Pain is the best teacher of youth

Chapter 21 Cherish the affection of parents and leave no regrets (4)
Every time, the aunt next door will help me make pickles, put them in the lunch box, and give them to my mother.After that, my mother had to walk nearly a hundred miles of mountain roads to school, rain or shine.It's really strange to say that when doing this, Niang never made a mistake, and it is difficult for me to explain how it happened.Perhaps, this is the innate maternal love!She suffered accusations, faults, and mistreatment, but her love for her daughter was not affected in the slightest, but she was not crazy at all for what she did for me.Like all normal mothers in the world, she has tolerance and tolerance for her children.

One Sunday, my mother came to school, and not only brought me vegetables, but also a lot of jujubes.I ate one and asked her with a smile: "Sweet and sour, where did it come from?" Mother said: "I...I picked it..." I said: "Mother, you are really getting more and more capable!" The mother listened, and giggled silly.

When my mother left the school, I repeatedly told her to be careful, and my mother agreed repeatedly.Unexpectedly, this hasty parting will be the last time my mother and I will see each other in our lives.

When I saw my mother again, she was lying quietly at the foot of the mountain, with some jujubes in her pocket, and one tightly clutched in her hand, the blood on her body had solidified into black.I was distraught, hugged my mother tightly, and cried: "Mother, mother, I really shouldn't say that this jujube is delicious! It's me who hurt you, it's me who hurt you... You haven't enjoyed a day of happiness yet." Why did you leave just like that... Mother..." My cry echoed at the foot of the silent mountain, as if God was also heartbroken for Mother.

In the third year after my mother left, I received an admission letter from Peking University.I came to my mother's grave with the admission letter, read to her the words on it, and burned a lot of paper money on her lonely grave, crying and saying: "Mother, my daughter has grown up and is going to college. Yes, did you hear that? You can smile at Jiuquan now!"

No matter what kind of reputation, status, happiness, or honor in the world, nothing compares to staying with my mother, even if she doesn't know a word, even if she eats "red" (sorghum pancakes) all day long. / Master of Chinese Studies Ji Xianlin

The tolerance in the silence

When I first entered the third year of high school, for some reason, I suddenly developed a strong sense of weariness.At that time, all I could think about was to go home and farm with my father.After I had this idea, I didn't pay much attention to my studies. In class, I either lost my mind or fell asleep. My academic performance quickly slipped, and I became a poor student in the class.Occasionally, I would do some tricks in class, and the teacher would arrange me to sit at the end of the classroom in a fit of anger, sitting alone at a table, like a forgotten corner.

In the first monthly exam, I was ranked last in the class.Judging from the grades and circumstances at the time, it would be a miracle to pass the exam and get a high school diploma, let alone the university entrance exam.My mood suddenly sank to the bottom. What's worse, my mother heard about my study situation from nowhere.When I went home on weekends, I kept whispering in my ear: "My fourth brother, your brothers and sisters are not educated, and our whole family can only count on you. You have to study hard and go to university. If you stay in this village to farm Working, the taste is not good!"

On weekdays, the person who nagged me the most about my studies was my father, who always asked questions every time he came back.But this time, listening to his mother's nagging, he didn't say a word.I think maybe my father is completely disappointed in me!Thinking of this, my mood became even more depressed, and I just wanted to break the can.

That summer, my hometown suffered from a drought that had never happened in a century, and the corn withered as soon as it reached ankle height.One Saturday, I went home to collect living expenses. After dinner, my father didn’t let me review my homework at home. Instead, he gave me a bucket of water and asked me to water the corn in the field with him.

My family's cornfield is in the terraced fields halfway up the mountain, and the well for drawing water is at the foot of the mountain, and it takes six miles to go back and forth.My father and I each carried a load of water, with my father in front and me behind, walking like this.At first, I was quite happy in my heart, thinking that carrying water is an easy task, much easier than studying.A load of water is about [-] to [-] catties. I didn't feel very tired in the first few loads of water, but after seven or eight loads, my shoulders couldn't stand it anymore. It was red, swollen and painful from the weight of the load.

During the period, several times I wanted to ask my father to stop and rest for a while, but seeing that my father had no intention of resting, I held back and gritted my teeth.Picking and picking, I actually felt resentment in my heart. I felt that my father was too cruel and asked me to do such heavy physical work without asking me if I was tired.Finally, when it was late in the evening, my father let go and said to go home.After a busy afternoon, I only watered half of the land.

