In those years, my father was busy all day and had little free time. Maybe life is too hard and tired, maybe there are too many troubles. Every time my father comes home from work, he is either silent or angry with his family.
At that time, none of our brothers and sisters dared to be with their father. Occasionally, a few people laugh and play at home. Once they find their father coming back from work, they will immediately be silent, or stand against the wall unnaturally for fear that his father will get angry.
My father is not tall and timid, and he works outside for many days. But at home, the father is very fierce to the children and seems to have no feelings for us and our mother. In addition, at that time, mom and dad often quarreled, so we were usually very angry with dad. A little older, whenever my mother cries about her sufferings in tears, I want to persuade her to separate from her father, although my mother has never said anything about separation.
I don't know when my resentment against my father began. But when I think about it later, it must have something to do with my father's endless work. My father seems to be looking for every opportunity to work, and he is also looking for every opportunity to take us to work, as if afraid of our rest.
In junior high school, during the slack season, my father would take me out to pull shrimp chops at night (shrimp chops are a kind of fishing gear). Pulling shrimp chops at night is not only tiring and sleepy, but also scary. The night with the moon is better. On a moonless night, I pull a long rope on the rugged and winding river bank like a tracker, always imagining that a monster will come at me from the distant darkness. At that time, my father would not know my inner fear. He is on the small wooden boat at the other end of the rope, controlling the shrimp chops by the faint light of the wind lantern. Shrimp chops have to be pulled in the water for a long time before they are put away, and all the fish, shrimp and aquatic debris inside are dumped. At this time, I can rest on the shore for a while, and then I will continue to pull after Dad cleans up the shrimp chops. Although it sometimes takes hours to pull a catty or two of fish and shrimp, my father always persists patiently until late at night.
At that time, my brothers and even my mother hated my father working in the dark so early. He often took us with him. But my father won't give us more rest time because of our resentment. He still works day and night and often takes us to work.
Only when it snows at the end of winter will my father's work pace slow down a little. At this time, he doesn't have to go out to work, but he can only rub straw ropes, repair farm tools and make fishing nets at home. My father was a rough man, but the fishing nets he made at that time were beautiful.
In the cold snow season, my father sometimes gives us wooden toys made of wood left over from repairing farm tools. Although it is only a small bench with three legs, it is a cylindrical pier in Xiao Mu. But my father seems to be very happy when he is making these little toys. When it's done, he will happily give it to us. Only in this way can we feel a little father's love.
In the snowy season, my mother will fry some broad beans and the like for us when she is free. When my mother is happy, she will gently hum the folk song "Being a soldier in December": "Being a soldier in the first month, I will persuade my wife, my wife …" At this time, the family can sit around and chat, and only then can I hear my father's laughter occasionally.
But there are not many such warm days. In those difficult years, it was difficult for mom and dad to have leisure time. At that time, although the father was tired all day, he never got the love of his children. Even when I grow up, it is difficult to call my father face to face. We only hate and fear him. At that time, in our opinion, all the contradictions in the family were caused by the father; The hard days at home are also brought to us by my father.
Later years let me gradually understand my father's suffering, and often think of my father's love for wooden toys. However, there is an old saying: "The tree wants to be quiet, but the wind will not stop. The son wants to raise it, but he doesn't kiss it." In a trance, my father reluctantly left us.