father didn't answer me directly, pointing to the green rice fields and street trees fluttering in the wind outside the window, he said irrelevantly, "Look, how green it is here." He glanced at me and probably found my confusion and anxiety, so he gently touched my shoulder and said, "Smelling the wind is not the same as the smell in the city." The country smells of grass and leaves, but not in the city. " This smell will make people healthy. I grew up in the countryside when I was a child. When I left my parents to study, I was only twelve years old, two years younger than you. "When my father spoke, the hand that touched my shoulder never moved away." It's the same season when you leave home. It was later than now, and yellow leaves began to fall on the trees. That winter came early. I just left home a few days ago and suddenly caught a cold. It was so cold that the crops in the field froze to death. I don't have a cotton-padded jacket, only two pairs of underwear. I was shivering with cold and almost froze to death. "In a relaxed tone, my father talked about his childhood, and all the hardships and hardships melted in his gentle smile. In my impression, my father is not a very deep person, but speaking of the distant past, although he smiled, I felt his depth. When I got to school that day, my father accompanied me to report for duty, and helped me find the bedroom and make the bed. Next, I will send my father, and I will send him to the school gate. At the school gate, my father patted me on the shoulder, touched my head, and then smiled and said, "From now on, everything depends on yourself. "I'm not used to it at first, it doesn't matter, I'll get used to it slowly." With that, he strode out of the school gate. I stood at the school gate and looked at my father's back. Outside the school gate is a main road, and my father walks slowly without looking back. I think dad will definitely come back to see me. Sure enough, when I walked more than ten meters, my father turned around and saw that I was still standing still. My father turned around and waved to me hard and told me to go back. I just feel blurred ... in my teenage heart, this is the first time I feel so attached to my father.

The second time was given to me by my father, during the Cultural Revolution. That time, it was a long trip, and I had to go to the countryside to "cut in line and settle down". At that time, my father was a "problem" person and could not walk around casually. He can only take me to the station not far from home. That day, I was carrying my own luggage, and my father walked beside me silently. When we were about to break up, he said, "Be careful yourself. Write home often when you have time. " I got on the bus and my father stood at the station and looked at me. His face did not show the sadness of parting, but with his usual gentle smile, just a little reluctantly. I know my father is not feeling well. He was afraid that I would be sad, so he tried not to show his sadness. The car started, and my father waved to me as he walked in the direction of the car. Then I saw tears in his eyes. ...

On the day I was admitted to the university, my father sent me away for the third time. This is the spring of 1978. Father has retired, almost seventy years old. My father insisted on sending me to school that day, and I insisted on not letting me. My dad couldn't beat me, so he gave in and said, "All right, I'll take you to the alley." This time, the distance my father sent me was much shorter than the previous two times, but before I got out of the alley, I found that his steps slowed down. Looking back, I was a little surprised, and my father, who helped me carry the bag, burst into tears. Before seeing me off, he was not so emotional. Compared with previous times, the prospect of my leaving home this time should be the brightest. Why is my father so sad? I was a little surprised and quickly asked, "It's a good thing that I went to college. Why are you so sad? " Father wiped his tears and replied, "I know, I know." However, I wonder why I always send you away from home. How many times can I see you off? "He said, and tears came out of his eyes again. At this time, I suddenly found that my father's gray hair was much thinner than in previous years, and there were wrinkles on his forehead that I hadn't noticed before. Father is a little old. Well, there's nothing we can do about it. Children's growth is always at the expense of their parents' youth and even aging. This process is always carried out quietly without people knowing it, and no one can stop it.

My father was in poor health in middle age, and severe tuberculosis almost killed him. A fortune teller told him that it was unlucky to ride a bamboo bridge at the age of 57. If he can get through this, he will live a long life. At the age of 57, my father was really seriously ill, but he finally staggered across the bamboo bridge of fate. After the age of 60, my father's health is getting better and better, and he looks ten or twenty years younger than his actual age. Some people once mistakenly thought that our father and son were brothers. Before he was eighty, he looked like a man in his sixties, talking and walking, and he didn't look old at all. A few years ago, my father often came to my house alone. As long as his slow but firm footsteps sounded on the stairs, I knew it was him. Before the door was opened, his smiling cry was heard outside ... Four years ago, my father had a fracture of his tibia and femur, and he had an operation in the hospital and changed a metal artificial joint. From then on, he was tortured by illness, aged a lot at once, and never recovered his youthful mental state. With a cane in his hand, he walks much slower than before, making it difficult to go out. However, as long as he is in good spirits, he will come to my house on crutches.

