Looking at my father, he always seems so tall; Looking at my father, his shoulders always look so safe; Looking at my father, his face always seems so kind; Looking at my father ... I don't know since when it has become my habit to look up at my father.
This kind of parallelism sentence should not be used at the beginning of writing a family composition, but can be written directly from the bottom.
When I was a child, I was my father's sidekick. At that time, I was very active and couldn't control myself for a moment. I only know how to play with my father. My little hand tightly holds his wide and warm hand, feeling the warmth of his palm, and I don't want to let go. My round eyes look at my father's back from time to time. My father is not very tall and straight, even a little stout, but he is straight, full of confidence and strength. At present, I feel that the change is full of security. I think even if the sky falls, dad can carry it for me. I felt my confidence doubled and even my head was lifted unconsciously.
The calendar at home was torn page by page and replaced with another one. I have full confidence in my father. After several years of madness, I gradually left my father's side and made a number of friends of my own. Naturally, my friend replaced my father. I spent my time on my friend bit by bit, but forgot my father.
Looking up, I found my father. I learned to be like a child, but suddenly I found that my father was not what he used to be-he was old! At that time, my father's body, which has always been tall and straight in my memory, has long been slightly hunched over by the burden of life, and his back has always been full of self-confidence, but it has been smoothed over by the trivial things in life and looks slightly hunched over. When he came to me, he reminded me of the fallen leaves in the autumn wind. When I took my father's hand again, was it still the hand I knew and cherished? That's a pair of hands that I'm completely unfamiliar with. The shocking blue veins on my hand are beating my heart, and the thick cocoon on my palm is shaking my soul.
Yes, I am growing up and my father is getting old. My eyes are moist and my nose is sour. My father bought everything for me today with his love, his health and everything, but I never complained. We had some rebellions in adolescence, which made the two generations have more generation gaps and hardly had time to talk to him. But my father is working hard for us silently, and his back is a little lonely. Maybe he didn't expect anything. Even if I talk to him, I always say I have no time.
Looking up at my father again, I know that my father's devotion and love to me are worth looking up to and returning with my life. In my heart, my father's figure has a height that no one can surpass.