My father is a Chinese teacher in high school. He always wears a pair of thin-rimmed glasses, which makes him look gentle and square. There are two dimples in the corners of the mouth, which makes you smile more childlike and warm than when you don't smile. My father is probably not as good as Song Yu and Pan An, but he is also a good-looking man. It seems that everyone who knows his father doesn't praise him for being handsome. I think, if ten is a perfect score, he deserves seven points in his father's age circle. By contrast, I am much inferior. Every time I ask my friends if I am handsome and have a sincere heart, most of them will laugh and "look around"; Those who do more harm to friends always look at me carefully for a long time with obscene and lewd eyes, and then solemnly say, "There are characteristics in ugliness." Therefore, I think I can't score more than three points for my appearance. My father's figure is well-proportioned, just like his calligraphy, quite straightforward, cut but not thin; And a position shows that he is full of energy and drive. My hair was long in high school, on the one hand, because I was lazy, on the other hand, because I really didn't like short hair. In addition, it will start to grow a beard, its hair will grow out, and its beard will grow out. A face is small, with hair on it and a beard below, and only a nose and a mouth sticking out from the middle, which is sloppy and messy. Seeing this photo of me, my father will look disgusted, as if I were not his own at all, and then scold me and say, "The horse is thin and hairy!" " Go get your hair cut! "I always loathe to give up, because I think this image fully and vividly reflects my depth and vicissitudes as a man. Isn't it the object that thousands of girls are eager to favor? So I always ask the barber to cut a little less, and then proudly watch my hair grow back in two or three days. Father often flies into a rage about this, but there is nothing he can do. In the end, he saw that I really couldn't listen, so he didn't bother to mention it again.
My father was strict and kind to me, which made my feelings for him more profound and complicated. When he was harsh, I gnashed my teeth, and even my teeth and gums were full of resentment and dissatisfaction; But when he was kind, he deeply touched me. My heart is like a bright moon shining in the pine trees and flowing on the spring stone, clear and comfortable, quiet and long.
When I was a child, my family was very poor, and my parents had to work hard to change the bleak family environment, so I spent less time with me. Fortunately, I was born with lust. After meeting people, I sometimes let my beautiful neighbor's sister hold my hand, or my lovely sister in the right room touch my face. So adults praise me for my generous behavior, and I will succeed in the future. My life can be considered chic and happy. It's a pity that it's so grand and beautiful that it's hard to reproduce it now. Alas, being single serves you right! When I first entered school to read, my father gave me the anthology of Tang and Song poems at home. At first, I was reluctant. My father forced me to recite two songs a week, and I will recite them after I finish. Because of this, before I knew Robin's goose, I had memorized Li Qingzhao's summer quatrains and Yue Fei's boundless crimson. As time went on, I became interested in ancient poetry myself, but my father ignored it. This is the so-called "interest cultivation".
When I was in the third grade, my family moved from a small village to a big town. Life was much better, so I transferred to the primary school in the town. The first math class after I entered school left a particularly deep impression on me. Because the teacher didn't come to the meeting, he left dozens of double-digit addition and subtraction courses for the students, requiring that they must use abacus. God, I really never knew what an abacus was before, so I sat in my seat with an embarrassed face and watched other students take out exquisite abacus one by one and start dialing. The classroom crackled and my heart was pounding. After a class on pins and needles, my self-esteem was greatly hurt. I hurried out of the school with my schoolbag on my back, wandering alone on the dusty road, letting the bright sunshine shine on my incomprehensible back, and returned home silently with a tired, fragile, young and lonely heart ... and then happily turned on the TV to watch cartoons. Of course, the head teacher soon found that there was a new classmate missing in the class, so he looked around anxiously and then called my parents, who were also very anxious and kept jumping in the street. It is not until dusk that parents will go home for dinner to discuss. When I opened the door, my parents were stunned for a long time when I saw me sitting in a chair watching TV leisurely. Then my father turned and went out without saying anything, and my mother went to the kitchen to cook. Although there were funny voices of animated characters on TV in the room, I was very scared, and a sense of foreboding came to my mind, like a volcano erupting in my chest. Not long after, my father went home again, holding two yellow-green willow branches in his hand. My father's face is as white as a dozen layers of skin, but my face is so green that chlorophyll is about to drip. My father turned off the TV and sat down. He whispered to me, "Take off your pants and lie prone on the coffee table." My tears suddenly flowed out and I stood there for a long time without action. My father didn't look at me either. He scraped the yellow-green skin and extra twigs on the wicker with a knife. He said impatiently, "Hurry up! What are you standing for! " I can't stop crying, so I have to. My heart is bitter. My father cut two wickers green and clean, and carefully picked one and held it in his hand. He stood up and looked at me and said, "Why did you cry before you started?" . Do not cry! "I dare not speak, I can only stop my tears sadly. I dare not look at my father's face in the sunset outside, so I can only squint at him from the window and stare at his bare wicker and my bare ass. When my father hits me, he always educates me while hitting me. He talks about self-cultivation and self-cultivation. But this time, my father said very little, almost nothing, just the beginning. He stood for a long time until my tears ran dry, and then a wicker was pulled down heavily. The tears I thought I had cried burst out like urine after eating this pain for nine days. My father is extremely heavy-handed, skillful, thoughtful, and precise and vicious in his eyes. He just stared at the same area and slapped it repeatedly. It can be said that he has a clear goal. My body and soul trembled with pain, and I cried my eyes out. I regretted it and cried like a river. My mother felt sorry for me and tried to persuade my father. Before she came near, my father glared at her and shouted, "Leave it alone!" " "Mom knew she couldn't help it and couldn't bear to look at me, so she had to hide in the bedroom and feel sad. How I long for my mother to save me from the mire! But my father won't give me such an opportunity. He has wicker in his hand, which is found all over the world. He whipped again and again until the sun went down and the lights came on. Yellow light shines on my blood-red ass. It is really "a thousand willow scars, nowhere to tell."
