The story of my son and me, a 600-word fictional composition.

Time entered the first year of the 1990s. In the early morning of February 28th, my son came into this world like a budding flower with the fragrance of morning dew.

A year later, my son was one year old. Due to the limited conditions at that time, my son was placed in the grandmother's house in the county, and my wife and I took turns to see him every once in a while. I went to see my son once, slept in bed at night and held my son in my arms. The child pouted and said, Dad, I miss my mother so much. Why didn't my mother come to see me? At this time, I saw the value of kinship and consanguinity from naive children. I said to the child, Mom is busy. Mom will come to see you next week. Ah, there was no cathedral then. As a result, my wife went home to see the children before waiting for the rest day.

Every two years, children are three years old and go to kindergarten, which is called June 1. The little guy is a bit stubborn, and occasionally he is unhappy with the children. I told him anecdotes about my classmates at school, asking him to unite with his classmates and respect his teachers. Let him know that the sincere feelings between classmates are not found anywhere in society. I told my son that there is a small Daishan in our class. He is short, courageous and has too many tricks. There is also an old pig head, tall, stupid and energetic, who can dig mountains and walls, and can be called a contemporary fool. Men with beautiful wives and daughters-in-law should be careful.

Three years later, the child was six and a half years old and went to primary school in Daqing Road Primary School. One day, my son came home from school and said excitedly to me: Dad, Dad, I saw your classmate! I don't think so. Many of my middle school classmates are in the city, and they often come and go, and the children know each other. I said: Who is it, Uncle Zhang or Uncle Zhou? The child said: No, it's your classmate in Zhejiang. His place has yellow croaker and giant Buddha. I said, where did you see it? The son said: At the cinema. Today we watched a movie, the American blockbuster Mount Tai. What do you mean, the black guy on Mount Tai is not your classmate! I was relieved and corrected: My classmate's name is Daishan, not Taishan. Daishan is in Zhejiang and Taishan is in Shandong. You are so different.

Six years later, the child was thirteen years old and went to junior high school in Xinhai Experimental Middle School. During the Spring Festival, my friend sent a box of Shizhu Toupai halogen goods. The son came home from the outside and said with a sly smile, Dad, your classmate is here. I asked my son: Where is he? The child pointed to the halogen goods and said, isn't this? It dawned on me that my son was teasing me again. Criticism: My classmate is from Quzhou, Zhejiang, where there is a rotten mountain. The people here are so outstanding that even the children who cut wood can play tricks. They don't cut wood, they are fun, and even the handle of the axe is rotten. They even said that they only stayed in the mountains for three days. This is three days in the mountains and a hundred years on earth. The whole thing is to copy Tao Yuanming's peach blossom garden. My classmates are called Old Pig Head and Hanako, and the three of us are very close. Who said he was a pig? You can't call him an alcoholic, do you hear me? ! Our whole family laughed. Yes, I had a good time.

In the blink of an eye, in 2006, my son was sixteen years old and attended high school in Ganyu County Senior High School, a key middle school in his hometown province. It's Spring Festival again. There is nothing to do in the first grade. I turned on the computer and browsed my classmates' records. An amazing news came that the old pig head was going to Tianjin. This reminds me of a case. At that time, the old pig lived next to the monk and accidentally dug up the monk's wall. The monk was full of resentment and went to Lingyin Temple in Hangzhou to visit Master Yan. Master Yan gave the monk a poem: Three-day resentment is a wall, why not let him dig it down? If you don't have to dig the wall, Meng Jiangnv will still cry down the wall. If the city wall is like a rock, it is useless to dig around. The Great Wall of Wan Li is still there today, but I haven't seen Qin Shihuang. Since then, monks have learned their lesson, built high walls, accumulated food extensively, lived in three caves and chose neighbors. Monks built countless walls from Qingyuan, Hangzhou, Shanghai and Tianjin, but they were still smelled by the pig's head, found the traces of spiders and followed them all the way. I'm worried about that monk. You know, Gong Yu got married in Hebei that year. Confucius said, "Now all monks have been promoted to abbots, and there are a group of bald donkeys guarding them at home, and there are also guards who are good at using mord sticks. What are you talking about? " . So, everyone laughed again and had a good year.