His hands are broad and rough, rough and dark, covered with calluses, hard and many. The joints are clearly swollen and the fingers are thick and full of black dirt. He always puts his hands flat on his knees. Except for the little finger, the nails are all cut very bald. If you look closely, you can see that they were bitten with his teeth. After clenching tightly, the muscles and bones of the entire hand can be clearly seen.
Sorry, I didn’t finish reading the question. The following is the modified version 1.0
My mother’s hands, after being soaked in soap for many years, were wrinkled by water. Probably for this reason, my mother's hands are very white. Mom's hands are very thin and have protruding veins. But my mother’s hands are warm, like my gentle haven. I remember when I was a child, when I cried, it was my mother who helped me wipe the tears from the corners of my eyes with her hands. Those are a pair of rough, big hands, but they are the most delicate place in my heart. Composition of Those Rough Hands
In my memory, there is such a pair of hands.
It is so rough, so dry, and full of wrinkles.
It is so inconspicuous, but full of power.
When I was young, it held me, cared for me, gave me warmth, and protected me as I grew up; when I first became sensible, it began to work to earn money, support me in my studies, and let me follow Like other children, they are happy and growing up happily.
When I was in junior high school, the burden on my hands increased again, but I didn't know how to appreciate it. Instead, I used my hard-earned money to compare with my friends and to... Use the Internet to treat guests.
But the burden on his hands was heavy, and he endured it silently.
He never complained in front of me or had any dissatisfaction. He was originally a pair of white and tender hands, but for the life of our family and the growth of his lovely children, he did not work hard and worked hard. Work.
The pair of princess hands that were originally in the hands of the same age have changed little by little. Compared with the hands of the same age, they are at least ten years older.
When wrinkles slowly appeared on those hands, I also slowly grew up. Although I began to share its work, I could not restore her former whiteness and beauty.
But whenever she talks about her past life in front of me, he is always very happy; whenever he works, I always want to help him share the burden, but every time he refuses me, every time Every time it said it was not old yet and could still do some work, and said I didn’t need to worry about it.
Now that I am in the third grade of junior high school, I can already share a lot of things with him, but he still doesn’t let me do it. He is always afraid that I won’t have time to review, and he always tells me that I should work hard. Study, work at home, just have it, don't worry, every time when I see those rough hands when I go home, I have to tell it not to work too hard, to take care of yourself, he finally smiled and promised me, Promise me; however, whenever I go to school, he starts working tirelessly again; maybe, only when I really grow up, will he really stop and rest.
Those are a pair of rough hands, but in my heart, they are more beautiful than those white and tender hands, because they are for me and for our family who have put in countless sweats and worked hard. mother. A 400-word essay on my mother’s rough hands
My mother’s rough and warm hands My mother is an authentic rural woman. Although she is not tall, she has a pair of warm and dexterous hands. These hands are not too big. Small, but very agile in doing things.
My mother’s hands are very rough. This is because she works hard for the family day and night.
Every morning, whenever I wake up, my mother uses her rough hands to clean the room, prepare breakfast, and put it on the table waiting for me to eat breakfast; As soon as I get off work every day, my mother rides her bicycle to the market to buy vegetables. When she gets home, she immediately starts cooking delicious meals and waits for me to come home for dinner.
Then she swept the floor and washed clothes...
Keeping her busy.
Sometimes I accidentally drop the melon seed shells on the ground, and my mother will clean them up immediately, leaving no dead space.
When I was a child, my mother hugged me with her warm hands, patted me gently, and hummed a lullaby softly in her mouth to coax me into a sweet dream.
When I was sick, my mother always touched me with her rough and warm hands and gave me medicine.
For more than ten years, my mother has used her rough hands to decorate and build the home, which has brought happiness to our whole family and enabled me to have a warm and harmonious home! Now I'm grown up.
I am much more sensible than before. I know how to be grateful to my mother and how to lighten the burden on my mother so that she no longer has to endure as much hardship as before.
Ah! Although my mother's hands are rough, they are a pair of warm hands, a pair of great hands, and a pair of selfless hands. I love my mother! ... Composition "Holding Father's Rough Hands"
Composition "Holding Father's Rough Hands" My mother has a pair of slender hands, and she can give me a warm embrace; but my father only has a pair of rough hands. Hand, it has touched me gently countless times, full of tenderness.
It is such a pair of big and thick hands that support my entire home.
Seven years ago, a little life was born. It was those rough hands that changed my diapers countless times and rocked me in the cradle into sweet dreams.
Slowly, as I grew up, I became a little disobedient and loved to lose my temper with my parents.
Dad has a few wrinkles on his forehead and a few more white hairs on his hair.
It was those rough hands that made me understand a lot... I still remember how bright and round the moon was that night, and my father drove his family to the park for a walk.
Walking through the dazzling array of stalls on the street, I was fascinated.
