Dad has a pair of rough and hard hands with many calluses on them, which are left by his countless times of washing clothes for me and being busy with work. There are many deep lines on his palm, criss-crossing, which look like lines from a distance, and it says: hardworking, strict and warm.
Whenever I touch his rough hands and ask questions, he always smiles and says, "Men should have such hands."
Dad washes my clothes with those strong hands, and never complains that my clothes are too dirty to wash, even in the coldest winter. He always thinks that the washing machine is not clean, so he rubs it hard with his strong hands. Dad also contracted the work of washing dishes at home. The dishes he washed were always clean and bright. These are hard-working hands, but sometimes they are very strict.
What impressed me the most was that I forgot to do my homework for fun. My father sternly asked me to tell the truth, but I tried every means to quibble and lie, saying that I couldn't find a notebook for my homework. Dad finally couldn't bear it, and his powerful hands fell hard on me, and I deeply realized his strength. After this lesson, I will never fail to finish my homework again, because I don't want to taste his harshness again.
These hands sometimes make people feel warm and happy. Once I had a fever, my father quickly asked the teacher for leave, and he didn't even go to work. He was busy feeding me medicine and water. In a daze, I can feel that my father used his rough hands. Feel whether my head is hot or not, and feel whether my body is hot or not. At this time, dad's hands are kind and warm. In the evening, the fever finally subsided, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Since childhood, every time I have a fever, my father always touches me over and over again, which makes me feel infinite happiness.
I'll never forget my father's hands, those rough and strong hands, which always say: hard work, strictness and warmth.
It's not original to write a composition with my father's hand as the topic.
People often say, "My father loves mountains, and he is steady and deep; Motherly love is like water, gentle and delicate. " But I want to say that my father's love for me is not only deep, but also delicate. The most important thing is that he understands my heart.
my father when I was young. I'm afraid. At that time, I was young and always made mistakes, so my father would always swing his broad and powerful palm on my back, and every time I would cry with pain. Sometimes he is even more angry, and he will directly pick up my clothes and throw me on the bed.
I'm afraid of my father and his palm. In my childhood impression, my father seldom laughed, because of the burden of family and grandma's illness. I never dared to look my father in the eye, let alone the muffled sound of his palm hitting my back and the burning red handprint.
After primary school, my father still kept his formidable face, but to my surprise, my father actually talked to me, "You have grown up, and I won't hit you again." Only a short sentence. My first reaction after hearing this was of course joy: Dad finally won't hit me on the back with that rough and powerful hand, and I don't have to be afraid of Dad anymore! But after a long time, I felt a little sadness in my heart. What happened?
It was a silent night without the moon. Mom and Dad had already fallen asleep, and sometimes there was a barking and frogs. I was thirsty, so I got up to get some water. In the dark, I groped. "pa!" The cup full of water fell to the ground and broke, and then I heard the sound of my father getting out of bed and turning on the light, and my mother heard it coming. I was shocked until my father pushed my mother and me away with his hand and personally picked up the broken glass, and my tears fell.
My mother asked me with concern if I was injured, and she also poured me water to drink. I was too scared to move. My father thought I was hurt, grabbed my hand and looked at it again and again. I saw that dad's eyes were full of eagerness and his face was full of worries. This is the first time my father took the initiative to hold my hand, the first time he cared about me so carefully, and the first time I found his gentle side. Those big hands are still strong, still warm, but rougher; The original sharp eyes were also smooth by the torrent of life, full of tender feelings like water.
I can't help holding my father's hands. I still can't look him in the eye, but I feel he smiled because he put me in his arms. I smell the warm smell, which is different from the gentle fragrance of perfume, and it is not as dull as grass. It belongs to my father's selfless and great love for me.
There is still no moon today, but my father stood by me and watched the beautiful sky as usual with me. Composition topic about my father's hand (novel)
My father's hand (model essay)
The hot feeling of my father's hand makes me unforgettable for a long time, always warming the road ahead of me, and every bit of happiness exists at my father's fingertips. Whenever my father holds my hand tightly, that warmth and that touch trickle into my heart.
