Editor's note
A mother's love is a kind of silent dedication and endless care; Mother's love, like a babbling stream, moistens our hearts. On this Mother's Day, these young people use their pens to convey their emotions and express their deep love for their mothers with this special gift.
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If Mother's Love Has a Track (Essay)
Zhang Zhe
I have a small mole on the side of my mouth, and they all say that it is a symbol of love to eat, and I believe it, because even when I went to the clinic as a child, I would choose between taking medicine and taking injections because I hated the bitter taste in my mouth.
It's hard to take medicine, and it's even harder to feed it. Mom has a lot of resentment about this incident, and she deeply records two Waterloos in her memory. One of them I don't remember is said to have been when I was a child, after seeing her take cold medicine, she secretly ran out of the small courtyard in order to skip the medicine. When the mother was so frightened that she chased down the street, she happened to be seen by the aunt in the front yard, and as a result, she was not only wrongly accused of "getting angry and scaring the child", but also forced to accept a parenting education class that "never get angry with the child"; Another time was when I was in junior high school, I had gastritis, the Chinese medicine was too bitter, I would vomit when I drank it, and my mother tried all the methods such as eating sugar and oranges to no avail, and couldn't help but say loudly: "The medicine is still delicious?" Drink it! As a result, the grandparents said that they were "angry and scared the child", and once again received the same "never be angry with the child" parenting education class.
She stumbled to learn to be a mother, and in her eyes, my life was a myriad of starting lines, learning to eat, walk, and go to school...... No matter how early or late it is, no matter how fast or slow it is, she just groped my way forward with me. If mother's love also has a track, I don't know where I am with her now?
When I was a child, my mother and I seemed to be natural rivals. If I had learned to draw, I would have painted her as Zhong Kui staring at the brass bell and himself as a poor little ghost; If I were a composer, what I would send her would not be a quiet piano piece, but an intense rock ...... Now she and I are more like a pair of confidants who love and kill each other, and we have our own wins and losses. Now I'm a bit of a "latecomer", and when she goes out, I become the one who chatters and repeatedly conducts anti-fraud propaganda; She was going to the hospital, and I became the one who registered online and took her to queue, triage, and pick up medicine.
I have heard and seen too many videos and texts about maternal love, those heavy feelings and warmth hidden in the ordinary, the strength and flexibility that erupt in the transition, and the images of those mothers are similar, like natural devotees. But when the books are closed and the screen goes black, those illusory mother figures will fade away, they are not my mothers, all I have is her in front of me.
She is a "child" like a girl, and she still likes to watch sweet romance novels and idol dramas, and likes to stay at home and brush her mobile phone around the thick quilt. I am also learning to know her, it turns out that she will stand in front of those machines that are convenient and fast for me, will use those lame excuses to refuse to see a doctor and take medicine, and will also credulously others to buy back the "three nos" health care products.
I remember one time after receiving a scholarship, I decided to buy a dress for my mother, probably she thought the price was too expensive, so she stood by the side and quietly pulled my elbow, I quietly grabbed her hand and patted it, just like when I was a child, whenever I wanted to go home, as long as I quietly hugged my mother's calf, there would be a warm embrace waiting for me.
When she was a child, love was her big hand holding her small hand; Growing up, love is my firm finger with her. In the blink of an eye, this race of love has come a long way. Now when I go home for dinner, I have a few exclusive taboo words, especially when I am facing my nephews and nieces, if I mention words such as "used to him", "ignorant", "I was at the time" and so on, it is like opening a can of Coke that shakes violently after being exposed to the sun, and my mother will start with a sentence of "You still talk about others?" The strong interrogative sentence began until I said the sentence after saying my 20 troubles, "I don't rarely talk about you!" The exclamation can be over. Her "Historical Events Notebook" is like a recyclable keg of environmentally friendly explosives, and as long as the object is me, the energy will be full at any time. After years of experience, I was even a little skeptical of the explanations in the books about the memory forgetting curve and the law of conservation of energy.
My expressive skills are far inferior to her, who loves to read and write, so I have written too many people, but rarely write about her. Maybe it's because I'm still immature and haven't learned to detach myself and observe the records as a sideliner; Maybe it's disgust with every word, wondering why they don't express all my feelings about her. She is the only one of the thousands of leaves in the forest of mother's love, willing to dry in my book of life. I soak up the moisture of her youth and add some folds to her; She dismantles herself into fine fibers, weaving new pages for me.
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Mother, Mother (essay)
Shama Ma'er (Yi nationality)
In "Please Answer 1998", there is a tearful line: "I heard that God can't be everywhere, so he created mother, and when she reaches the age of mother, mother is still the patron saint of mother. "But I don't like to call my mother my mother. I always say mother, mother.
Compared with "mother", the word "mother" seems cold and distant. Although "mother" is warm and warm, I only want to introduce her in front of others as "mother", which I think is more weighty and more weighty.
