My initial ideal was just a vicious oath. At that time, I was just six years old. One noon, my father, who had worked in the well team for more than a year, suddenly appeared at home. My father has a strong smell of the wild sun. He is tall and straight, dark and strong, like a drilling tower standing in the wind, pointing to the blue sky on the Gobi Desert. Dad's bright smile, solid arms and warm embrace make me feel a real happiness and joy. I like sitting on my father's lap and listening to his stories. I like my father sticking a beard on my face to make me giggle. I prefer my father holding my little hand for a walk at dusk. I even proudly show off to others: this is my father, not your father!
However, more than a week later, my happy sky was full of dark clouds that my father was leaving. I cried and begged my father not to leave. My father solemnly said to me: My father is an oil worker, and my father will go far away to find oil.
I don't care so much. I cry, I roll, and I drag my father's clothes to stop him from leaving. However, my father resolutely left. I watched my father get into the car and disappear into the flying dust. I cried my heart out. I chased the distant car desperately in the dust. I don't understand what that thing called "oil" is, and why I can keep my father away from his only daughter without hesitation. I cried my eyes out. After waking up, I swore with indignation: When I grow up, I will fly a plane and take my father home every day!
To be exact, this is just a child's oath and cannot be called an ideal. The first life wish formed by the concept of "ideal" in my mind was in my primary school. For that era, the only entertainment I remember was watching movies. It is an open-air cinema, with simple stone strips and low brick walls, which can accommodate four or five hundred people. Every time a movie is shown, Deng Shi goes in by ticket. The corridors are full of people who don't have tickets but get in, and the walls are full of people who can't get in. As soon as the small blackboard of the movie preview was hung at noon, the small window selling tickets before 6 pm was crowded with people. At six o'clock sharp, the small window opened and a young sister with big wavy hair and fashionable clothes sat in it. Cosmetics such as lipstick were rare in the early 1980s, but that big sister wore bright lipstick every day, and her red pout opened and closed, jumping up and down like a red dancing shoe. Her little hand stretched out, her nails were coated with a thick layer of nail polish like red paint, and she always wore a lot of shiny fake jewelry on her neck and ears, so she sat by the window and sold tickets slowly and leisurely. Occasionally, the phone at her hand rang. She answered the phone, giggled, hung up the phone, took out some tickets and put them in the drawer. People who bought tickets outside didn't want to, and they all condemned her "back door" behavior. Some men of five sizes and three thicknesses waved their fists and cursed the ugly words. Not annoyed, she slammed the small window. It was suddenly quiet outside, and she took the initiative to queue up. Just open the window and continue to sell tickets. I stood by, full of admiration and yearning for my sister in this window. How amazing she is! So many people, so rough and strong men, acted like primary school students at the small window. How beautiful she is, shining with dazzling brilliance from head to toe; How great she is. She has an office and a telephone, and someone makes her giggle on the phone. I almost worship her. Every afternoon after school, I give up those games that I never tire of playing, and run to the gate of the cinema to see my sister in the window. Many times there are no movies at night and the windows are still open. The elder sister sat by the window, holding a small mirror, painting eyebrows, applying lipstick and manicure, looking around in front of the mirror. Most of the time, while knitting red and green wool balls, she hummed songs in her mouth, all of which were movie songs. The most frequently sung songs are "Ding Dong in Spring" and "Our life is full of sunshine". The song tinkled from her little red mouth. It was really the sunshine between heaven and earth.
During that time, I had a crush on my sister who sold movie tickets with the obsession and fanaticism of a 10-year-old girl. I can't help longing for everything in that window and loving it from the bottom of my heart.
Coincidentally, the teacher assigned an essay topic called "My Ideal". I did not hesitate to write in my composition: My ideal is to be a conductor in a cinema when I grow up. I devoted all my enthusiasm to describe my love for this ideal and how beautiful it is. After the composition was handed in, I eagerly waited for the arrival of the composition evaluation class, expecting this composition to be read to the whole class by the teacher as a model essay. However, in composition evaluation, the teacher read several students' compositions in succession, all of which are the lofty ideals of being a scientist, a doctor and a soldier. It was not until the end of class that the teacher said, "Some students don't know what's going on in their heads?" Why is her ideal to be a film conductor? That's all you can do. Don't go to school at all Sell movie tickets now! The whole class burst into laughter and guessed who would sell the movie tickets. I pretended to be calm but was hit hard, and my heart was desolate.
I still quietly went to see the window selling movie tickets and my sister, still stubbornly determined my ideal, and at the same time gritted my teeth and vowed: when I sell tickets, I will definitely sell the worst tickets to the Chinese teacher! At this time, my ideal is more beautiful and dazzling because of loneliness and stubbornness, and it has a tragic color.