Childhood Old things

Grandma Yang was my neighbor when I was a child, when she was about sixty or seventy years old, her hair was gray, and she had a gray and white handkerchief on her head, but it didn't look neat, it was always like the beginning of a serious illness. At that time, when I was in elementary school, every day when I came home from school, I could see Grandma Yang sitting on a small stone bench not far from my door, muttering something in her mouth, and looking at the distance with her eyes blank. When he saw me coming back, he said, "After school, go and see what your mother has made for you." I said hello: "Yes, Yang Milk, why don't you go home to eat, it's time for dinner?" I said as I jumped and walked home. Time passed day by day, the leaves of the old elm tree that accompanied Yang Milk and the stone bench were green and yellow and green, and I don't know how many times this dialogue between yang milk and yang milk was repeated by us, but I felt that Yang Milk's appearance had not been changed by time, and I could remember that she was like that. When I grew up, I thought that maybe this was the sluggish vision of children looking at things.

In our childhood, children should like an adult, not only emotionally, because children need to be bribed.

I also like Yang Milk because I can occasionally be bribed by the sugar she takes.

Many times, I came back from school, walked to the stone bench, Yang Milk took out a handkerchief, let me guess a few pieces of sugar in the bread, I said two pieces, she said no, and then carefully pulled away the squarely wrapped handkerchief, three sugars in the eye. Our grandchildren looked at each other and smiled, and Yang Milk scraped my nose with her hand, "Guess wrong." "I was happy, just reached for the candy, and Yang Milk gave me all three pieces of sugar at this time." I peeled a piece and put it in my mouth, "So sweet." "After I was happy, I used my hand to squeeze Yang Milk's hard and fleshless hands, feeling hard and clucking.

Life has its own bitterness, even for small children. In that time, happiness was like a breeze, and troubles were like heavy rain. The breeze is lovely, but the "heavy rain" is always a bit unbearable.

I remember the autumn when I was just in the fourth grade, the weather was getting colder, and the dead leaves blown down by the wind were floating everywhere on the ground, which made people feel sad inexplicably. One day, when I came home with my arms folded, I heard my mother say to my father, "I think it's difficult, you see the situation in their house." I asked, "What's wrong?" The mother said: "You are sick in the back of yang milk, the child does not understand, don't ask so much." I skimmed my lips and walked away.

At that time, when I was young, I had a problem, that is, I especially liked to listen to adults gossip. Whenever a neighbor came to visit my house, I was inexplicably happy in my heart, and at this time, whether I was roasting the fire by the stove or lying on the table writing homework, my spiritual head came up in an instant, while pretending to ignore, continuing to keep the original state unchanged, while being ready to eavesdrop. On that day, I heard that the real reason why Yang Milk was sick was that she was in trouble with her family and was angry.

At that time, the contradictions of adults were so far away from me, like clouds in the sky, which could not be reached and could not be understood. Is this more troublesome than the conflicts between our sisters and brothers and the annoying teachers and classmates who go to school? Later, when I grew up, God gave me this kind of trouble, and of course I understood it naturally. But at that time, my brain automatically ignored these, I just wanted Yang Milk to get better quickly, and quietly give me a few pieces of candy to eat every time I came back from school.