My mother is no different from thousands of other mothers in the world, and she is even more ordinary, more ordinary than others.
She is not as tall as me, has given birth to 3 children, is a little fat, her hair was originally only a little yellow, after she dyed black many times, it became even worse, and it became a golden and black mixed hair color, so she was no longer entangled in hair color, let it develop.
I rarely got to be with her when life was going to be tough. She was in charge of all the affairs of the family, leaving early and returning late, and the farm work in the fields occupied most of her time. picking tea and bracken in the spring to supplement the family and earn tuition for our sisters and brothers; In summer, sometimes I have to guard the water in the field at night, and I can't let other families cut off the water; In autumn, it is even busier, to harvest bud rice, harvest rice, and after harvesting their own home, they have to go to other houses to help; It seems that I can finally rest for a while in winter, and I have to go to the mountains to chop some firewood and come back. All year round, she was always busy, and before we went to school, we were playing by ourselves in front of and behind the house, climbing trees and falling, and no one would help us up, even until the injury was healed, and my mother would not necessarily find out.
Once, when I saw other people's mothers, I was envious. Later, I understood that she supported my brother and me in a carefree childhood with her thin body. I just didn't have snacks or fancy clothes, but I was well fed and clothed, and I didn't go hungry or cold because of poverty.
Perhaps poverty still leaves an indelible mark on me, such as the "picking" that I was teased about by my friends. But frugality is also a virtue of the Chinese nation. And she, before me, blocked all the criticism from this world for me, and if she couldn't stop it, how could I blame her. As a human being, we should have a grateful heart to perceive all the little luck in this ordinary world.
How many of my peers dropped out of elementary and junior high school, but I have already gone to university. On the way to study, I was ignorant at first, even if my family didn't let me go to school, I didn't feel anything, at that time, I didn't understand what education and learning were. Later, I learned that she didn't say to me for any reason: give up.
I miss her. I was not a qualified daughter when I was not sensible, and I hurt her more than once in those rebellious days. She is an ordinary woman who can no longer be ordinary, and like all other women in the countryside, she has been a husband, children, and family all her life, an ordinary peasant wife. But she is different from those women, she loves gossip, but she doesn't like to talk about people's strengths and weaknesses.
She is a mother, and she has taught me many truths by her own actions.
For a long time in the past, I recited "The tree wants to be quiet but the wind does not stop, and the child wants to raise but does not wait", but I don't really understand the heaviness behind this sentence. Later, I got farther and farther away from her, and saw her loneliness alone, and saw that although she was lonely, she "didn't talk to others for more than half a sentence". I suddenly felt sorry for her, she was a mother and a woman, but she had no hobbies, and could only become more and more lonely in the days when her children became adults. When she was young, she existed as the eldest daughter and the eldest sister, and when her younger siblings went to school, she followed her parents to take care of the housework. Later, she became a wife and mother, and revolved around her husband and children, and in the first half of her life, she rarely existed as herself.
The years passed like water, leaving marks on the corners of her eyes and eyebrows, and white hair crept out. She's just a woman in her 40s...... I was often scared, afraid that I would grow too slowly, and she couldn't wait for me to grow up. Fortunately, time treated her with tenderness and stopped working hard, and her various health problems caused by overwork in previous years gradually improved. And I, just worried, will she be lonely in the days when we are not by her side.
The mother is the tenderness of the heart, and the mother is the toughness to protect her children. She is a woman made of water, and sometimes a mother who is as hard as ice.
People say: Parents are here, there is still a place to come in life, parents go, life is only the way back.
Every time I think of her, that strong, stubborn, and capable woman like an ordinary mother, I will silently say in my heart: Mother, Mother. One after another, she was called to risk her life to give birth to me, to raise me in poverty, to save me from hunger and cold, and to build me a spiritual world.
Mother, mother, again and again, not only the way to come, but also the way back.
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Mother in Old Photos (Essay)
Jiang Yan
My mother has been a primary school teacher for 18 years, and every year when students graduate, teachers and students will take graduation photos together, and the album has left a lot of old photos of her teaching.
The old photos are all black and white, and because of their age, some of them are mottled and can't be seen really. In a graduation photo in 1974, my mother combed two braids and wore a slanted plaid shirt, sitting among the students smiling slightly, delicate and quiet. At that time, her mother was not married, she was more than ten years older than her students, and she was still a girl in her early 20s. At that time, the mother's melon seed face, Danfeng eyes, not fat or thin, was just right, with the shyness unique to girls in that era, she looked like a female Wenqing, delicate and quiet.
In a graduation photo from 1982, my mother has short ear-length haircuts. At that time, my eldest brother and second brother were naughty, probably because they had to take care of the children and teach harder, and my mother looked a little thin. In the photo, she is covered with a gray spring and autumn shirt over her white shirt, because she is thin and her coat is slightly loose, but she still has a smile at the corner of her mouth.