Among all my readers, the one who cares most about my articles and books is my father. As I just published my works many years ago, as long as I know which newspaper and magazine published my words, he always goes to the bookstore or post office to look for them. There was no one in this shop, so he ran to the next one until he bought them all. He doesn't know how many roads to walk to do it. I am ashamed that my words are not worth my father's going so far. However, it's no use telling him again. He always reads my words with appreciation. Although he doesn't praise me to my face and rarely comments, I know from his expression when he was studying that he is very proud of his son. He is always more excited about my achievements than about myself. This kind of excitement, sometimes I feel too much, so I smiled and said to him half jokingly, "Your son is very ordinary, don't be too proud." He didn't contradict me, but smiled happily, like a naughty child. When he was weak in his later years, this excitement was no less than ten years ago. A few years ago, I published a new book, and I was going to sign it for readers at Xinhua Bookstore on Nanjing Road. When my father learned about this, he called me and said he would go and have a look because this big bookstore is not far from my hometown. I told him again and again that the bookstore was crowded, so don't join in the fun. That morning, the bookstore was crowded with people, and the counter selling books was almost collapsed by enthusiastic readers. It is a good thing to think that my father didn't come, otherwise he would be in trouble with crutches in the crowd. So I have no distractions, and I am very focused on signing for readers. About an hour later, when I looked up unintentionally, I suddenly found my father. He stood far away from the crowd on crutches and looked at me silently in the distance. Well, father, he came after all. He has been on standby for a long time. I can't imagine how he walked upstairs through the crowded crowd with crutches. Seeing me looking up, he smiled at me and waved to me. My heart is hot, and my words are wrong. ...

Last spring, my family accompanied my parents to Hangzhou and stayed by the West Lake for a few days. Every evening, we walked by the lake together, and my father's crutches left a soft echo on Bai Causeway and Su Causeway. Tired of walking, we rested on a bench by the lake. My father watched his grandson jump around him tirelessly and said to himself with a smile, "Oh, if only I were younger ..."

Death is the inevitable destination of life. Hugo said that this is "the greatest equality and freedom", which is always an unacceptable fact for the deceased and the living who have lost their loved ones. Two months before his father died, the disease had been tormenting him, but it was not an incurable disease, but a strange disease called herpes zoster. My father suffers from severe pain every day. I gave my father a wheelchair because I was too tired to see him walk to the hospital for a physical examination. I sat beside him for a long time that night. He caught a cold, his tongue was red and swollen, and it was difficult to speak. He seldom talks, but listens to us with a smile. When I left, my father looked at me with a distant and disappointed look and said to me almost begging, "Are you leaving?" Sit down for a while. " I felt very sad when I left him. I want to visit my father more and talk to him more. I never thought there would be no "future", but this night is the farewell of our father and son. Two days later, he left in a hurry. The night before my father died, I spoke to him on the phone. On the phone, I said I would go to see him tomorrow. He said, "You are busy, so don't come." In fact, he wants me to stay with him every day and talk to him, I know, but I didn't stay with him every day in his last days! I remember the last sentence he said to me on the phone: "Take care." Father, you are sick yourself, but you still need me to take care of you. What you said to me at last will echo endlessly in my ears and in my heart, so that my life will be immersed in your love and care forever. Father!

Now whenever I calm down alone, the image of my father always comes to my eyes. He smiled at me as usual. He stood not far from me and waved 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 stood outside the crowd in the bookstore a few years ago and waved to me ... Sometimes I feel that a short life is actually like a wave in a hurry. In a blink of an eye, everything has passed and become a thing of the past. But I can't forget the image of my father waving to me. I think this is a symbol of father's love. Father expressed his love, his expectation, his regret and pain with this gentle wave of his hand.