Where does the naughty little girl know the weakness of her father's heart.
Big morning. She shouted childishly in the microphone: Daddy, your mother misses you and is crying! My heart clattered, and I suddenly felt like my heart had been pierced by a bullet, and the whole person was going to go soft. I know that the mother has a good heart. Good people are affectionate and sensitive, the tear socket is shallow, and when they are emotional, they often show sex with tears.
The lover took the phone and said that my mother dreamed of me last night, dreaming that I drove back to see her pick her up. When she got up early and talked to her lover and child, the mother sadly wiped her nose and shed tears and talked about last night's dream. I knew I was wrong this time, and I should have taken them back to see my mother, not for the sake of the work at hand.
From the video sent by my lover and child back to my hometown, I saw that the figure of the mother seemed to be more rickety, and her face seemed to be more emaciated. At that time, I wanted my lover to tell my mother that I didn't want her to weave baskets every day to sew baskets with insoles, and the old man who was nearly eighty years old always had his head hanging out every day, and the cervical and lumbar vertebrae would not be able to eat. In this way, I had comforted my mother a few years earlier. I know that it will not work anything, it can only hurt in the heart.
Mother's hands, grabbed the soil, grabbed the hoe, brushed the leaves, pinched the needle, carried the pig food basin, sprinkled the pesticide fertilizer, pushed the mill, lifted the shell basket, wiped the ass of our brothers and sisters and poured the feces and urine... Most of the life's labor, the mother's palms and five fingers have been deformed, the calluses on the palms are like tree tumors, knots, cracks like a valley. My mother once showed me that there were two or three fingers in the left and right hands that could not be curled up and held together. I have shook my mother's hand, and holding her hand is like grasping a few sticks that have been blown down by the wind on a few winter branches, thin, dry, and dry. That year, when my mother came to my home in the city for the Spring Festival, I said to my mother, when you take a bath, make more bubbles, see if you can soak them, and cut the calluses with a blade. The mother said, but don't care, old man, what to do with it. Yes, how can the mother's hands stop? That's its flesh, its vital features!
I am the youngest child of my mother.
Above me, my mother had died a sister of mine. Below me, my mother had lost another of my brothers. Maybe the mother gave me all the love of these two children, and the two of us were inseparable when we were young. My mother said that when I was young, I couldn't do without her at all, and wherever I went, I couldn't do without my mother, and I ate my mother's milk until I was seven years old. Once, my mother took me to water the vegetable garden, and I was lying at the mouth of the well to visit the well water, and I was planted in the well. Niang's voice changed, "Ma Li Lai, Ma Li Lai, Li San Er fell into the well", Niang cried and shouted to summon the villagers who were busy in the surrounding fields. When the villagers rescued me from the bottom of the well, my mother hugged me like crazy and ran toward the barefoot doctor's house in a neighboring village. Since then, the thin scar in the middle of my forehead has become a talisman attached to my forehead.
In hazy memories, when I was a child, whether it was day or night, I couldn't not see my mother. Every day when I came home from school, I slammed open the small wooden door on the wall of the courtyard, and I always shouted "Mother!" mother! mother! This is followed by an eager question of "where are you from?" If the mother visited the door of the neighbor's house, I would search through the middle of the hall house, and even jumped into the courtyard, pulling the long tone in her throat, shouting and shouting, "Mother... mother...... Where are you coming from". If the mother heard it, she would stop the pull with the neighbor, and promised in a row, "Three come, three come, I will come here", and panickedly accepted the work in her hand, and carried the dustpan home. One summer at night, the mother may see me asleep in the bed, so I went outside the gate to cool off with the neighbors, I suddenly woke up to find that the mother was not around, did not care about anything, bare stomach naked from the courtyard to the street, "Mother... mother...... Where are you coming from". That kind of funny image and throat-pulling shouting, until I went back to my hometown a few years ago, and said to grandma Shijun at the door, "There is no clingy child like you", and my father said hatefully, "You said that you shouted, such a big person."
Mother is the name of the mother in my hometown.
When I was a child, I felt a little strange, the children of my uncle's uncle called my aunt "Ma", and there were several other workers' families in the village or people who worked in the city, and their children also called "Mother" "Mother". At that time, I didn't understand, I always felt strange, was it more advanced to call "Mom" than to call "Mother"?
No matter what other people do, I am a "mother" anyway. When I came home from school when I was a child, the first thing I shouted when I entered the door was "Mother", and the first thing I wanted to ask was "Where is my mother". When I went out to do things and came back, the first voice I shouted when I entered the cave and shouted to the hall house was "Mother I am back." The mother is in her heart and shouts in her mouth. To this day, in my hometown, no matter whether adults and children, whether they bump and fall and are frightened, when they are surprised or shocked by one thing, the sentence that blurts out is still "Oh my mother".
Father's temper was bad. Young parents often quarrel over trivial matters of life, and when they are in a hurry, their father even grabs a wooden stick and beats the mother's stomach on the bench. When I was young, I was afraid in my heart, but most of them would bravely run to my mother's side and want to protect her. That time, my parents quarreled at home again, and my father took a stir-fry shovel to beat my mother, and in the pull and pull between them, I drilled into the middle, and my father lost his hand and hit the shovel on my head. blood! It immediately flows down the scalp. My parents stopped tearing up and quickly rode my bike to take me to the countryside to bandage. That little scar is still hidden in my thick black hair, and it is difficult to be found, but my heart that I have wanted to follow my mother to protect since I was a child is bright and deep.