My life with my father has always been dull but full. My father is a very humorous person. When I was a child, my father often told me jokes, which made my life always happy. I remember when I was a child, I was afraid of ghosts. I asked my father to sleep with me every night, but I grew up and my father couldn't stay with me for a lifetime. Finally, my father finally decided to let me go to bed alone. On the first day, after I slept in bed for a while, I saw the headlights and white curtains outside the window shaking. I quickly ran out of bed and ran to my parents' room and burst into tears. Who knows that I cried for almost an hour, but my father didn't promise to accompany me to sleep. Later, my father's gradual exercise made me stronger, and now I won't be afraid to live on campus alone. If it weren't for my father's "cruelty", how could I become stronger?
I am a daughter who grew up in the palm of my parents' hands. When I was a child, in order not to lose my parents' love, I was taken care of at home by my parents who still had to work from birth to kindergarten. One day, my mother went to work and my father took care of me at home alone. My nose suddenly bled. At that time, I was only two years old. My father held me tightly and held my arm. It didn't take long for my father to faint. Afterwards, my mother said to me, "After my father fainted, after a while, my mother came home and found my father holding me tightly and holding my left arm high." Yes! My father was unconscious and hugged me tightly. I firmly believe that he will never let go until the end of his life ...
My father's love is not as delicate as my mother's, but it is this deep father's love that moves me again and again. Time flies, so many years have passed, and my father has accompanied me through such a long road. Looking back on the past, my father used his rough hand to hold my hand tightly when I was in trouble, giving me confidence to walk the rest of the difficult road. It's a new year again. Walking around campus with a backpack on my back is familiar and strange. No matter how long my father has been with me, I will cherish this father's love and love him well. Don't leave me the regret that "the tree wants to calm down, but the wind will not stop, and the child wants to raise it, but the relatives are not there". It is said that it is the deepest pain in the world. For everyone, the word father is unique. We are also the only father. What is lost will never come back. The temperature in my father's hand will always be my eternal light in the long dark night.
As long as the topic is novel, the composition: Father's hand is 1 to 2 words (as many verbs as possible)
Father's hand (333 words)
Father's hand is rough, strong and black. Dad created a happy family with his own hands, and dad created his own career with his own hands. Dad's hand has gradually changed from working for people to being a big boss. I am really proud of him.
in spring, my father swats mosquitoes for me. In summer, my father fanned the cool for me. In autumn, my father hugged me to sleep.
I still remember that in winter, I was doing my homework, shivering with cold, and my hand was too cold to write, when a warm hand reached out to me. Dad held my hand tightly with his own. Dad said, "Chenchen, finish your homework first. I'll stay here with you." After waiting for five or ten minutes, my father has entered a sweet dream, when my father's hand is loose. When I touch my father's hand again, my god! Dad's hand is shaking, so I'll touch my own hand again. I think it's like a magic trick. In just a few minutes, the body temperature of one person is exchanged with the body temperature of another person.
Dad's hand warms my hand and my heart.
Father's Hand Composition 3 words 2: Father's Hand (317 words)
My father has a pair of hands, which are covered with cocoons and rough, but they have played a lot of roles!
dad's hands are omnipotent. Once, the desk lamp at home was broken, and my mother said, "buy a new desk lamp!" " Dad quickly stepped forward to dissuade him: "Don't worry, don't worry, such a small problem can't stop my hand." He took a screwdriver, took off the lamp, checked the wiring inside with a universal hand, pounded it with a screwdriver, and put on the desk lamp. At this time, the desk lamp became its original appearance again. I applauded and said, "Dad, your hands are really amazing!" "
Dad's hands can not only repair things, but also help me.
once, I learned to ride a bike with my father, and I rode it. Somehow, I fell down at once. My father lifted me up with those powerful hands. It was because of my father's powerful hands that I tasted the joy of success.
Dad's hand is the pillar of the whole family. Dad's hand makes us feel comfortable and warm. It is because of my father's hand that our family can live a happy life.
Father's Hand Composition 3 words 3: Father's Hand (335 words)
My father has a pair of hardworking hands. Although he is full of calluses, he still works day and night.
