Waking up on a sunny afternoon with memories of childhood lingering in my head, perhaps the dream that has not yet woken up!
It was a quiet little mountain village, and in my memory, my greatest fear was that the teacher checked the homework, and every time I heard the teacher ask the students to put your homework on the table. I would be afraid to tremble, knowing that I could not escape today, followed by the teacher's small finger thick bamboo strip with all his strength to hit the top of the head, and sometimes I would call out and hit the palm of my hand, especially the small hand that was frostbitten in winter, and was beaten unconscious by the bamboo strip and then swollen and could not be carried in. My palms were numb and swollen and I couldn't hold them steadily, every day, and eventually I was transferred from the front row to the last row, and I became the bad boy in the teacher's mouth.
At that time, I was really afraid of going to school, and at that time, the teacher often checked the clothes and shoes, and if it was not clean, I would not let them in, because at that time I only had a pair of shoes and a dress. There is no change at all, just a pair of rubber shoes worn to the toes exposed, the soles of the feet are worn out, the mother will find a cloth from the bread circle sewn up with needles, completely can not see that the shoes are like a piece of cloth wrapped around the feet, every time to the school classmates will always point out the joke me. I felt a characteristic inferiority complex, so I threw Nabus aside and let my foot point out. In the winter, the feet are so cold that they can't wear the little rubber shoes, or they don't want to wrap them in cloth, maybe that's the stubbornness of a bad child. I'd rather freeze than pretend to be gregarious for fear of being ridiculed.
In particular, the frostbite when the sun came out was very itchy, and I could only step on the left foot and the right foot in a corner of the classroom and had to be careful not to be discovered by the teacher.
The snowflakes are beautiful in winter, the sky is just bright in the morning, and the only footprints on the winding path are my bare toes. Eating the roasted potatoes in his mouth, steaming, he walked for about a kilometer or so and began to show the footprints of other classmates. Winter is beautiful but I hate it!
In my memory, spring, summer, autumn and winter seem to be the same busy. Once school is like a moth to the fire, no matter how everything runs home, even if you are hungry and grunting, you must first hang up the bamboo basket to cut a bamboo basket of pig grass or dig up a basket of turnips before you can go home, otherwise when my mother comes home and sees that the bamboo basket is empty, she will pull out the bamboo strip from behind the door and give me a meal of bamboo strips fried meat shreds.
I remember once because I did not have the endorsement of the book after school, I was left by the teacher to endorse, back to the very late home, as soon as I arrived at the door saw my mother change a thicker bamboo strip, I walked like a fly turned around and ran, very late did not dare to go home and hid in a pile of corn stalks, and remembered the ghost story I told to me at the same table, I crouched in the grass pile the atmosphere did not dare to come out, felt a ghost watching me, surrounded by dogs barking, and the sound of cats in heat, the whole body trembled and sweated, I seemed to feel that I was about to be eaten by ghosts, But I still didn't dare to go home. Finally, I quietly ran to my grandmother's house, saw my grandfather chewing rice, pulling his mouth to pull the temple a mouthful of white rice to his mouth, hearing the sound of chewing, I swallowed the saliva, then I secretly made a vow, I must eat rice every day in the future.
Grandpa asked why I didn't come home so late, I said that today I came back late at school endorsement, I didn't cut the pig grass home to be beaten, Grandpa gave me the remaining half bowl of rice, I took it almost three seconds to eat it all and licked the bowl clean, a few grains that fell on the ground were also picked up and eaten, and all the stomach was down before I paid for any taste. I still held the bowl Grandpa looked at me and said no, I sent you home, I followed Grandpa nervously to go home, just this time Dad also came back, Mom saw me as soon as he broke his mouth and scolded, and then Grandpa pleaded with me before he didn't beat me. As soon as I got home, I pulled open the cupboard, there was nothing empty except the bowl, I took the bowl and steamed the hard corn rice on the wooden board to make a large bowl, and added a piece of lard to the boiling water to eat it and ran away.
My father was a stonemason, and in my memory he rarely smiled and was always taciturn, going out early and returning late every day. Some times I slept and he hadn't come back, but by the time I got up in the morning to go to school, he had already set the fire on fire and cooked my morning potatoes for me. He was at home on a rainy day, but I was afraid to stay with him, his whole body revealed a murderous spirit, if you did something wrong or he told you to do nothing, he looked at you, you would be creepy and fidgety, his eyes could kill you immediately, sometimes with a roar you could feel that your soul was out of his mind, although he rarely hit me, but his majesty was more terrible than that of his mother who beat me three times a day.
In my memory, three meals a day were potatoes, corn rice, potatoes, and the happiest thing was that when Dad got his salary, he would deduct ten dollars from his tattered clothes that he had worn for many years to buy a handful of noodles to cook, but it took only once a month and sometimes two months.
My mother was a woman, her hands were as thick and tattered as pine bark, her fingers were bent and unstretched by the hoe that had been clenched for many years, and her short figure was often deformed by the one or two hundred pounds of horse grass or pig grass or the corn and potatoes of the autumn harvest. In my memory, she was like an old scalper who wouldn't get tired, whether it was raining or in the hot sun, she was busy, and two meters away from her I could smell the sour smell of sweat on her body.
My favorite is the autumn weekend, because I don't have to go to school, I can ride my horse on the savannah of Yulong mountain, run freely, or tie the horse to the river and jump into the river with my companions fishing for strange stones under the water, or secretly dig up other people's potatoes to hide at the foot of the mountain to burn.
My secret at that time, on the weekend we will open a meat and tooth festival, we will use the code to discuss it on Friday after school, and at night we will act quietly, some steal lard, some steal salt, msg, some steal bacon, some steal potatoes, some steal pot, because I only have one pot at home, so I often steal lard, because my lard tan is placed in a dark corner with many layers of clinker bags, I prepare a plastic bag in advance each time and scrape it up with a spoon. Because that tan oil is the most expensive thing in the house, it is to eat oil for a year, and every time I am careful to make it seamless.
At the weekend we rode on our horses, ran for two hours to escape the sight of the adults, we had a clear division of labor, the action skillfully began to dig the stove, some to collect firewood, some to wash things, some to see the horses, within an hour the aroma shrouded the mountains, one day in the blink of an eye dark and then riding on the horse in a race, at that time although only nine years old, but my riding skills are like parasites on horseback, encountering heavy rain and thunder, the horse was frightened like a death squad on the battlefield to jump around and lose its direction, Sometimes lightning strips the pine trees in front of them from the top to the bottom of the bark for a second. Sometimes the thunder suddenly vibrated in the ears, but the reins of the horse were still in my hands like the general's sword.