In the 1989 graduation photo, the mother is a little rounder, with a student head, and a white shirt over a coat. The large plaid pattern on the coat, coupled with the mother's bright smile and the innocent smiling faces of the students, makes the mother look bright and generous. My mother loves to laugh when she takes pictures, and she smiles in almost every photo, and this habit affects me, and I can't help but laugh every time I take a picture at the camera.
The old photo of my mother is not a graduation photo of teachers and students together, or a group photo of all teachers in the school, in that era when there were only black and white photos, my mother did not take a single photo, which has always been a small regret of her.
The wheel of time keeps turning, turning away the mother's youth, and also turning out the life trajectory of a woman who blooms like a flower and gradually ages. Nowadays, the students taught by my mother have reached middle age, and my mother has also reached the age of antiquity, and most of the old objects in the family have slowly disappeared with the improvement of living standards.
In her spare time, my mother often wore reading glasses to look at those old photos in no one's spare time, and slowly rubbed each photo with her hand that had once held chalk and held a whip and was now wrinkled, and then quietly sighed and put it down. I know that it was the best years that my mother remembered that she couldn't go back to.
These old photos contain the mother's past and the mother's thoughts, they witness the mother's youth, and leave the most beautiful image of the mother in the long river of time.
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Mother's Letters (Fairy Tales)
Jiang Shidong
The warm sunlight shone on the forest and the earth, turning into golden beams of light through the fine leaves of the trees.
"I have a magic key that can open any lock in the world!" Zhu Lili said, standing under a tree.
Brother Rat objected: "Didn't you say that a key can only open one lock?" ”
Zhu Lili shook his head: "That's an ordinary key, and this one of mine is a magic key." ”
"Could it be that the fairy sister likes you and gave it to you alone?"
"No, this is the creation of my grandfather pig who loves to invent. When I had my birthday last year, Grandpa Pig gave it to me as a birthday present. ”
"It turned out to be Grandpa Pig, he is a great scientist, so it seems that this key of yours really has the potential to open all the locks." The little monkey said on the side.
"Oops, pigs, come and help me open this lock." Grandpa Goat came tremblingly, holding an iron box with a large rusty lock on it.
"Where's the key to this lock?" Zhu Lili asked curiously.
"I lost it 10 years ago, and I searched and searched for it, and I couldn't find it." Grandpa Goat continued, "There's something very important in this box, and I haven't seen it in ten years. ”
The warm-hearted Pig Lili hurriedly took out the magic key from his trouser pocket and easily inserted it into the keyhole of the big lock. With a slight turn, the lock was opened.
"Wow, that's a magic key!" Little Brother Rat couldn't help but sigh.
Zhu Lili opened the lid of the box and saw only a yellowed piece of paper, nothing else.
"Grandpa Goat, I thought there was something precious in this, it turned out to be a piece of paper."
Grandpa Goat carefully took out the piece of paper, touched it gently, and suddenly reddened his eyes: "You are still too young, and you still don't understand many things." To me, this piece of paper is more precious than any treasure, and it was a letter my mother wrote to me when I first left home. ”
The little monkey said, "What is so precious about my mother's letter, my mother talks to me so much every day, and I am almost annoyed to death." In the future, I must leave the house, stay away from my mother, and never want to hear my mother's nagging again. ”
The little mouse brother also chimed in: "Yes, yes, my mother is the most nagging person in the world, and I don't like my mother's words at all." ”
Grandpa Goat coughed a few times: "When you grow up, you will miss your mother's words." When I didn't lose the key, I had to take it out and read it every few days, and it was full of how much my mother missed me. The mother said that son, when he is out alone, he must take care of himself, don't be hungry until he freezes, eat on time, and dress in the cold......"
"I've listened to it for a long time, and my mother didn't say that I miss you?" Brother Rat said.
The little monkey also said, "I haven't heard a word I miss." ”
Zhu Lili wiped her tears: "I said it, I heard it, my mother wrote in the letter full of thoughts about her son." ”
Grandpa Goat touched Pig's head and said, "Thank you, I can read my mother's letters again and again in the future." ”
It was almost noon, and the little mouse, the little monkey, and the mother of the pig all shouted loudly, "Son, go home and eat!" ”
This time, the three little animals didn't know why, and suddenly felt that their mother's cry was so kind and warm, like a beam of light in the forest. The three little animals each went back to their own homes and looked for their own mothers. Only the goat grandfather was left, holding the letter, thinking of his mother.
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Mother, is the warmest and sonorous force in my heart (essay)
Xu Zhihao
"Daylilies give birth to the steps of the hall, and the wanderer travels to the end of the world. Relatives leaned against the door of the hall, and there were no daylily flowers. Looking out the window at the drizzle, I brewed a cup of instant coffee, and the slow heat seemed to slowly draw with the cold air around me, and the cells in my body gradually became active.
