Prose: Remembering my father

Geng Bing

My father has been away from me for three full years! Whenever I think of the scene when my father was alive, I can't stop the indulgent emotions in my heart, all this, as if it were yesterday, as if there is a never-ending river in life, you listen, the rustling wind under the night wind, the endless waves on the blue seashore, the endless drizzle in the rain, the chaotic snowflakes on that winter night, you listen to everything, as if you are still gently telling: Father has never left us, never left...

My father's life was extremely ordinary and great.

My father was born in 1933, and I heard my father say that when he was eight years old, he joined his grandfather in the revolutionary war, when the Japanese devils invaded China, coupled with the domestic warlord melee, the people's life was in deep trouble, that day, as an underground party member of the CCP, in order to cover the smooth escape of our party workers from the enemy's encirclement, my grandfather dressed as a shepherd and a young father successfully delivered a confidential document to our party, and an old party member who was about the same age as my grandfather touched his father's head and boasted straight.

I remember when I was a kid, our family was very poor, and my grandfather had five children in total: three aunts, my father, and my uncle.

Because of the traitor's whistle-blowing, when my father was sixteen years old, my grandfather was secretly killed by the Kuomintang, and my grandmother knew that after knowing it, it was like thunder, to know that in that era, the murderous Kuomintang would not spare a Communist Party member, they swore to cut the grass and remove the roots, and arrested my father and grandmother to cut the grass and remove the roots, at that time my grandmother had nothing to think of except to wash her face with tears, but my father showed rare wisdom and bravery, and they beat my grandmother and my father to the skin. Forcing them to say the names and whereabouts of our party's underground workers, my father gritted his teeth and refused to say everything until he died, and his father said, "Don't waste your tongue on me, I won't say a word." Finally, they smashed my father's waist with a scale, and my father passed out on the spot, and they dragged my father to the sorghum field two or three miles away from our village and flew away...

At some point, my father woke up, and a sharp pain forced him to crawl forward slowly: he was in a fit of rage, and when he opened his eyes, he found that there was a mass burial in front of him, so he and his grandmother climbed until dawn, and when they met the acquaintances in our village, they were rescued!

The father was great and ordinary, and at that time the father had to support the burden of the whole family, three aunts, grandmothers, uncles, really do not know how a sixteen-year-old child, how to support this family responsibility. At that time, people worked more and less, and my father often went to bed late and got up early, and in that era, how tenaciously my father survived, whenever I thought about this, I couldn't help but burst into tears.

When my father was eighteen, he married my mother, my uncle still had to go to school, I had four older sisters (the fourth sister died when she was twenty) and three brothers, a total of eight children, but at that time, I often heard my father singing loudly, and in my father's life it was as if there had never been the word suffering, and every day of his life was full of laughter, yes, for a person who was above suffering, what else could not be expressed in song?

His father could not read, but he was not willing, often he secretly went to the private school to listen to lectures, without paper and pencil, his father used branches to write on the ground one by one, until he later learned to learn to go to the university, "Zhongyong" and so on.

More of my way of doing things is adhering to my father's character, perseverance, decisiveness, self-improvement!

I remember that year I went to the street with my father to sell cabbage, the cold wind was biting, the snow was white, I was so cold that I shivered, I was so hungry that I secretly ran to the next door to sell steamed buns, hungry and drooling, taking advantage of people's inattention to steal a steamed bun in my arms, and then on the way home, I finally took out the steamed bun and broke half of it to my father, my father did not show half of the joy, forcing me to say where the steamed bun came from, I had to say everything! At that time, to my surprise, my father slapped me in the face with a slap that "I learned to steal at a young age!" Hurry back and apologize! "My father dragged me for two miles, found the big mother who sold steamed buns, took out five cents from her body, gave it to her, and asked me to apologize to him, until now, whenever I think about it, my face is still burning with pain, I remember that it was the first time in my life that my father beat me!"

After joining the work, I had to leave my hometown, other brothers also started a family, my father was old, often forgot the way home, but in his heart he always remembered my growth, every time I published an article, my father preached everywhere: "My son has published works again!" "At this time, my heart is full of guilt, and when I am old, I can't always be with you."

It wasn't until the fourth day of the first half of the 2018th year, when my cousin called and told me that my father was no longer ok, that I had to hurry home, and when I walked to the door, I saw my eldest brother wearing hemp and filial piety, and I knew that my father had gone, I knelt next to my father, looked at his peaceful expression, and the tears flowed down, yes, my father was gone, and I didn't have time to say a word to me!

For three years, whenever I finished writing an article, I would always think of my father, a great and ordinary man.

About the Author:

Geng Bing, post-70s, college culture, member of Jiangsu Writers Association. He began to publish works in 1995, and his works were scattered in more than 100 kinds of literary works such as "Writer's Daily" and "Poetry", and won more than 30 national awards, and wrote the poetry collection "Never Again Sorrow".

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