My father was ruthless when he hit me, but he always blamed himself afterwards and regretted it. This contradiction is probably the embodiment of all strict father's love in the world. I may be wronged because my father wronged me, but I will never complain because my father hit me. Just because I know that although I am stubborn and have made many mistakes, my father doesn't beat me more than him.
In grade one, I wanted to learn to ride a bike. It was a whim. Seeing others riding, I'm just curious. At that time, my parents' monthly salary was only in their early 300 s, but a good stroller was already worth 300 yuan. Father saw that I really wanted to ride, so he bought it for me without much hesitation. I still remember that the brand of stroller was called "Good Boy", which was one of the best stroller brands at that time. I am very happy and learn quickly. In a few days, riding technology is enough to remove two small auxiliary wheels on the rear wheel. Then I rode a stroller to school, and when I got to school, I attracted many friends to watch. I was so proud that I immediately brazenly invited the most beautiful girl in my class to sit down. The girl thought I was really good, so she readily agreed. I took her around the school playground several times. The breeze blows over my childish pink face, blowing up the girl's beautiful white skirt and blowing up our ten thousand kinds of tenderness, which is romantic and far away. Such a warm scene didn't make the girl cry and revel in my warm arms. I felt that this girl was too ignorant, so I changed to a girl the next day. In less than a month, my back seat broke down, and then my father scolded me. After that, I never rode a girl again. This is the so-called "amorous feelings are always annoyed by ruthlessness".
One winter day after moving to town, my family and several uncles and aunts went to eat hot pot. This is a new hotpot restaurant, and I forget its name. After ordering, the waitress asked if she wanted a drink, and my dad said hot coke. Hot cola is a kind of cola boiled with ginger. Although carbonic acid tastes much less, it is a good drink to drive away the cold in winter. The hot pot served quickly, and everyone ate a little hot, so hot coke came up. The waitress has a good attitude. She holds a tin pot with hot coke in her hand, and pours the coke into the glass one by one in order, skillfully and elegantly. When it was my turn, the waitress had just filled it and was ready to leave. The glass in front of her was ruthlessly broken, and then boiling water flew down at me with a grimace of a grin. Fortunately, my body developed very late. I was short then. Coke spilled on the inner thigh, not on sensitive parts, but the pain was equally profound. I curled my lips and was about to cry. My father was already furious and angry, pointing at the waitress, blushing, glaring and swearing; The waitress panicked and shivered, scrambling to clean up the mess, and accidentally stabbed me with glass slag. Father was even more angry and scolded, so he pushed her away and came to clean it up carefully. I wanted to cry at first, but I saw that waitress was too beautiful, wrong, but too pitiful. Somehow, I tried not to cry. I have been such a gentle and affectionate person since I was a child. But a good man like me was scalded by boiling water. When he got to the hospital, he still had blisters on his legs, like a small watermelon sandwiched between his legs. Later, after a while, I happened to find the hot pot restaurant on the road and found that the store was closed. I have to sigh that the "childlessness" that makes you so dangerous is still not as good as my dad's "demolition of pillars".
