When I was a child, I used to hold my father's hand to go fishing by the river, and I often unreasonable climbed to my father's shoulder and shouted loudly to ride a horse. Although my father sometimes said angrily: this girl is so naughty, come down quickly! But every time I am happy to run two laps with my calves.
Once, when he was running, he suddenly stopped, and something crawled warmly down his back. Hey, hey, I'm sorry, I peed all over my father. Father and daughter happily patted and beat each other, and the unforgettable cabin was full of deep love and deep love.
Slowly, I grew up and seldom went fishing with my father, and I didn't bother to ride a horse. I also often learn to look like adults, hiding in my own attic, pressing joy, pain, depression and grief at the bottom of my heart, and locking my deep love for my father into my tightly closed heart.
Watching my father's temples slowly appear gray hair, that pair of sparkling eyes have become dim. He looked at the distant youth on the runway of life and reluctantly retired at home. He no longer had the tension and noise of the world.
In the past, he was so brave and confident that he led hundreds of people to work hard on the hot land of the Yunnan-Guizhou Plateau, making this piece of wasteland once infested by jackals stand up patches of factories and buildings. Now, the loneliness and loneliness of old age haunt him, so that he often doesn't know what to do.
In the past, he was so cheerful and active, shuttling back and forth at foreign aid project talks, bringing television to the desert and growing a variety of Chinese vegetables in the African rainforest. Now, in the face of a suddenly quiet living environment, he always doesn't know what to say.
How many times have I tried my daughter's heart to do what I had to do for him. What I can see is still a pair of expectant eyes.
How many times, I really want to turn that lonely and hard-working figure, say to him dad, I love you! However, a maiden reserve and cowardice blocked it, and in the end, I said nothing.
In the summer of 1995, I finally received a notice to go abroad. Under the pressure of excitement and nostalgia, I came to my father. He was hanging an intravenous drip in the hospital, and he looked at me with a nostalgic and expectant look for a long time and said, "son, when you grow up, go and fly, but pay more attention to yourself."
Well, you should take care, too! I can't say anything.
With a feeling of unease, I walked slowly out of the door, tears could not stop falling.
Am I just leaving? No, no! I can't go like this. I want to go back and explain to him the feelings I have suppressed and buried for so many years.
So I burst out from my heart with a fervent call:
Dad, ─, Dad! Ran quickly to the door of the ward.
Dad turned his head into the bed, held out his wrinkled hand and waved it to me. I, in the end, said nothing.
For three years, that hand, that weathered hand, has been in my heart! Sapporo!
In the summer of 1998, I finally returned home to visit my relatives. With how much I miss and how much I love in three years, I flew to my father's side. My father's hair became more gray and his eyes were filled with joy. It was a very quiet life, and it suddenly became warm and active.
It was a rare get-together, and unwittingly, I should have boarded a plane that was far away.
The day before I left, my father said softly to me, "you are blown by the wind as gently as a leaf. Before you have a good conversation with us, you are blown away by the wind." He finished and smiled softly again. That smile, contains how many words to say, contains how much helplessness and expectation.
I was at a loss in my heart, yes! Three years, my heart around the countless words and that speechless feelings, when can ah? Looking at my father's gray hair and weather-beaten face, I finally suppressed the upsurge in my heart and kissed my father's face deeply. Dad, I love you!
Dad turned his head to one side and twitched his shoulders. Son, I have been waiting for a long time and waiting for many days. That's what I said.
He turned his head. I didn't see my father's tears. He held me in his arms, but I cried. In my father's arms, I found the kind of feeling when I was a child, so happy, so comforting.
There is no call like lightning and thunder, no tumultuous passion, love, always at home, in the place where there is no need for splendor, always in the speechless feelings.
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