#Guardian of the Silver Age World #Father seems to be a moment, he became a middle-aged old man, tall, thin, two sideburns white, eyes dodging when speaking, from time to time to purse his lips,

#Guardian of the Silver Age World # Father seems to be a moment, he has become a middle-aged old man, tall, thin, two sideburns white, eyes dodging when speaking, from time to time to purse his lips, looking at his dry and thin back, his heart is sour.

He was a member of his generation in the 60s who came to Beijing when he was young. The units of work range from near Tiananmen Square to Beihai Park to the South Third Ring Road and all the way to the South Sixth Ring Road. He sometimes proudly said that he had witnessed the era when the wilderness of Beijing became a tall building, saying that he bought an annual pass at that time and got up early every day to practice in Beihai Park in the morning, which was very happy. As factories continued to move out, my father was "expelled" from Beijing last year, and as the factory moved to a desolate, chemical-smelling, interprovincial suburb. The road to get there is narrow and bumpy, and buying groceries requires a drive to a nearby town. The sadness of being "expelled" has drifted for so many years, but still has to go to the edge of the city, as if decades of efforts have been despised by life.

My father gave up the factory where he had worked for nearly 20 years, gave up a stable job, bought a car and started working as a truck driver. Without asking why, the father was silent, and the aunt said that the father was too stubborn and did not listen to advice.

I think in addition to the economic pressure, perhaps the nostalgia for Beijing, this bustling city after all has most of his life memories, unwilling to leave, and can never leave again, "in essence, we are all people who have lost their hometown and will never be able to reach a distant place." Beijing was his second home, albeit alienated. At that time, he was still young, taking pictures in front of Tiananmen Square at night, practicing qigong in plaid shirts and cowboys in the bamboo forest; standing on the walls of the Great Wall to show sunglasses to kill; and laughing at the factory party entering the millennium.

Or maybe it is the worry about life over a hundred, is the man who is already in his 50s forced him to struggle again, trying to prove himself, even if the result of the struggle is minimal? My father's generation, born in the countryside, with wrinkles and gray hair, is still wandering through all corners of Beijing, and I heard that many people follow the engineering team back and forth, and some people break their legs and install steel plates to continue to make a living in Beijing. They are forced by life to forget their age.

I never asked my father the meaning of life, but I remember asking my mother once, and she replied: What is the meaning? It's all for you. The life experience of fathers in their 50s should be more complex and deeper, they may be more able to understand many things in this world, not wishful thinking; understand that in this life, only love and home are the most precious.

They went from adolescence to youth to old age. They are very ordinary people in the world, from the time the children are young, they leave their hometowns to earn a living, leaving their wives and children at home; when they are old, they are in the same city as their children, they do not live together, and they continue to live. They do not have a glamorous background, no life changes brought about by educational resources, no koi physique that flips against the wind, no intelligent mind, they are just an ordinary person who can no longer be ordinary.

They are not perfect and will never reach perfection.

Once, my father drove to the company and bought him a dinner at his own expense, three meats and one vegetarian food, and he ate clean. Asked what to eat in the morning and what to eat at noon, my father said that sometimes he ate outside, sometimes he brought something to eat. I can't help but feel sad that the word "sometimes" touches the bitterness of the heart. A father and daughter, countless fathers and daughters, making a living in the same city, but unable to take care of them.

How much do we really know about fathers? Can we truly perceive the needs of our fathers? Can we feel the panic of our father's old age? When he said that his father was thin again, he looked down at himself and said, I feel a little fat. When it came to the fact that his father had more wrinkles and gray hair on his face, he always smiled. Every aging person does not want to admit that he is old, does not want to admit his powerlessness, does not want to be pitied. The mother said she didn't want to look in the mirror, and so did she.

The father who is old cannot be younger anymore.

I dreamed of my father twice, the first time on a travel train, seeing him with gray hair and worn-out shoes, and waking up with a panic, when my father was still dark-haired and in his prime; the second was dreaming of my father becoming a little child little by little, and finally lying there quietly. When I woke up, I found it was a dream and breathed a sigh of relief.

Have you ever felt that your parents are getting older and more like little kids who never grew up? Have you ever seen your father weeping helplessly in front of you? Ever seen his desperate look?

Fathers, men, seem to have been using strong disguises all along. Many times, suddenly, as if the world was falling apart, caught off guard, the cliffs of life appeared, and they were anxious in their hearts, but they could only face it with laughter.

In a discussion of "youth and middle-aged pressure", a man with two sons told the scene of his wife's colleague crying bitterly, saying very calmly that he could not afford to raise children. He lifted his glasses and said, "I really want to be ten years younger, but now I can't live and die, and I can't die and die." A particularly helpless tone, a hint of despair, a sigh of fate, and a sense of contempt for fate's jokes.

When I looked at his contemplative back leaning on the office chair, I suddenly remembered my father's life in his thirties, when my father and mother had been married for a few years, I was still young, my family was very poor, it was said that at that time, my parents' new home when they got married and lived did not have the money to build a courtyard wall, a fence was on fire, and I was trapped in the house crying. Traces of fire in the old house can still be seen. When I was a few years old, my father's father died suddenly, as did my mother's father. In the impression, I was blowing bubbles on the house, watching the scene of weeping and mourning from a distance, not knowing the joys and sorrows. The death of grandfather and maternal grandfather may have had a great impact on parents, and the pressure and load they carry should be very deep.

Without his father, he was forced to grow stronger in his thirties, forced to grow up, forced to grieve nostalgia.

Every father should have said of himself this way: Nothing can be accomplished. You can't earn riches, you can't get some status, you are misunderstood by your relatives, and you are polished by life without edges and corners. Every father's life is destined to go through ups and downs, stumbling all the way to the shore, shattering, reorganizing, and then repeating the cycle, still fighting for the people he loves.