As you grow up day by day, when you look back on the road you have traveled, those past events will be deposited deep in your memory. A warning from a mother, a smile from a teacher; a setback in life, a realization in study; a cloud in the sky, a ray of dawn... Recalling the past will move life and make life wonderful...
Please use "Past Events" as the topic, draft your own title, and write an article.
Requirements: (1) There is no restriction on genre except poetry and drama. (2) No less than 600 words. (3) Real names of people and schools cannot appear in the article.
Thinking of my father’s old face
The night was so quiet, the soft moonlight spread all over the ground; the night was so deep, and my father’s snoring was like a moving song. The moonlight song echoes in the night sky. Looking at my sleeping father's face, my thoughts drifted to that holy night sky...
When I was a child, I was always proud to have such a father, because he could tell many nice stories. , can pinch many beautiful little animals. Every day after school, I would ride on my father's shoulders, shaking my head like a victorious little general. The envious looks from my classmates made me develop a deep love for my father.
However, as time goes by and age grows, this feeling gradually fades away, replaced by a vague sense of inferiority and sadness. This idea originated from filling out the file form when I was in middle school. When other students were writing in the "father" column boldly - factory director, manager, engineer, I could only timidly write "worker". When handing in the form, I held it tightly in my hand for fear that others would see and laugh at me. Ah, father, why aren't you the director, manager, engineer...
The weather turned colder, and my father said with concern: "It's cold, so wear more clothes." "Oh, I understand." I replied nonchalantly. I looked up suddenly, and my father's old face and concerned eyes came into my sight. My heart trembled slightly...
The night is still so deep and so quiet; the moon is still so round and so bright. The figure standing in the cold wind is something I can't forget for a long time...
I just remember that it was so cold that night, and the moist air seemed to be mixed with raindrops. As soon as the bell rang, I rushed out of the classroom because I was freezing. Outside, it was dark, with several old trees that had lost all their leaves shivering in the cold wind. Oh, that figure standing in the cold wind: like a green pine, like a green cypress... He tried his best to search among the crowd, letting the cold wind lift his coat and get into his trouser legs. It turns out that my father knew that I was afraid of the dark, so he came to pick me up like he did when he was a child...
Oh, the wind started, the moon rose, and under the moonlight, I could see my father’s face clearly: Gao High cheekbones, deep-set eyes, dry wrinkled skin... Suddenly, I realized what an unfilial daughter I was. Father, you have obviously aged and lost weight over the years. Can you forgive your daughter for her unfilial piety?
The moon rose higher, and against the moonlight, my father’s old face became clearer.
Oh, love is deep in the heart...
Feet
Every beautiful dusk, beside an endless river, there will always be a young person. The seventy-year-old, stooped old man was sitting on a faded old wicker chair, gazing at the sky dyed red by the setting sun and the frosty leaves reddened by the autumn wind. He looked down at his pitifully small feet and sighed, unable to do anything. She is my respectable and amiable great-grandmother.
I remember when I was a child, I often snuggled next to my great-grandmother and asked her innocently: "Why do you always sigh?" Why are your feet so small and short like mine? \'But somehow, whenever she talked about my great-grandma's feet, my great-grandma's tears were like a flood, pouring out of her yellow-brown, dull eyes. She didn't say anything, just He stroked my head with slightly trembling hands. Whenever this happens, my mother always says to me with a serious look: "Child, you are ignorant, don't ask questions, just go and play by yourself!" \'However, instead of shaking my curiosity at all, it sprouted in my young heart. As I grow older, I want to uncover the mysterious veil more and more.
By chance, I finally uncovered the mystery in my heart. It was a very dark night. I had something to go to see my great-grandmother. As soon as I ran to the door excitedly, an almost fainting scene appeared in front of me. From the almost endless cloth, I saw the clothes wrapped inside. The little feet hanging on it: short and thin, like a weaving shuttle. The skin on the feet was like old tree bark, with veins protruding one after another, and the five toes were forced to be squeezed together. Oh, what terrible feet! Suddenly, I understood: Why my great-grandmother could only sit quietly and not walk around! Why does my great-grandmother need my mother’s support in daily life? Why does she keep sighing! I raised my hazy eyes and found that my grandma was even older. Her weather-beaten face was like an eggplant that had been left for a long time, with wrinkles crawling everywhere, like carvings with knives. They were so deep and so many, it seemed that every wrinkle Every wrinkle hides a tortuous experience; the passing years have mercilessly bent my great-grandma’s waist.
I was stunned: This is my great-grandmother - a great-grandmother who shouldered the burden of life with her thin shoulders and raised four children with her own strength! Tears couldn't help but burst into my eyes...