At the end of the second year of high school, at noon the day after the exam, my father and I were going home for dinner. When going up the stairs, my father "hitched" gently and even stepped on it. My face is not red and I am not angry. I took a few steps and suddenly felt a lag in my chest. I feel that there is a thousand-pound boulder pressing on my chest, and I can't bear to come up at one breath. My eyes went black and I almost fainted. My father walked happily in front, humming a ditty, and suddenly found that I was gone. When I turned around, I saw my knees propped up with my hands, my head bowed, panting and sweating like a dying old dog struggling for the last time. My father was shocked, knowing that I had never been so weak since I was a child, and quickly came over to ask me what was wrong. I slowed down for a while and felt a little better. I waved my hand to show that it was nothing. My dad helped me and said, "I'll take a nap and take you to the hospital." Walking on the road, panting and coughing all the way, it was very uncomfortable. Father felt something was wrong and changed his mind and said, "We'll go after dinner." I went to the hospital after dinner and waited for a long time to finish filming. As soon as the film came out, the doctor was stunned: "Go directly to the hospital, don't go, you are too serious." My father and I were frightened to disgrace, and only after asking did we know that I had a pneumothorax, and my right lung had been compressed by 90%. I was careless and didn't feel anything. Later, I learned that 95% of the lungs were compressed and people would die, so I felt a panic. My father was busy with the formalities for me, but when I arrived in the inpatient department, I was told that the bed was full. My father was very anxious. He ran around looking for help. In the end, he had no choice but to find a vacancy in the corridor near the toilet and bought a bed temporarily. Of course, my father was extremely dissatisfied with the result. When he looked at me, his eyes were also sorry. I was sad, but I smiled and said to him, "Nothing, the air is cool." In the afternoon, I was arranged to have my first operation. I opened an opening in my right armpit and inserted a tube to help discharge the stagnant exhaust gas from my chest. After the anesthetic effect, I was in great pain. As long as I move a little, I feel that the pipe is against my ribs, hitting my lungs, stirring my meat and stirring my blood. But looking at my father's busy figure and haggard face, I couldn't bear to make a sound, so I silently endured it and smiled at him occasionally, like an old friend for many years. In the evening, my father always accompanies me. There was not much space in the corridor, and there was no other place to rest. He sat by the bed and chatted with me. He was afraid of having sex with me, so he had nothing to talk about, so he went home and got my MP3 player to let me listen to the World Cup. I vaguely remember Argentina versus Greece that night. When I was sleeping, my father was afraid of touching me, so he leaned on the bed sideways and closed his eyes to rest. I didn't dare to toss and turn in bed, and my heart was very uncomfortable, but I knew my father was even more uncomfortable, so I put up with it, and my father and son spent a difficult night like this. A few days after the second operation, because of the hot weather, I was sweaty and dirty, and I wanted to take a bath, but I couldn't do it with a tube under my arm. My father saw that I was uncomfortable with the heat, so he brought water with a washbasin and twisted a handkerchief to help me wipe my body carefully. I am embarrassed. Father said, "When you were young, I took a shit and a pair of pants." . I'm sorry if I chewed it up and fed it to you. "I frowned and said," You must talk about shit and eat together. " Father smiled, revealing thin dimples. But after I left the hospital, my father was as strict with me as ever.
Father is actually very classical, as can be seen from the decoration style of his home. Father likes to have wooden carved cabinets at home, and some ink paintings and calligraphy will be hung on the walls, so that the whole room will give people an antique feeling. Last time he traveled to Yunnan with his mother, he brought back a slightly oval smooth taupe stone with a strange shape and put it in the middle of the bookcase. Probably because I am too tacky to see the uniqueness of this stone, I asked my father curiously, "What did you buy this stone for?" Father looked smug, as if he had found something precious and said, "You don't understand, it's beautiful." I was puzzled and asked, "What's so beautiful about this stone? Ugly. " My father gave me a disdainful look and said, "It's just beautiful." I couldn't find the reason after asking for a long time, which made me puzzled and didn't bother to ask. A few years ago, my father was eager to learn guqin, but my mother couldn't beat him, so she agreed and bought him a piano specially. My father wants to buy a long dress to wear when playing the piano. My mother probably didn't find any place to sell it, so she bought a set of white jackets worn by old people when they played Tai Chi. My father wore it when he played the piano. It looked neither fish nor fowl. In fact, he didn't learn a few times, and the level of playing the piano is really not so good. When he plays around, there will be a song "Laughing at the Sea", which was still a semi-finished product at that time. Every time he played the piano seriously, his mother laughed at him for playing cotton wool, and his father "scoffed" and said disapprovingly, "You don't understand, I am a mountain running water, and my bosom friend is hard to find." Then he played a play, played a big bomb, and played it for a while, which made him feel ugly. He roared: "boring, don't play!" After that, I went to the study to play computer.