A pair of beautiful hairpins caught my eye.
I picked it up, but my father urged me to leave quickly.
I said I would leave after buying it, but my father said he would buy it again when he came back.
I didn’t listen and cried loudly, insisting on buying it.
Dad looked livid, said nothing, and slapped me across the face.
"Why are you so disobedient? I told you to come back and buy it again.
"I blamed him, I hated him, and thought to myself: "Hit me in front of so many people. Are you still a qualified father?" I left angrily, squatting on the steps alone and crying. It was all his fault, all his fault! There seemed to be footsteps approaching, getting closer and closer.
A pair of rough hands passed over my head.
I couldn’t help but feel shocked and jumped up in shock, it was dad! "Leave me alone, why are you here?" "Yueyue, be obedient, you have grown up.
Dad shouldn't hit you in front of so many people.
But dad promised you to buy it when you come back. You have to be obedient! You have to save face for dad!" I burst into tears and hugged dad. "Dad, I was wrong. I'm sorry!" Those big hands rose up again and stroked my head.
It’s those hands, those familiar hands, how they supported a home for me and how they allowed me to grow well.
Aren’t they those rough hands? Aren’t you the one who broke my heart for *** but still made me happy? ---Father. Father's rough hands hold too much sadness or happiness, more like the criss-crossing field paths, covered with the dust of life, like a trill at the end of the season, extending to In my dream, these hands that break sweat into eight petals, these hands that are soaked in the fragrance of grass and wheat, these rough hands, these hands that tie my nerves, are getting weaker and weaker, and the earth's The color is similar. My father's hand looks more like a heavy thread-bound book. Once opened, I never want to close it again. I have read several key words in my life - labor, love and honesty in life. My father's rough hands made me cry. High school essay 600 words
My mother has a pair of slender hands, which can give me a warm embrace; but my father only has a pair of rough hands, which he touches gently countless times. Pass me, full of tenderness.
It is such a pair of big and thick hands that supports my entire home.
Seven years ago, a little life was born. It was those rough hands that changed my diapers countless times and rocked me in the cradle into sweet dreams.
Slowly, as I grew up, I became a little disobedient and loved to lose my temper with my parents.
Dad has a few wrinkles on his forehead and a few more white hairs on his hair.
It was those rough hands that made me understand a lot... I still remember how bright and round the moon was that night, and my father drove his family to the park for a walk.
Walking through the dazzling array of stalls on the street, I was fascinated.
A pair of beautiful hairpins caught my eye.
I picked it up, but my father urged me to leave quickly.
I said I would leave after buying it, but my father said he would buy it again when he came back.
I didn’t listen and cried loudly, insisting on buying it.
Dad looked livid, said nothing, and slapped me across the face.
"Why are you so disobedient? I told you to come back and buy it again.
"I blamed him, I hated him, and thought to myself: "Hit me in front of so many people. Are you still a qualified father?" I left angrily, squatting on the steps alone and crying. It was all his fault, all his fault! There seemed to be footsteps approaching, getting closer and closer.
A pair of rough hands passed over my head.
I couldn’t help but feel shocked and jumped up in shock, it was dad! "Leave me alone, why are you here?" "Yueyue, be obedient, you have grown up.
Dad shouldn't hit you in front of so many people.
But dad promised you to buy it when you come back, you have to be obedient! You have to save face for dad!" I burst into tears and hugged dad, "Dad, I was wrong. I'm sorry!" Those big hands rose up again and stroked my head.
Those hands, those familiar hands, how they supported a home for me and how they allowed me to grow well.
Aren’t they those rough hands? Isn’t he the one who broke my heart for *** but still made me happy? ---Father. A 600-word narrative essay on "I Can't Forget Your Rough Hands"
Expand all What kind of hands are those? ! It was thick and rough, with edges and corners, and the palms were full of frostbite cuts... My heart was sour, and the poem "The thread in the hands of a loving mother, the clothes on a wanderer's body" kept popping up in my mind... - Inscription on my family There is a small courtyard, which is full of flowers and plants planted by my mother. My mother often uses a large red plastic basin to do laundry in the courtyard.
When I was a child, I often watched my mother work in this small courtyard.
My mother is in her forties this year, and my father has also been laid off. Many of the responsibilities in the family need to be shouldered by my mother alone.
My mother works very neatly and never procrastinates.
One day in winter, it snowed heavily, and the fire at home was not very bright.
It’s just my room, but it’s extremely warm.
I know, it was given to me by my mother.
Because I study hard and seriously, my mother loves me very much.
But I didn't notice... Mother came in with a glass of water in her hand.
Pass it to me who is studying.
I was very tired from studying. I took the cup from my mother's hand, but accidentally touched my mother's hand.
My heart skipped a beat.