Back home with heavy steps, I was so tired that I lay on the kang, not wanting to move.I felt sore in my waist and legs, and my shoulders seemed to be on fire, and I didn't even dare to turn over.My mother called me to have dinner, how can I still eat?I didn't sleep well all night, and I kept blaming my father in my heart.

Early the next morning, my father got up and asked me to go with him to water the cornfield.Moaning and whimpering, I got up, 1 unhappy in my heart, picked up the bucket in a fit of anger, and swayed away.I gritted my teeth, counted, and carried water load after load, and it took me a whole day to finish watering the rest of the land.I was so tired that my whole body was falling apart, and my shoulders were swollen.At night, the pain was so painful that I couldn't close my eyes at all. What made me even more angry was that my father never said a word of comfort from the beginning to the end.

On Monday morning, I got up at dawn, took the living expenses from my mother, and carried some dry food. I didn't say anything to my father, and went to school angrily.After three days in school, I vaguely felt better physically and calmed down a lot.At night, lying on the bed in the dormitory, I carefully turned over while thinking about the scene of working in the fields on weekends, and I really realized the hardships and difficulties of doing farm work.At the same time, I also realized a truth: No matter what you do, as long as you have a firm goal and persist to the end, you can succeed.It's like carrying water to irrigate the field. The water is carried one by one, and the fields are poured one by one. There will always be a time when the watering is finished.

Thinking of this, I regained my confidence in learning and vowed to change my laziness in the past and catch up.With increasing diligence, my grades have improved rapidly.Three months later, I left that "forgotten corner" and was transferred to the third row; half a year later, my grades had jumped to the forefront of the class.

After the results of the college entrance examination came down, I lived up to expectations and was successfully admitted to a normal school, becoming the only person in the village who was admitted to a university.My parents, brothers and sisters were all very happy, and joked many times that it was fortunate that my father gave me a "labor education class".In fact, when I think of that incident of watering the ground, I still have a heart for my father. For a long time, whenever I saw that bucket of water, I felt a sense of resentment in my heart.

Many years later, my father left us.When talking about the past with my mother, I mentioned the matter of carrying water to irrigate the cornfield, and complained that my father was too cruel, neither comforting me nor letting me rest-I really had the heart to let me pick that in one go. Carry more water.After hearing this, the mother sighed deeply and said, "Fourth brother, don't blame your father. That night, your father listened to you babbling on the kang, and he felt uncomfortable all night, and he couldn't even eat. Don't you worry about it?" The bucket of water looks as big as your father's load, but in fact, your load is no less than ten catties lighter than your father's load!"

"Ah..." I was shocked, unable to speak for a while, I just felt my nose was sore, and my tears couldn't help but flow down.For so many years, I have been blaming my father wrongly. Now I understand my father's difficulties back then, but I never had the opportunity to say "I'm sorry" to him, nor did I have time to say "Thank you" to him.

Father, my good father, he used the simplest and most effective "labor education" to arouse my interest and confidence in reading.My father's silence is not acquiescence but tolerance. In that tolerance, there is his deep love for me and his good intentions.

As a father, the greatest joy is that in his lifetime, he can inspire and educate his children according to the path he has traveled. / French thinker Montaigne

a love-hate heart

When I mentioned my father, there were only two words that came to my mind - "tyrant".

Before the age of 18, I felt like life was running away again and again, panting and running wildly even when I was sleeping, with my father chasing me with a stick behind me.Every time, when I was about to be caught up and beaten up by him, I woke up suddenly.Several times, when I opened my eyes, my father was really standing in front of my bed, his expression clearly warning me that if I didn’t get up to read again, he would beat me mercilessly.

As a boy, I naturally love saving face, but my father never seems to understand.Sometimes, in front of the girl next door, he would chase me in the yard, making me jump around and make a mess all over the place. Seeing his slaps come down viciously, I had no choice but to "slip" and run out, no matter what he did. Shouting, I pretended not to hear.

I am not a disobedient child, nor do I want to stubbornly confront my father.Since I am his son, this fact cannot be changed, and I have to suffer all kinds of spiritual grievances since I was a child, so all I can do is to try my best to protect my body and prevent myself from being beaten.So, every time my father raised his hand, I was ready to run.With this kind of defense, the bruises on my body will naturally be less, but the furniture in the house is often used by me as a prop to resist attacks.

When my father hit me, he was really merciless.Having suffered losses twice, I have long remembered the lessons of blood.There is no need for me to talk back to my father in order to understand the momentary verbal hatred.In my heart, I always feel that he is a cruel and unqualified father.

(End of this chapter)