Last night, a girl sent me a message: Please, did you take a picture of my dad more than twenty years ago when you interviewed her? My dad is dead, and I don't even have a picture of him...
I told the girl that I didn't have a camera when I interviewed twenty-three years ago, and I was very sorry; the girl said: Thank you, it was your interview and report that let many people know about my father's existence...
Seeing this sentence, I really have mixed feelings. There are so many worlds, but only you are the only one for me...
I'm also very sorry! Because, I also did not have a photo of my father, when I was young and ignorant, I once saw several black and white photos of my father, but I did not know how to collect and preserve, which became a regret for a lifetime...
On the day of my father's death, I was still a minor child, but I still clearly remembered my father's last action in the human world, that is, he was dying, he could not speak, my father looked at me with his eyes, raised his right hand with difficulty, and touched my face...
At the moment when my father's hand just hit my face, his hand fell down and left us forever...
Before my father was put into the coffin, the second brother gave me a dime, and I ran to the commissary on the street and bought a pencil for three cents and a white vegetarian book for five cents...
The second brother put the pencil and the white book into his father's coffin and said: Dad likes to write articles all his life, let Dad continue to write in that world...
Perhaps, I inherited my father's hobby, and after my father's death, I lay on the clay kang, used the earthen window sill as a desk, lit the dim kerosene lamp, and wrote all night long, until today...
My father left me a large wooden box of books, and in the wooden box, there were jade, agate, jadeite, and several stacks of old coins, and especially precious, and the picture of the secretary general...
The second brother said that he wanted to preserve these relics of his father, so he used a row cart to pull away the wooden box, so these precious materials, as well as his father's photos, disappeared forever...
Years later, I not only owned my own camera, but also became a journalist, publishing photographs in various newspapers and magazines around the world...
However, I did not have a picture of my father.
Many things, just like the son wants filial piety and does not wait for him, once we understand and wake up, we will no longer have a chance.
Just like this world, the big has no boundaries; like rolling red dust, the crowd flows endlessly. But our father is our only one; our mother is our only one; our children are our only ones...
The world is so big, we must know how to cherish, because only you, is my only!
(Zhang Shengkai)