What kind of hands are those? ! It was thick and angular, and the palms were covered with frostbite wounds, and the wounds were covered with dried dark red blood...
My heart felt sour, and the poem "The thread in the hands of a loving mother, the clothes on the wanderer's body" kept popping up in my mind... Suddenly, my eyes became wet.
I feel so miserable! I held my mother in my arms, held her hand, and cried bitterly.
My mother also cried and said with choked sobs: "Son, Mom is sorry for you.
Mom couldn't let you live with your sister.
Your sister still has to work three jobs after going to college..." "Mom, we don't blame you.
My son must study hard! Don't worry, we won't live here anymore..." I said firmly. .
The two of us just kept holding each other and crying... Mother! You nurtured me with your deep love and held me up with a pair of strong arms! I will never forget - in winter, my mother's hands... Seeing my mother's rough hands made me cry 600-word high school essay
Expand all Mother's hands I am very familiar with Mother's hands .
My mother’s hands are very gentle. Whenever I cried when I was a child, my mother would touch me with her hands and I would stop crying obediently; sometimes, I felt a little When I feel itchy, my mother will use her hands to scratch it for me, and it feels so comfortable; of course, sometimes when I misbehave, my mother will be very angry, raise her hands high, and hit me on the buttocks. I don’t know why, but it seemed like my mother hit me hard, but it didn’t hurt at all.
Mom did not work overtime in the factory today, so she came back early.
But my mother didn’t rest when she got home.
I have to do laundry, cook, and clean all the time.
I was doing my homework upstairs, and suddenly I heard an "oops" sound. I went downstairs immediately after hearing the sound.
It turned out that my mother accidentally cut her finger while cutting vegetables and saw that her hand was bleeding.
I immediately ran upstairs, got a band-aid, and said to my mother: "Mom, come here, I will wrap it for you."
My mother smiled at me and nodded.
I first carefully washed my mother's fingers with clean water.
When I was washing my mother's hands, I found that my mother's hands seemed a little strange. My mother's hands used to be so smooth and soft.
But now it has become so rough, and there are still many calluses on the palms of my hands.
Seeing this, I felt a little sad. Mom has worked too hard! I carefully sucked my mother's fingers dry with a dry cloth, and carefully put the band-aid on it gently.
As soon as I finished wrapping it, my mother immediately retracted her hand.
Continue to do housework.
Although my mother’s hands are engraved with the vicissitudes of time and covered with old calluses, I love my mother’s hands, and I love my mother even more... Describe the rough hand touch
< p> Expand all His hands are broad and rough, rough and dark, covered with calluses, hard and numerous.The joints are clearly swollen and the fingers are thick and full of black dirt.
He always puts his hands flat on his knees. Except for the little finger, the other nails are cut very bald. Only when you look closely can you see that they are bitten with teeth.
After clenching tightly, the muscles and bones of the entire hand can be clearly seen.
Sorry, I haven’t finished reading the question. The following is the modified version 1.0 of my mother’s hands. After years of soaking in soap, they are wrinkled by water.
Probably for this reason, my mother’s hands are very white.
Mom’s hands are very thin and have protruding veins.
But my mother’s hands are very warm, like my gentle harbor.
I remember when I was a child, when I cried, it was my mother who used her hands to wipe away the tears from the corners of my eyes.
Those are a pair of rough hands, but this is the most delicate place in my heart.
...Composition about hands
Hands I have been observing my mother’s hands for more than a day or two. Those hands are what I can’t forget the most. That autumn, I asked my mother to Tickling me. Her hands were full of cracks and very rough; gently stroking my back with her hands was equivalent to scratching with my fingernails. It felt so comfortable and impressive. Now that I think about it, those hands were actually They are all traces of life! In winter, my mother's hands are even more powerful. Our family is not rich, and my father buys vegetables. Only my sister goes to work, and I still have to go to school. My mother has to go to the fields to pick and dig vegetables. Those rough hands Her hands were "beaten" and there were five or six gashes on one finger. It was painful to look at. Her hands were hot every night. If they were not hot, the gashes would become more severe and she would be unable to work. She was getting hot and hot. I didn’t dare to think about it anymore, but she seemed to regard hot water as cold water and seemed to feel no pain. My sister is busy at work and only comes home once every month or two. No matter how busy she is with housework, don’t expect her to do it. These tasks naturally returned to my mother's hands. My mother's hands are really capable. I remember that I had a lot of homework that day. I hurried home on my bicycle and the strap of my schoolbag broke. As I ran to the desk, I yelled: "Mom, schoolbag." The strap is broken, sew it for me!" Then I started to do my homework. After writing for a while, I thought: "Why haven't you come over for so long? I walked to the house and saw that my mother was concentrating on what I was doing. I was hiding by the door. On the side, through the crack in the door, I saw my mother wearing a pair of reading glasses. My mother has presbyopia. In order not to affect my study, she was