Father doesn't like drinking, and he doesn't drink much, but he drinks every time he socializes or gets together with relatives and friends. Ironically, when he arrived at the party, he was quite crazy. The more people there are, the more excited and noisy he is. At the banquet, my father is mostly the initiator of the topic. He is eloquent and humorous. He can say a few words about anything, and then he starts to propose a toast when the heat is over. First, everyone drinks together, then one by one, one table at a time. Drink once if there are many people, and twice if there are few people. After drinking, others are just a little drunk. He was already red and purple, with a bitter face. Then he rubbed his stomach with his left hand, waved his right hand and said, "Oh, no, no, you drink." Drink more when you are in a good mood, eat a la carte stupidly, spit it out stupidly afterwards, and then talk nonsense. Mother hates her father's heavy drinking, so she often shouts at him, "You really should take a piss and see what you look like after drinking!" " At this time, dad always plays the fool and doesn't say anything superfluous. He just smiled foolishly, holding a red face, hugging his mother like a coquettish "henpecked" and kept screaming. If mom is angry, he can sleep in the master bedroom at night. If mom is angry, let him sleep in my bed. In line with the principle of United front with my mother, I always refuse with righteous words, and then my father sleeps on the sofa with a quilt in his arms. It's really irritating, ridiculous and pitiful.
My father seldom smokes. He only occasionally lights a cigarette after meals when he is in a good mood, or smokes a cigarette when he is depressed when he is in a rather bad mood, such as when I have pneumothorax. Father is very chic and stylish when he smokes. If he is interested in smoking a cigarette after dinner, he will curl up on the sofa, light a cigarette lazily and gracefully, and then gently hold a transparent ashtray in his left hand, and his eyes will shine with some thinking light. When he smokes, he is different from others. He always takes a sip slowly, as if he were studying the poems and articles of his predecessors. A slight frown, like enjoyment, like deep thought; Then spit it out slowly, as if telling the legend of a lifetime; The smoke lingers, spirals and rises gently, like a comforting hug from a close friend, like a gentle word from a lover, and like a quiet dream of a tired wanderer; Then my father would tilt his head slightly, as if he was afraid that he would run into smoke. Then as soon as he shook hands, the ash slipped from his fingers with the passing time and past memories. Father's face is hazy and real from time to time, and mother's eyes are gentle and loving.
Another advantage of my father is that he cooks quite well, so my father is often praised and my mother is often envied. Father is the eldest son of the family, so he understands early, works early and manages early. Of course, the good craftsmanship now is inseparable from his hard life in his early years. But there is another important reason because of my mother. My parents got married very early. According to my calculation, when they got married, their father was 2 1 year old and their mother was 20 years old. I don't know what the law was at that time, but according to today's marriage law, my parents did get married early, which shows that my father's method of picking up girls is really superb and worth learning from. I was born in the second year after my marriage. My mother is not good at cooking, and she has been weak since giving birth. It's hard for my father to take care of me carefully. It happened that my mother's mouth was awkward, and ordinary food could not be swallowed. In order to hope that my mother is healthy and strong, my father has to cook for her every day. It's a pity that my mother is still as thin as a willow, and my father can't scold her, so she can only do nothing. Years of practical experience finally made my father a kitchen. His skills are quite comprehensive, steaming, boiling, frying, frying, burning and frying. Cutting, splitting, turning, cutting, splitting and rowing are all very fine. The dishes he cooks are not only delicious and fragrant, but also exquisite: the eggs must be golden and bright, the meat must be tender and dazzling, the dishes must be green and refreshing, the oil must be shiny and shiny, and the items must be bright and dazzling, which makes people unable to resist the forefinger and appetite. Every time I go home, if I ask what I want to eat most, it must be my father's cooking.
My father is a demanding man. He is very demanding of himself and even more demanding of me. My father often tells me that "the son is the continuation of my father's dream". I don't agree with this sentence, but every time I see my father's heavy and serious expression when he says this sentence, I take back my heart. I am a very casual person, sometimes I seem lazy, so I often quarrel with my father because I can't meet his expectations. With the increase of age, the number of quarrels with my father has also increased. Even once, I slammed the door in anger, and my father looked "immortal". But my father will always be my father, and arguing with him is never because I don't understand him enough, but because I just can't agree with him. Dad often tells me earnestly when he makes up with me after quarreling: "You will understand when you become a father." Actually, I think I know my father. He always gives me some suggestions and directions in the process of blaming his son and himself. Therefore, even if my father has many things that make me dissatisfied, I can't deny that he is a good father after all.
During the winter vacation of junior year, the family accompanied their uncles and aunts to Zitong to worship Wenquxing. After the worship, I went to Chengdu for something, so I hitchhiked south with my uncle, and my father drove ahead to lead the way. At the entrance of the expressway, my father got off the bus and said goodbye to us with his hands in the air. My clothes swayed in the cold wind. Somehow, I feel a little sour in my nose. I looked back at my father's fading figure outside the window, and suddenly I had an impulse to hug him and cry. With the growth of age, my father often feels a little lost and sorry, a little sad and sad, and maybe even a little complaining and unwilling because my mother and I are getting closer. But, of course, the father's love for his son is deep and heavy. Isn't the son's love for his father silent?