Now, my great-grandma has passed away for many years. All these things have become the past, getting further and further away from me, and will never come back. And deep in my memory, I can often clearly see: Beside the gurgling river, my amiable great-grandmother sat on the yellowed wicker chair, silently watching the beautiful sunset, cool and cool. The wind is telling an ancient and touching story...
Reminiscing about the third grade of junior high school
When I stood in front of the finish line of the third grade of junior high school, I had a lot of emotions. Looking back on the special period of the third grade of junior high school, I feel that the third grade of junior high school is like a song - a song that is difficult to understand, sing, and learn.
It’s the third year of junior high school, and there is no more climbing and rolling on the green field, no more hard thinking in front of the "cars", "horses" and "cannons"; farewell to the leisure time of weekends, farewell to the happy time of holidays . I wanted to embrace the dusty football again and enter the world of black and white; I wanted to put the chessboard on the chessboard and fight the opponent in the dark... But, it’s the third year of junior high school! Every word of advice from parents is a share of relatives and friends. The entrustment and the teacher’s warnings have all turned into an invisible thick wall, isolating us from the world. We are only accompanied by mountains of books and seas of topics. Only by holding the oar of diligence and using hard work as the boat can we achieve success. Swim in this ocean of knowledge.
The world is full of contradictions - even though we have lost a lot, we have also gained a lot. Parents who are not well-off now spend a lot of money on "Melatonin" and "Life-Hong Kong" to supplement their children's nutrition. This is the selfless care of our parents for us; the teacher always repeats "Go home and review carefully" every night after school. In other words, this is kind care for us. With this, even if we lose a lot, we will say - it was worth it.
Now is the third year of junior high school, and friendship seems to be special. No one wants to bring the conflicts between the first and second grade students into the third year of junior high school, because both of them know that their days together are numbered. I opened the English textbook under the tree in the morning, and a piece of paper slipped quietly: "It's the third year of junior high school, let's make up!" This short sentence melted the iceberg for several years. This is the true expression of friendship in the third year of junior high school.
We are in the third grade of junior high school, but we are still a group of fifteen or sixteen-year-old teenagers, so we might as well steal some leisure time while being busy. At the debate, we were eloquent and eloquent; on the podium, we were eloquent and eloquent; in the stadium, we were jumping and lively. ...
There are many, many past events from the third grade of junior high school. As I face graduation, they are jumping around in my mind like jumping fish, which makes me excited and unforgettable. But I know that hope is still ahead - the dream is still far away and the road is still long. I will definitely move forward bravely along the footsteps of the third grade of junior high school and never hesitate.
Forever Bicycles
In every city in China, every morning, you will see children riding bicycles to school in the streets and alleys. The most common bicycle is type 28, which is tall and big. Most of the people who ride this kind of bike are fathers. Children on bicycles, boys like to sit on the crossbar in front of the bicycle, as if to imply that they will face the world in the future, and their father will be their support. Girls like to sit in the back of cars, which seems to indicate that their lives are much calmer than boys and they need more care, and their father is their most reliable shield.
In my memory, that eternal scene will appear from time to time. My father was riding a bicycle. The bicycle was a very ordinary type 28, which was tall and big. There was a boy on his back in front of the bicycle. The bicycle was always moving slowly, letting other two-wheeled or four-wheeled bicycles pass by in a hurry. An unusual sense of serenity and leisure. In the morning, the father took his son to school. The son was sitting in front of the car, looking at the street with sleepy eyes. The father and son were silent all the way. When the sun set, the father slowly took his son home. The son was in high spirits along the way and recounted everything that happened in school. The father would occasionally ask his son if he was paying attention in class and if the teacher praised him... But most of the time, the father would listen to his son quietly and ride slowly on his bike - a different kind of peace and leisure.
Gradually, the son grew up. He doesn't like to ride a bicycle much anymore when going to and from school because he often has to bend down and sit on a narrow beam, which is really uncomfortable. My father's words increased day by day, but he still expressed concern and advice such as "pay attention in class and don't run around after school."
Finally one day, the father gained weight and the son grew taller. Naturally, my son has his own bicycle, a beautiful mountain bike. Going to and from school is always a blast. My father's bicycle, which was so old that it was already out of date, was parked silently in the corner of the carport. The handlebars, beams, and rims that were always polished shiny by my father were already covered with thick dust. And the flat tires looked so tired and weak... My father's bicycle was already old! It's time for idleness.
During occasional outings, my father would push the old bicycle out of the carport, wipe off the dust, inflate it, lubricate it, adjust the brakes, and then hit the road. The scene was so familiar and intimate.
Oh, I miss my father’s bicycle. That forever bike! It has carried silent family affection and eternal happiness.