It was the spring of 1988, and my hometown was electrified, and finally the lighting bulb was used, completely ending the history of lighting kerosene lamps from generation to generation. Men, women and children in the village are scrambling to tell each other, just like the New Year, and they can't help laughing when they see each other. They stare at the bright light bulb at home, just like studying their first love over and over again, but they can't get enough of it!
For as long as I can remember, the lighting in the countryside at night is kerosene lamps. Every household has at least one kerosene lamp, which is hung on the wall or placed on the mud table. Light it with a match when it is used, and blow it out when it is not used. The job of kerosene lamps is simple. First, find a small medicine bottle or an empty bottle with ink, and open the lid. Some use scissors to cut out a small piece of iron sheet the size of a bottle cap, drill a hole in the middle, and then find a thin piece of iron sheet about 5 cm wide and roll it into a cylindrical spool, which is slightly longer than the oil lamp bottle. Put it in the eye of a small iron piece to make the two closely connected. Then, put the pre-synthesized cotton thread. There is also a way to save trouble. Simply put the wick in the bottle without using a small iron piece, not to mention piercing. The size of the wick can be adjusted. If it is big, lift the small iron piece with one hand and pat it gently with the other. If you want to get smaller, just squat down the small piece of iron a few times. Every time the sun sets and the smoke from the farmhouse rises, the kerosene lamps of every household light up. Some are busy cooking and eating, some are busy washing pots, some are busy feeding pigs, and the adults are busy around, all in order to save some kerosene money.
Children can't sleep, so they go out to play games with mad dogs in twos and threes, take off their coats and pile them on the firewood pile, just for fun, until the adults at home call home to sleep, and then they go home with their clothes on, dripping with water and their hair steaming out like a "little donkey"; Middle-aged people visit their neighbors' homes, sit in the yard for a while, and talk about their short family, their feet are as cold as cats, and they have to go home; Older people are even less sleepy. They moved the spinning wheel to the door of the hall, wrapped their legs in cotton-padded jackets and sat on the woven lawn. By the bright moonlight outside, their right hand turned the spinning wheel in circles, and their left hand stretched up and down, working under the music of spinning wheel, and spinning a cotton ear in the middle of the night before they would go to sleep.
Our older children have gone to school, and the teacher gives us homework every day. Sometimes, we are asked to write new words in the text, and each new word is written ten times. If it is less than once, we will be punished. There are also extracurricular math homework, which can't be found in the book. It was all arranged by the teacher. These homework must be finished on the same day. Before class the next day, the monitor should check them one by one and then report to the teacher. What has been completed will be praised in class. If they can't finish, their heads will hang down like frosted eggplant. If the teacher criticizes them, they have to inform their parents to come to school, which is very humiliating. They are bound to get a broom when they get home. I am introverted and afraid of making a fool of myself. I always finish my homework before going to bed. Over time, I developed the good habit of studying by myself at night. I study under kerosene lamps, wash my face with cold water when I doze off, and continue my study. Many times, my parents urged me to sleep, and the kerosene lamp creaked and the kerosene in the lamp became shorter one by one. The flame of soybean is like a ripe "red date", and under the action of airflow, it gently dances the unburned black smoke cloud.
Whenever I get up in the morning, I cough a little, my mouth is full of thick black phlegm, my nose is dirty, which makes people dizzy and often makes me depressed in class. Writing here, I naturally think of the scene of kerosene lamp lighting and mischief. That night, my mother made a pot of miscellaneous noodles paper, long tender cabbage and a few drops of sesame oil for our sister. I have never eaten such a good meal at ordinary times, and my mouth is watering early! Especially when cooking, the fragrance runs out of the gap in the lid, which is very attractive. We gathered around the kitchen pot table, pestering adults to lift the pot quickly. Adults let us count, from one to five hundred, and the steamed buns will be cooked after counting. How can I calculate it? We count every three jumps. My brother and I sat in front of the pot, waiting to eat and count. My mother repeatedly arranged for us to go to the main room later. As soon as my mother left, we were eager to try, scrambling to get the pot and steamed buns. I don't know whose coat sleeve knocked over the kerosene lamp on the pot table, and the kerosene in the lamp poured into the pot, and the room was suddenly dark. We know that we have caused a disaster. A man took a steamed stuffed bun and began to "take refuge" in his grandmother's house.
Later, I was admitted to the commune high school. On the day of registration, my father sent me to school. I see that the high school campus is very different from the housing in the village. The house here is red brick and red wall, and the indoor and outdoor floors are concrete without soil. The classroom is tall and spacious, with four-meter-long electric batons hanging on it, which is very atmospheric. At night, the lights inside and outside the campus are bright as day, which is in sharp contrast with the darkness of the farmers' homes across the road. My father told me enviously that he really didn't want to go home. I live and study here, trying to suck the sweet spring of knowledge. Here I begin to raise my hopes and dreams and help me plug in the wings of literature!
I walked from kerosene lamp to electric lamp for half a century. It was the kerosene lamp that lit me up and embarked on the road of diligent study, where I collected knowledge and studied hard. It was that kerosene lamp that helped me to light up my ideal and see the dawn when I was confused and helpless countless times.
Kerosene lamp, kerosene lamp, you are really a "street lamp" in my life voyage. You give silently, expecting nothing in return, burning yourself, but illuminating others! Aren't you our parents in the world? For the sake of children, you have worked hard and have no regrets! In my heart, my parents' "lights" will never go out.