Du Dongping | figure

Text/Du Dongping

Time flies, the years change, and in the blink of an eye, my father has been dead for many years.

Although I will never see my father again, my father's voice and smile and the bits and pieces of life often come to my mind, lingering and never forgetting. In particular, the figure of my father when he took us home has been deeply imprinted in my heart.

Whether it is the New Year's Festival or usually, every time I want to go back to my hometown, my father knows in advance the day I will go back, and he always calculates the time day by day, remembering and looking forward to it. Until the day we went back, when we drove to the main road in the east of the village, far away, far away, I saw a small figure standing at the east entrance of the village, and my heart could not help but heat up, I knew that it must be my father, and I did not know how long he had been standing there. Because every time we came home, my father was standing there waiting, expecting, and greeting us. When he saw us, my father didn't say much, smiled happily, said "But it's here", walked in front, as if leading us home, and the pace became much lighter.

Before his father retired, he worked in a public institution, worked diligently and conscientiously, had no quarrels with the world all his life, was honest and honest, and did things seriously. Although there is nothing surprising, he always does his job in an orderly manner, never makes any mistakes, and is a good hand in the business.

My father went to school, knew a little literature and ink, and was one of the few cultural people in the village. His father was handsome and elegant, gentle and elegant, liked ancient poetry and ancient texts, and also wrote a hand-neat brush.

My father was sincere, helpful, and never preoccupied.

I remember when I was a child, during the New Year, many villagers in the village wrote the Spring League children of their fathers. Before the New Year, the villagers sent the red paper written on the Spring Festival to my house a few days in advance, and waited in line, otherwise, they would not be able to finish writing at twenty-nine o'clock. Regardless of the fatigue of the busy years, my father worked overtime day and night, carefully cut the Spring League paper one by one in the order of priority, and then wrote it well, dried it and coded it well, ensuring that it would be handed over to the villagers before the twenty-ninth year, and would not delay everyone from pasting the couplet for the New Year. Father was so happy to help others that he never needed any thanks, and, year after year, he enjoyed it until he lay in his hospital bed and could no longer write.

Whoever has a big business of marriage and funeral, building a house and repairing a house, the father also runs before and after to help, and the "high-level work" of bookkeeping and writing must be completed by the father.

The father was loyal and honest, good-tempered, kind, never quarreled with people, and never scolded his children. Father is not good at talking, will not tell us some general principles of being a man, he is always doing work silently, with his practical actions, to convey the truth and virtues of being a man. Father filial piety and love of children, diligent and thrifty family, with colleagues and neighbors and villagers to get along harmoniously, whether in the unit, or in the village, the reputation is very good. In the early years, my grandfather went to the northeast of Kanto and never came back, and the task of taking care of my grandparents was all undertaken by my father and mother.

The father's good temperament and good character in dealing with the world have benefited us a lot as juniors.

Every time we came home to reunite, we were always happy, and it was also the happiest time for my father. Fathers usually use the phrase "all arrived" to describe the happy mood of their children coming home and reuniting. Then, most of the time, we just sat there in silence, watching us juniors chatting lively and lively, with a happy and contented look on our faces, only occasionally interjecting and asking a question.

When a large family eats a reunion dinner, my father always takes out a few kinds of wine he likes, personally boils it with a wine pot in advance, and insists on filling the first cup for everyone to share together, the meaning is: big respect for small, the better. The moments of family reunion are always cheerful, warm and short-lived. When people say that they have drunk too much, my father will only say: "Try this wine again, and eat more vegetables." It seems that everyone can eat and drink enough wine to be able to express his heart.

When we left home to leave, my father and the rest of the family were sent out of the alley together. When our car drove out of the village, every time I looked back, I would see that there was a figure with a slight back at the east entrance of the village, still there, I knew, that is, my father was still standing at the mouth of the village watching us, my heart was a rush of heat, my eyes were blurred... , I was so unwilling, I knew more about my father's reluctance, until the figure became smaller and smaller, disappeared into our line of sight, I knew, father he will stand for a while, will not go home.

Father's love is speechless. My father, who did not speak much, rarely expressed his expectations and reluctance for us in words, and pinned themselves on the figure that had been waiting and watching for a long time. This is true every year. This figure that touched my tear glands and heartache has been forever frozen in my memory. Whenever I think of my father, when I think of his slightly hunched figure, my eyes will be wet, my heart will be hot, and it is difficult to describe the helpless feeling of missing. Remembering his father's heart is heavy, and the thoughts and tears are like rain; although the yin and yang are eternally separated, warm memories are engraved in the heart. The familiar figure of my father will always warm my heart.

(Note: This article was selected into the 2020 "Jiaodong Writers Family Essay Selection" and was simultaneously pushed in the "People's Daily Digital Media Yantai Center" and "People's Daily" Shandong Digital Micro-publications on April 7, 2020.07.2020.) ）

About the Author:

Du Dongping, pen name: Miao Yue, Mu Tong, Jinan City, female. He is a member of the China Prose Literature Association, the Shandong Provincial Prose Literature Association, the Shandong Writers Association, and the Jinan Writers Association. Signed a writer for the Qilu Evening News Qilu One Point "Qingwei" supplement. His works have been published in newspapers and magazines such as Shandong Workers Daily, Lianhe Daily, Rural Public Daily, Shandong Shangbao, Contemporary Novel, Workers' World, Contemporary Essays, and Poetic Life. His prose works have won awards in the "Huacheng Cup" First Wu Boxiu National Essay Contest, the "Rong Media Xiang Shun Shi FeiYang - I and ShunWang 20 Years" Essay Contest, the "My Story with Spring Water" Essay Contest, the "Chuanzhi College Cup Shandong Province First Original Literary Works Competition", "Taishan Cup" Shandong Province Third Staff Original Literary Works Competition, "SDIC Xinda Cup" Poetry Essay Contest, "Jinan 'Precision Poverty Alleviation' Literary Style Creation Essay Contest" and the first "Qingwei" Essay Contest. Many essays such as "River Worker Hafu", "At the Pipa Spring, Listening to the Sound of Qingyue", and "The Old House That Is About to Go Away" have been included in different anthologies.

One point number Mu Tong