Since I was a child, I have always been by my mother's side, but in the past few years, from graduating from high school to starting to study and develop in another city, I gradually realized that some distance is an indispensable regret that accompanies growth. Some thoughts are as small as smoke but they are entangled in memory fragments.
I remember going home for the first time during the college vacation, and it happened to be rainy, but because of the joy in my heart, the rain also had a different joy. Looking up at the foggy sky, thousands of raindrops fell in unison, and the sky and the earth became a thoroughfare for the rain to return home. Thinking about it this way, I actually have the same feelings as the rain, and my heart is even less cold. Before I could open the door, my mother asked me if I was frozen. Smiles and warmth lingered on my mother's face, and even more swayed in my heart. A long-lost breath of home took care of me again, as warm as the warm sun on a spring afternoon.
Stepping into the door, I put down my luggage, and before I could take off my coat, my mother pointed to the kitchen and said that she was heating me milk soup and pu choy. As soon as I heard "milk soup and pu cai", the past scene came back to my eyes. There are many famous foods in Jinan, and my favorite dish since I was a child is this milk soup and pu vegetables. Mother is a very careful person, in order to have the freshest pu cai, she didn't know where to find out that in the nearby suburbs of the pond, there will be an old man in the early morning to sell pu cai, and it is just pulled out of the pond pu cai, fresh and tender.
On weekends, my mother wakes up earlier than on weekdays, changes into light sneakers, picks up a long cloth bag and sets off. The location of the pond was so remote that my mother took several buses and finally walked two or three kilometers of dirt roads to reach her destination, and it was nearly 9 o'clock by that time. My mother was carrying the fresh cabbage she had bought, but she didn't have time to rest, so she returned home the same way. As soon as I woke up, I saw my mother at the door, the yellow mud on her feet, the cloth bag dripping with water, the hair that was slightly messy by the wind, and the beads of sweat on her forehead. I asked my mother where she went, but she didn't complain, but held up a cluster of green pu choy and said with a smile that she had bought a very fresh pu choy and wanted to make me my favorite milk soup pu choi. For a moment, I felt as if I had been struck by the pride and anticipation on my mother's face—as if a hot light was emanating from her, even though she was slightly embarrassed at the moment.
I stepped forward to take the cloth bag in my mother's hand, and Mao recommended to help her make this milk soup and pu cai together. My mother smiled and handed me the bag. When I started peeling the cabbage, my mother sat next to me and taught me how to pick out the old leaves, and the tender heart left at the end tasted the best. Soon, under my mother's teaching, I became familiar with the process of leaf peeling. After a while, there was a whole plate of tender cabbage hearts. The mother cut the heart into small pieces, soaked it and blanched it in boiling water. After the oil in the pot was hot, my mother first stir-fried the green onion and white ginger shreds until fragrant, added an appropriate amount of water, and scooped a spoonful of flour into the hot water, and the soup gradually turned milky white. The mother looked at the heat, weighed the color of the soup, turned around and poured the mushrooms, magnolia slices, and ham cut in advance into the pot, and finally added the green onion and pepper Shao wine specially prepared by the mother, and simmered. I could already smell the aroma faintly, and I quickly stood on tiptoe to take a look. In order to soothe my impatience, my mother talked about the pu cai in Zang Kejia's "Taste of Hometown Cuisine": "In Daming Lake, among the lotus, there are a lot of pu vegetables, with a tender green body......" and talked about the bushes of fluffy pu bamboo shoots she saw when she approached the pond in the early morning, reflected in the reddish sun ring, like a painting in a poem. But just looking at the scenery, I stepped into the mud puddle...... Speaking of this, my mother couldn't help but laugh: "Next time, I have to watch the road carefully." ”
Finally, the soup was ready. My mother carefully put it into the porcelain bowl, put it on the table, and beckoned me to come and taste it. The milky white soup is soaked in the cabbage, and the tender white reveals a light green. A mouthful of milk soup, a mouthful of pu cabbage, and a slice of fragrant ham, accompanied by tender shiitake mushrooms and magnolia slices, this kind of taste bud enjoyment is really indescribable. I wanted my mother to come and taste the fragrance, and when I looked up, I saw her sitting in front of me with a smile and a smile on her face, looking at me holding the soup bowl and unable to let go. There was a gleam of pride in her eyes, just as proud as when she brought back fresh pu choy in the morning.
From home to college campus, I spent so many days and nights in the midst of novelty and challenges that I never thought about where my courage to venture out came from. Now I understand the source of this courage: my mother is the warmest and sonorous power in my heart, shining on the journey of life.
Source: China Youth Daily
Source: China Youth Daily