I remember when I was in the 6th grade, I rushed home after school and enjoyed my own time alone. Dad went to work, Mom got a new job, and it would take an hour to come back. I went straight into the bedroom and turned on the light with a "pop" sound.
Suddenly, I was stunned by what I saw: my mother buried her hands in the sofa with her hands covered in her face - she was crying. I've never seen her cry yet.
I walked over and gently stroked her shoulder. "Mom," I asked, "what happened?"
She took a deep breath and barely managed to smile. "No, really. No big deal. It's just that my job is about to be lost. My typing speed follows
Not on"
"But you've only been doing it for three days," I said, "and you'll succeed." I couldn't help but repeat her words. When I had trouble studying or was faced with something big, she encouraged me a hundred times.
"No," she said sadly, "there is no time left, quite simply, I am not up to the task. Because of me, the other people in the office had to do double the work. "
"It must be that they let you do too much." I was not convinced, she only saw her own incompetence, but I wanted to find injustice in it. However, she was too upright for me to help.
"I always say to myself, what I'm going to learn, there's no unsuccessful, and, most of the time, it's cashed in. But this time I couldn't do it. She said dejectedly
I'm 12 years old, but I still believe that my mother is omnipotent. I remember a few years ago when we just moved into the city, my mother decided to work in a kindergarten in order to facilitate the transfer of me to school, but at that time my mother did not have a teacher's qualification certificate, my mother first found a training institution to register for classes, learned a nurseryman certificate, my mother was really working overtime in black and white day and night, sometimes I got up at night to go to the toilet and found that my mother's room was still on, after more than a month of struggle, my mother successfully obtained the nurseryman certificate and entered the kindergarten to work. However, it is not so easy to take the teacher qualification certificate, you need a college degree, your mother does not have a college degree, to study, it takes 3 years, and you need 5,000 yuan of tuition, because the economy is more tight, so my mother gave up. But Mom worked hard in kindergarten, and she earned people's trust and love. But the salary is low.
Later, my mother opened a small restaurant by herself, and got up early and was busy, but in addition to rent and other water and electricity expenses, the money earned could not meet the expenses of the family, and the mortgage plus my sister's tuition and fees. My sister went to high school and should go to college in two years. Time forced the mother desperately to find an opportunity to earn money. My father could not do more, and in addition to going to work every day, he also managed about 10 acres of land.
A few months after the restaurant was turned out, my mother took home an old typewriter. The machine has a few letters that always jump, and the keyboard is almost worn.
I call this thing "scrap copper rotten iron." "We can't afford to buy a better one," my mother said, "and this practice is fine." ”
From that day on, every night after cleaning up the table and washing the dishes, she hid in her sewing hut to practice typing. Slow "clicks", "clicks", "clicks" are often heard late into the night.
On Christmas Eve, I heard her say to my father that there was a nice vacancy on the radio. "It's an interesting job," she said, "but I'm not good enough to type." "If you want to do it, you should try it." Her father cheered her up.
The mother got her wish. Her excitement was so amazing and unforgettable that she couldn't help herself. But by Monday night, when she returned from work on the first day, her excitement had quietly passed. She looked so tired and exhausted. And I was indifferent, as if I were completely unaware.
The next night my father cooked. After cleaning up the kitchen, my mother stayed in her room and continued practicing. "Is everything going well with Mom?" I asked my father. "She needs more practice, and I think it would be good for all of us to help her do more work." ”
"I've done a whole bunch of things," I said angrily.
"I know," replied my father calmly, "but you can do a little more, and she went to work first so that you could go to college!"
I didn't want to hear this at all, so angrily grabbed the phone and asked a friend out. Later, when I came home, the whole house was dark, and only there was a glimmer of light under my mother's door. that
The sounds of crackling and crackling sounded slower to me.
The next day, the day my mother cried, my horror and embarrassment at that time just showed that I was too inconsiderate and shared my mother's suffering. At this time, he sat next to her on the sofa. I slowly began to understand. "It seems that each of us is going through a few failures. Mother spoke very calmly. However, I can feel her pain, I can feel her restraint, she has been trying to suppress the tide of feelings. Suddenly, something changed in my heart, and I stretched out my arms and hugged my mother.
Finally, she couldn't hold herself any longer and leaned over my shoulder and sobbed. I hugged her tightly and didn't dare to speak. At this moment, for the first time, I understood that my mother's nature was such a sensitivity. She will always be my mother, yet she will be alone at the same time. A man who, like me, will have fear of pain and failure. I felt her pain, just as she had felt my bitterness a thousand times when I sought comfort in her arms.
After sobbing, my mother calmed down. She stood up, wiped away her tears and looked at me and said, "Okay, my child, that's it. I can be a bad typist, but I'm not a parasite, I don't want to do the work I can't do, and tomorrow I'll ask if I can finish my work this weekend and leave.
She did. Her manager expressed understanding and said that, like she overestimated her typing skills, he had underestimated the intensity of the work. They parted hands with mutual understanding. The manager wanted to pay her a week's salary, but she refused.
Eight days later, she accepted a job as a finished textile saleswoman, earning half the salary of a radio station. "It's a job I can take on," she said.
However, on that old green typewriter, the nightly practice was still continuing, and at night, when I passed her door and heard the "crackling" sound coming from there, my thoughts and feelings were completely different from before. I know, it's not just a mom learning to type.
A few years later, when I stepped into college, my mother had already gone to work in a well-paid office and took on more important responsibilities.
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As the years passed, I finished my studies and became a newspaper reporter, and by this time my mother had been working as a correspondent for our local newspaper for half a year. Many of the things I learned, my mother learned in her plight as well.
My mother never spoke to me again about the afternoon she cried. However, whenever I was frustrated at first, when I wanted to give up something because of pride or frustration, the scene of my mother selling ready-to-wear clothes and learning to type would come to my eyes. Seeing her momentary weakness, I not only learned to respect her strength, but also that some of my own potential strength was stimulated and excavated.
"When you want to hug someone, do it and don't give up. Otherwise, such an opportunity may be lost forever. ”
This is my self-reliant mother, who taught me how to face life's setbacks and made me full of courage in the face of difficulties.