/kloc-in the autumn of 0/949, there was a five-year-old boy under the old laurel tree at the head of the country, waiting for his father's arrival every day. The boy remembers that his father was taken away by a group of soldiers before Tomb-Sweeping Day in those years, and the young people in the same village were taken away together before they could hide. Since then, many children have been waiting for their father to come home under the laurel tree, from Tomb-Sweeping Day until autumn. That year, when the rice was just heading, the abducted people went home one after another, and the number of children waiting under the laurel tree gradually decreased. According to the people who went home first, they were just about to head for Guilin, the provincial capital, when they heard that the * * * army had broken through the natural barrier of the Yangtze River. Everyone expected that it would be run away, so they waited for an opportunity to escape. But the boy's father, because he was more educated, was taken with him by the chief, and he had no chance to escape and didn't know where to go. The boy became the last person to wait under the laurel tree, and sometimes his mother would come. There happened to be a temple under the laurel tree. On the first or fifteenth day of the first lunar month, the mother will come to the temple to burn incense and pray, hoping that God will be merciful and let the father of the child come home safely.
On the Mid-Autumn Festival that year, the boy followed his mother who came to burn incense and came to the village head under the osmanthus tree early. At this time, osmanthus trees are in full bloom. The boy, who had been used to waiting for a long time, didn't care about these fragrant flowers, but only stared at the road that extended to the mountain pass in front of the village. In the past, someone else's father appeared there. I only remember that someone floated there, and there was a commotion under the laurel tree, and then someone ran out of the team to meet their relatives who had been deserters in Guangxi with tears. How eager the boy is to be the lucky one to run out of the team one day. However, the endless waiting for half a year made him almost desperate, and his father did not appear at that mountain pass after all. However, that day was destined to make his mood fluctuate greatly: when he came home depressed, he found his father already at home! He was ragged and scrawny, with a new corn cob in his hand. It turned out that he came home from the mountain road behind the village! He said that he walked on the mountain road for more than a month before going home. When he is hungry, he eats raw corn. This "educated" Guangxi deserter is my grandfather, and the boy waiting is my father. After the liberation of Guangxi, my grandfather was arranged to be a Chinese teacher in the primary school in the town. Everyone in the village knows that our country has been renamed "China people and country", which is what my grandfather told them.
Thirty years have passed in a blink of an eye. In the autumn of 1979, I was five years old. Like my father, I waited for my father to come back under the laurel tree at the head of the village every day. There are many reasons for waiting. If dad goes to the market in the late afternoon, he will buy some delicious candy cakes when he comes back. Often, these sugar cakes are "hidden" in the bamboo basket hanging on dad's bicycle. Just open the newspaper covered on the basket and you can see delicious broken food. Then I will climb into the back seat of my bike and follow my dad home in the envious eyes of others. At that time, my father was a barefoot doctor. Every day, he goes out on time according to the time when the members go to work, and goes to various groups in the village to make rounds. At night, I always wait for my father to come back under the laurel tree at the head of the village. Although he didn't bring anything delicious back most of the time, he occasionally met with good luck. Sometimes he just cured the villagers who planted melons and fruits in the private plot, and they would ask the "good doctor" father to bring one or two fruits home. At that time, he didn't. 1979 in the autumn, the responsible fields were not distributed to households, but I remember that many people in the village planted wheat on their own plots that year. Just that autumn, after the wheat harvest, I heard that a new shop opened in the town to sell noodles, which could be exchanged directly with wheat without food stamps. It was an era when noodles were eaten as a dish. The news exploded in the mountain village, and the villagers took their own wheat to the town to change their faces. A child like me once came to the village head under the laurel tree and waited for noodles to enter the village with many adults and children. In the evening, a motorcade carrying Dandan Noodles returned to the village in a mighty way. When the sun goes down, smoke billows from the gravel road in front of the village. This picture has actually become the most beautiful rural scenery in my impression. At that time, our family didn't harvest much wheat and changed little flour, but, as my father said, this is just the beginning, and there will be more hope in the future. Since then, people waiting under the laurel tree are full of hope.
Another 30 years passed. On the National Day of 2009, the child just turned four and a half years old. He doesn't know what the old osmanthus tree in the village is waiting for. Many people in the village are working outside. Well-off life, the popularity of the telephone, so that the waiting under the laurel tree will not continue. A few days ago, I took my children to send moon cakes back to my hometown. I saw that there were many weeds under the old laurel tree, and it was hard to find the "prosperity" of the past. When telling stories to children recently at night, he always wants to hear my childhood trivia. He remembers that I told the story that "Dad" was waiting for "Grandpa" to buy noodles under the laurel tree. When he saw the weeds under the old laurel tree, he said, "Dad, there is no place to sit under the tree. How can you wait? " After listening to his words, I noticed that the slate on which we once sat was covered with mud, and it was quite "years" to see the haunted people waiting under the tree. I asked him, "Have you waited for anyone?" He blurted out, "Yes, just wait for my parents to pick me up from kindergarten after school on Friday." Oh, so this is his waiting? My wife and I have an appointment with him. We are free on Friday night, so we can take him to KFC. In fact, he is waiting for us to pick him up after school every afternoon. We always bring him a gadget, including milk, chicken legs or small toys. But in his mind, waiting for food and playing is not worth it. Only going to KFC, a beautiful thing that is more "emotional" in his heart, is worth letting him stand in the fence outside the classroom. Exactly: the same waiting, different feelings.
Sixty years after the founding of New China, it is the same as waiting, but three generations have different moods. I wonder what kind of bright future my grandchildren are waiting for in the next 30 years.