There is also a saying in my hometown, "The father who is an official is dead, and the mother who is called the street is left behind." This means that in the hearts of children, the mother is the most important, and if they have to choose a side between their fathers and mothers, they would rather choose the mother who asks for food along the street than the father who is an official. I clearly remember that when my family lived in Dongshan, once my mother went back to the village to do work, and my father stayed at home to work and cooked for me. It may be that my father was already very busy and tired and annoyed, but I was still chasing after him behind his ass and asking" "What did my mother do, when will my mother come back, and who will my mother stay at for dinner?" The father was anxious, "You bear child, every day open your mouth and shut your mother, where is your mother, you did not see your grandfather every day to earn you to eat, to earn you to drink, the money spent is what I earned, why don't you ask your grandfather?" ”
In the days of the soldiers, when the night is quiet, I often look at the moon in the sky and miss home.
I remembered my mother under the willow trees along the East River, gently repelling mosquitoes from lying on a reed mat with a banana fan; remembering that my mother nibbled the lice hidden in the seam of the cotton jacket and cotton pants for me on a dry and cold winter night, and then lifted the trouser legs upside down in the morning and roasted the cold trouser tube with a stove fire; I remembered that the mother was on the outside wall of the classroom, looking inward, and sent me and my sister a can of fried salted fish, or a pound of fried buns, fritters.
Visiting relatives is always short. It was as if the afterglow of the phrase "Mother I am back" was still echoing in the courtyard, and Mother was like a "dream" who was about to send me away. In her mother's heart, the young son, who had not done farm work since he was a child, seemed to have been able to eat all kinds of hardships in the world since he became a soldier in the army. Because when I visited my relatives for the first time in my second year as a soldier, I showed my mother twice in two years when I trained the horizontal bar with two or three layers of blood bubbles and thick cocoons during the training of the division teaching team. Every time my mother sent me out of the house, from the top of the house to the back of the house, before I could say anything, my mother had already begun to shed tears. Seeing the thin appearance of the mother, at that time my heart was always sour, I did not dare to cry, did not dare to let the tears flow freely, but the throat was cold, and I turned back to the mother and said" "Mother I am gone", but I was also full of tears. Until I walked out of the village, tears slid into my neck, and I saw my mother watching me walk into the distance behind the house.
In recent years after the transfer of professions, there have been more days of going home to see my mother, and the number of days I have lived at home has been longer. Although I am willing to stay at home with my mother and accompany my mother, I still have to go out to socialize, and I often come home from outside in the middle of the night. No matter how late I came back, my mother still left me an unlocked door as usual, waiting for me. Sometimes, the mother waited too late, she was already watching and watching TV and falling asleep, and only the voice of the TV series was changing all over the courtyard. I always have to lie down in front of my mother's window and call out to her, "Mother, I am back, you can sleep with confidence." The mother answered busily, "Oh, come back three, drink more water, I slept, I slept."
Later, after I found out my mother's habits, I no longer asked her to wait for me. Sometimes it was too late to go out and I really couldn't go home, so I called in advance to tell my mother not to go back and not to stay at the door. Sometimes, if time and circumstances permit, I say that I have to go home. Because I know that my mother's heart is waiting for me, and she has been keeping the door that never latches for me.
After surviving outside for nearly thirty years, since I have a mobile phone, I have to call my mother almost every week, which may be as simple as how the body is recently, the blood pressure-lowering medicine is not eaten, what is lacking in the family to eat and drink, what big things have happened in the village, the long is ten minutes, the short is three or two minutes. Moreover, every time the phone is connected, the first sentence I say is still that sentence, "Mother, what do you do", so that as long as the two daughters see me calling grandma, they will always imitate the first old saying I blurted out, "Mother, do you come".
The lover took two daughters back to my hometown to see the mother returned, the lover took things from the backpack, while counting the drops, this is the stupid egg that the mother boiled for you, this is the peanut rice that the mother brought to our family, that is the flower pepper left for us last year, this is the green beans newly picked this year, that is the new insole that the mother gave you, this is the basket that the mother made for the two granddaughters... Watching my lover swing things one by one, my heart hurt again.
"Mother...", this shout, shout a tearful, shout a tough and strong, shout you a thousand times, call you a lifetime, I am really not enough, my mother.
About the Author
Wu Zhenghui is a member of the Shandong Provincial Prose Literature Association and a director of the Hebei Provincial Prose Association.
Born in the east of the mountain, he now lives north of the river. He carried a gun for his country and was wounded in the army.
Noh martial arts can also be written, code words millions of squares. Five military merits are hard, and the clumsy puppet is awarded.
Self-employed, half-work, half-poetry. Idle clouds wild crane sex, tiger sniffing roses.
Geng Zhi is loyal and upright, and his chest is ambitious. Sunny and rainy reading days, sneaking around and making friends.
Fu Wenjian is my heart, and his thoughts are ancient. Cidu people are with the world, and the heavens and the earth are written in a magnificent chapter.
One Point No. Zoulu Galaxy Temple