Dad works in a mold factory. Because of his long-term work, his hands are covered with calluses, but these hands can bring me warmth. Last winter, I just came out of the tutor's house and saw a man from a distance. That's my father. Seeing me coming, my father hurried forward and asked, "Son, is it cold?" Why didn't you bring gloves? " I replied, "Oh, I forgot to wear it when I left this morning." Dad said, "How can this be done? Come on, wear mine." I had to put it on obediently. I only felt a warm feeling coming on my face. Looking at my father's hand, it was already red with cold. Through this incident, I loved my father even more. Holding my father's hand
Once, it was those strong and powerful big hands that held me into the kindergarten, and it was also those constant big hands that held me through the six years of primary school.
I remember one spring when I was very young, my father took me to the airport to fly kites. At that time, I was not sensible, and my little hand dragged the kite to run and run on the lawn, but the kite just couldn't fly high. Naughty, I ran to my father's side and pulled his clothes and said, "Dad, the kite can't fly high. Can you make it fly?" Father smiled and said, "OK, we'll let him fly, let him fly very high." So, my father gently picked him up with his warm hands and held him in his arms. Then, my father picked up the kite on the lawn and handed it to me, and asked me to hold the thread in my left hand and drag the kite in my right hand. Then, he ran against the wind, and when the wind became stronger, he put his right hand into my little hand and threw the kite into the air together. Then my father slowed down and watched the kite fly into the blue sky with me. At that time, I always thought that it was my father's warm hands that gave the kite strength and made it fly to the free blue sky.
In primary school, my father often stroked my little head with his warm hands and said to me, You should study hard and I will buy you anything you need in your study. "I nodded. During that time, my father often found time to study with me, taught me to write hand in hand, and took my little hand to the bookstore to buy books.
at noon when I was ten years old. My mother was busy cooking, and my father was watching TV in the living room. As always, I just came home from school and went to the kitchen to serve dishes, but I broke the bowl carelessly. Suddenly, I was very scared and worried that my parents would scold me. Sure enough, my mother turned around and stared at me with a dark face, and then scolded, "What's the matter with you?" Suddenly, tears came from my wet eyes. At this time, my father came over, looked at the situation and said, "Forget it, forget it, he didn't mean it." My father wiped the tears from my face with his hands, dragged me to the balcony, stroked my little head with his hands, and said earnestly, "Everyone makes mistakes, but if they make mistakes, they should learn from them, and we can't make the same mistakes again, you know? Well, stop crying and be a man. " My father wiped my tears with his warm hands again.
one night, my father and I were walking in the street. Suddenly, my father's hand reached over, took my hand, looked at the starry night sky and said, "When I grow up, I will be taller than my father before long. At that time, my father is old, so I have to let you take me away!" Aside, I didn't reply. Holding my father's rough, calloused but warm hand, a stream of heat rushed to my eyes.
Nowadays, my father's hands are covered with calluses, leaving the imprint of years. In my dream, I dreamed that the big hand was holding the small hand, and the small hand was holding the big hand ... Appreciation of the perfect composition "Father's Hand" in Hunan College Entrance Examination in 215
(1) Approaching that "psoriasis"
The snow drifted wildly in the sky, and the whole world suddenly became silent. Those snow-white flowers fell on the road, on the roof and on the cars parked by the road. Everything was immersed in a snow-white world in an instant. (Grasping the description of scenery features, see the attractive effect of writing. )
I don't know where a wind blows, saying that it is to maintain the city appearance and ensure the sanitation of the city, and to clean up the advertisements posted in the streets and lanes.
it's not dawn yet, and the snow is still floating. A cleaner is cleaning a wall. He was in his forties and fifties, wearing a military coat. There are sleeves on the sleeves, but they can't cover the patches on the cuffs, and the skin looks darker against the snow. He tore at the paper tightly stuck on the wall, and his hands were red with cold, like a flame, as if they could melt the snow. The trouble is that these papers seem to have taken root on the wall, so he has to scrub the wall with cold water again and again. It was getting light, and there was only one piece of paper left on the wall. The cleaner raised his right hand and was about to tear it off, but his hand suddenly froze in mid-air, as if frozen. Finally, he shook his head, packed his tools and walked away.
Grandpa who took part in morning exercises came here on time. The scenery along the way amazed him, not because of the heavy snow-snow is nothing in this northern city, but the working efficiency of this city is amazing. Every wall was cleaned up overnight. He stopped before the wall that the cleaner had just cleaned. He was attracted by the paper.