Childhood is a carefree song, accompanied by grandma's gently waving fan and a slightly sleepy lullaby, "On a moonlit night, white light shines on the baby's little bed..." I listened to the songs, fell asleep in a haze, and woke up again in a haze. My grandmother fell asleep gently next to me, and the bamboo fan was still clutched in her hand. I hummed that ballad and ran back and forth in the yard, singing.
When my father came back from school, he looked at me in surprise and said, "You can sing children's songs?" For me, all the joy in my childhood was my grandmother's sugar bowl and the sugar bowl inside. There are always endless candies. I know what poetry is and what song is. I glanced at my father and didn't understand what he was talking about.
Later, I entered my father’s elementary school and sat in the kindergarten class. The long braided sister with a red headband taught us to read over and over again, "Two or three miles away, there are four or five houses in Yancun, six or seven pavilions, and eighty or ninety flowers." I vaguely remembered the spring in my mind. At that time, my grandmother took me back to my parents' home. We were walking in the fields. We saw several villages in the distance, low houses, green smoke coming out of the chimneys on the roofs, and peach gardens blooming by the side of the road. Who The apricot blossoms at home stretched out from the wall, and bees buzzed and flew past my ears.
I am always playful. One moment I picked up a stone and held it in my hand. The next moment I squatted down and pulled out a small flower by the roadside. I didn’t want to go forward anyway. My grandmother was always pulling me in front, urging me to walk. Sometimes, she stopped, picked a peach blossom, put it on my ear, looked at me and smiled, and I smelled a faint fragrance. As we walked further, we saw the old uncle and grandfather with a long beard and a long pipe pot in his mouth. He stood at the edge of the village to pick us up with a smile. He is my grandmother’s brother, and he buys most of the candies in my grandmother’s sugar bowl.
Every time my sister with braids led us to read this poem, I would think of the scene when my uncle and grandpa came out of the village to pick up my grandmother and me, and I would sit in my seat and be stunned for a long time. The sister with long braids stretched out her hand to pat me. I raised my head, looked at her and smiled, and smelled the faint fragrance of peach blossoms from her hands.
When I returned home, my father saw that I was gradually enlightened. He found a thread-bound book from somewhere and taught me how to read poetry.
On days when he and I were not in school, we took out the square stool from my grandfather’s room and placed it in front of the main room. My father and I each had a small stool and sat around the square stool. My father One sentence, I followed it, and the first one I remember reading was "Goose, goose, song to the sky, white hair floats on the green water, and anthurium stirs the clear waves."
My father taught me this When I was writing the poem, I couldn't help but think of a goose that lived in the black grandmother's house in the middle of the village, with its slender neck and red paws. Every time I went to my grandmother's house and passed the road in the middle of the village, the goose stretched out its arms. It grew a neck and chased me, screaming "quack", which scared me so much that I ran away. Once when I was running slowly, I was bitten hard on my ankle by it, which caused pain for several days.
Now my father teaches me to read poetry. Every time I read a sentence, I try hard in my heart and put all my hatred for the goose into the words. Especially the three words "goose goose" made me grit my teeth when I read it. I even secretly stamped my feet under the square stool. My father noticed that I was in a bad mood and asked me what was wrong. I explained the whole story, which made my father laugh. Because of this small episode, the poem "Goose Goose" was firmly remembered in my heart.
Later, my father taught me many poems, such as "Grass grows in Liliyuan", "Jasper makes up a tree as high as a tree", "The grass grows and the oriole flies in the February sky" and so on. As time goes by, I have forgotten the specific details of teaching reading. But the only thing I can't forget is the square stool that was used as a desk. On those mornings when I was studying, the sun had just risen from the east and shone on my father's black hair. I squinted and looked at the old apricot tree in the yard. , shaking his head and studying with his father. If I still have some love for poetry today, the seed must have been sown by my father in the spring of my childhood.
My father taught me a few poems. From then on, a treasure house of poems opened in front of me. I wandered there freely, appreciating the beauty of poems and absorbing my own nutrition.
I stood on the podium, told my students about my dream of poetry, and led them to read it sentence by sentence. When the sound of reading resounded throughout the classroom, I seemed to have returned to my childhood, hearing my grandmother's song "White Light on the Moon Night" and the poem "Goose Goose" that my father taught me. That big white goose once represented my fear of the world in my childhood. The little girl who was afraid of it has grown up, but where is that goose now?
"On a moonlit night, white light shines on the baby's little bed..." I hummed my grandmother's song and fell asleep again. In the dream, there was my peach garden, my old apricot tree, my old grandmother, and my uncle and his long pipe.
…
The songs of childhood sound every time I wake up from a dream in the middle of the night. There are tears hanging on my cheeks, but I don’t want to wipe them away for a long time. Because there is always a time in life that you can never go back to.
Its name is - childhood.