sewing needles under the light. She accidentally pricked her hand, and it seemed to be pricked. It didn't hurt. She just frowned and continued to insert the needle. At this time, I saw small blood drops oozing out of her hands. My tears quickly flowed down. I quickly wiped away the tears. I couldn't help it. Yes, I opened the door gently: "Mom, let me do it!" "She looked at me, didn't say anything, and handed me the linen. I lowered my head and only looked at the sewing needle, but didn't dare to look at her hand, otherwise, my tears would come back. I remember one time it was Sunday and I had to wear school uniform on Monday. , the school uniform has not been washed yet, I did not ask my mother to wash it for me, I only took the time to do my homework, and planned to wash it myself after finishing it. But after I finished, I found that my mother had already washed half of it. I noticed her With rough hands, tears were just about to come back, but I restrained them again. I was so lustful that I didn’t dare to speak, for fear that I would shed tears again if I spoke. I quickly picked up a book and read it, and it took me a long time to find out that there was nothing wrong with it. I didn't see it. It was late at night, and I lay in bed unable to fall asleep for a long time. Quietly, I thought of my mother's rough hands again. The stainless steel fork fell out of my father's hand and hit the porcelain plate, coldly. The sound of the sound scared half of the delicious risotto out of my mouth. Dad seemed to be unable to bear it any longer and slowly took off his gloves. Under the black gloves, there were yellow calluses, purple flesh, and brown dead flesh. They were a pair of hands of many colors. There were The smell of copper was corroding, tearing the finger joints arrogantly, like stew, boiling every bit of pain into dad's hand. No wonder the fork slipped, stepped on the scar on the joint, and was thrown out by dad. . I heard that it is the hand of rich people, the serious kind. Maybe it is cleaning the toilet for too long, washing the dishes for too many days, grinding too many pairs of lenses, working, making money, working. Too many chemical detergents , mixed with the smell of copper, causing the source of the disease to arrogantly occupy the land in my father's hands like ants digging holes. Every time after taking a bath, my father would sit in the living room and apply the medicine, wearing gloves. It was sticky and slippery. The medicine is all over my hands, and it’s not easy to hold even a pair of gloves, let alone wearing them to help my dad put on gloves every day. This is my winter vacation routine. He always says that my glove-wearing skills are really good. During the days in the school dormitory, I always felt a little worried when I couldn't help my dad put on gloves. Because of my dad's hands, I saw my grandmother shed tears for the first time. Only then did I realize that there is a difference between shedding tears and shedding tears. In the evening when I returned to Kaohsiung, my father took off his gloves and applied ointment. My grandmother stood aside, expressionless, staring at my father's hands. At that time, I really thought she was "looking on with cold eyes." My parents were preparing to return to Taitung. At that time, I was muttering in my heart: "Grandma doesn't care about daddy!" I saw her grabbing her parents with her left and right hands, pulling her parents straight, and asking me to follow. When Shang was confused, grandma took off her shoes, She knelt down on the floor, smiled, and asked us to bow our heads and pray together. "Abba from the top of the sky..." He couldn't finish the sentence and burst into tears. That grandmother who asked us to believe in the Lord in everything, that strong Taiwanese female worker, that aggrieved woman The elder in Liton shed tears in front of us. She fell out without warning. She was not heartless, nor did she look on. Facing her son's hand, she suppressed her distressed helplessness, but the overflowing pain made her The moment we opened our mouths to pray, our weak side was revealed. Unlike my grandmother, my mother and I just cried quietly. Listening to my grandmother’s prayers, I thought about my father’s hands. Oh my God, when did Kaohsiung and Taitung become like this? Far away
My mother has a pair of dexterous and hard-working hands.
Mom’s hands are not big, but they support our entire family.
Every day, my mother got up early and worked in the fields at dusk, with almost no rest.
Mom’s hands are hard-working and dexterous hands.
I have new shoes to wear all year round.
Although the shoes made by my mother are not as good-looking as the leather shoes worn by my classmates, they are comfortable and durable.
Whenever we walk together, the shoes worn by others either have broken soles or cracks, but my shoes are always new and I have never made a fool of myself.
These are all my mother’s contributions.
I like to wear shoes made by my mother.
I am proud of my mother for having such hands.
Mom used her hands to mend, wash and cook our clothes.
The clothes she mended were so smooth, the clothes she washed were so clean, and the food she cooked was sweet and delicious.
My mother loves to be clean. She mops the floor, washes clothes, wipes the table and other household chores every day when she comes home.
Sometimes when you are tired from work, you just sit on the chair and lean back for a while and go back to work.
Mother’s hands gave us a clean home.
I like her hands.
Mom, I love you, and I want to praise your ordinary hands.
Thank you mom, thank you mom for your capable hands.
...
Please indicate the source for reprinting: Composition Network? Describe the rough hand feel