My Father, My Hero

I often hear people say that the first hero in a boy's heart is his own father, and my childhood was no exception. There is a photo album at home with a picture of my father in military uniform when he was young, with his eyes and awe-inspiring appearance, and a three-star on his lapel pin, giving the impression of a young and strong officer in his prime. For me in my early childhood, this was not just an ordinary photo, but the capital I bragged about in my circle of friends in the 1970s. I would point to the photo and tell them that my father was an officer many years ago, when the children next door and schoolmates came to play at home.

The memories of my childhood are soaked in my heart, and I say that the joy is too much, and the sorrow is not enough, but it is just an ordinary experience in life. My father's bicycle was more like a walking home, and he often carried our family to the cinema, the lighted stadium, and the bathhouse. While watching movies was my mother's favorite, my father was a good basketball player, always the main player on the court, and when he was on the court, we, mother and son, became his friends and cheerleaders as a matter of course. And going to the bathhouse was a must every week in the winter of those days, and I always envied my elder brother at this time, because I was two or three years older, so I was able to scrub myself. I was sadly held down by my father under the faucet, soaped from head to toe, and then rubbed with his big, strong hands. My father used to slap me on the buttocks after I was cleaned and dried, and this slap was what I looked forward to the most in the whole bathing process, as if it was a code that meant I could go out and lie down on a chair with the cashier and yell "wallet and watch, hand it over to the locker for safekeeping".

The most enjoyable part was going to my great aunt's place in the military division, which was more than ten kilometers away from our house, and there was no post for a large part of the journey, so I didn't have to come down and walk, and could enjoy the excitement of speed. I sat on the crossbar in front of the bike, my brother was next to me, and my mother sat sideways on the back frame. When I was happy, I would keep pressing the bike bell and shouting, "Go!" At this time, my father would pedal as if he was on fire, often sweating when he arrived at my sister-in-law's house, but he just smiled wryly in the face of my grandmother's scorn and never defended himself.

I have one more memory of bicycles, and as I grew up, I was no longer willing to sit on the bars. One weekend afternoon, my father took me to the gymnasium and after a few simple instructions, he taught me how to ride a bike, from slow to fast, from rusty to slightly skilled, holding the back frame. That late autumn afternoon, I don't know how many laps my father ran around the stadium with me, but I remember he lay on the grass in the middle of the field for a long time.

The father's interest in chess, ball games, cycling, swimming, all the interests and hobbies that a boy should be exposed to, are all because of his father's initiation, so in the eyes of the young son, the father is omnipotent.

There comes a time when every father walks down the altar of his son's heroes. It was a family visit to my father's adoptive mother, and I heard her talk to my aunt about my father's situation in the army, which was completely different from what I thought. To defend my father's heroic image, I had to go up and correct them: "My father was an officer in the army, or at least a company commander!" Grandma grunted and said without expression, "My grandson, your father called his leader a squad leader from beginning to end during his years in the army. He was an apprentice electrician and was recruited to play basketball in the army because he was tall and big. But he had also represented the 30 million people of Hubei in the national competition, although he did not get a ranking." How is this possible? Perhaps she saw my confusion, she continued, "You are because of that photo, right? Several local comrades in your father's army each have one exactly the same, that they borrowed the instructor's clothes to take a picture together."

What happened later is no longer important, only feel defeated at the time mood inexplicably melancholy. In addition to the disappointment of the father, more is the grandmother's resentment, very puzzled why she could not allow a child to carry a beautiful heart, must want to destroy it with their own hands and then quickly. It was not until many years later at her funeral that I talked to my father about this matter, and he said after a moment of silence: "Your grandmother had a hard life, no children, your aunt and I just foster in her name. Don't hold a grudge against her. It's enough to remember someone's goodness, so that you don't feel tired."

When I was young, I felt that my father did not say much, and the times when I could talk like this were after all few. The usual father always taught our brothers more by example than by word, and as long as they made a mistake, they would be picked up by the arm on the buttocks and smacked a few times, but it was mostly thunder and rain, seemingly with teeth and claws, but in fact it was irrelevant.

I remember the last time I tasted my father's old fist was in high school. It was a summer afternoon, I told my father to go swimming, he shook his head no, I insisted to go. It feels like there is no transition of the standoff, my father suddenly became furious, rushed over and grabbed my arm, because I understand his nature, I did not resist, openly accept it, but in the heart of the thought: you fight well, it is like going to a restaurant, first bought the bill, eat up some peace of mind. Perhaps my carefree attitude has angered him, my father was really hands, actually broke the watch band on his wrist, but ultimately did not stop me at home.

The pleasant in the river has long dispersed the pain of the flesh, in my happy mid-stream, the wave of the boat when I inadvertently glimpsed a distant river bank stood a lonely and familiar figure. It was my father, a retired basketball soldier, a state cadre who should be working at his desk at this time, but like a javelin poking at the sunny riverbank, with a kind of look at this side with a tired or despondent eyes.

I lost interest in swimming to the river alone, picking up the clothes on the steps to go back, my father did not greet me, pushing his bicycle to follow, a pair of silent people. Afterwards, my father and I did not mention this. I see the green hills more charming, expected green hills see me should be like this. The father and son's hearts should have been connected, in my opinion, the father's anger is out of love, blame, forgive the father will be confident that his son will not resent him for this matter. But the complicated eyes of the river let me realize: I finally hurt my father, hurt a father should be the dignity, from then on, my father was much milder to me.

Father's life, in the work of many transfers. The poor first lady did not get any extra respect from my father because of her husband's status, but was often criticized by him for his incompetence at work. I don't want to maliciously speculate here about some of my father's job transfers back then, and he was soon sent down to the third cotton mill. It was more than ten years before he returned to the government's Economic Committee, where he had been in charge of transportation and education.

At that time, the Traffic Division was under the jurisdiction of the Municipal Transportation Bureau, the Port Authority, the Post Office, the railway station and the airport, which was a hot department according to today's words. I remember one day my father went to a dinner with his comrades and came home looking gloomy, my mother asked the reason, my father told me that his comrades were not passing through Hubei to bond with their comrades, but from the south a boat and bridge group rushed over, for the Yangtze River bridge construction is still in planning, I hope to be able to father's relationship to facilitate the traffic department in charge of this matter. Can imagine the awkwardness of the meal, although the father to the Commission is only policy guidance, can not directly interfere with the specific business reason politely declined the request of comrades. But the reason for my father's bad mood at that time was not the pain of his former comrade's reckless party principles, but the rejection of a son's account in a southern provincial city and a fully furnished mansion of more than 100 square meters. Although our family was living in a thirty-six square meter room converted from a government guest house with no kitchen or bathroom. Years later I wondered if the choice at that dinner was a difficult one. Father, if you look at the current situation, and then give you a chance to start over, then now I am not in the south somewhere on a large balcony sipping morning tea? And now the Jingzhou Yangtze River Bridge will be a completely different scene? You don't have to answer, you don't have to answer! I just know that this is another clear evidence of the little people changing history.

The list of such things in my father's work is endless. In addition to the filial respect of the family's children and nephews, my father did not get a box of cigarettes, a bottle of wine, or a penny from anyone. As far as I can remember, the only gift my father ever received was a pair of fishing rods, which was given to him by his former subordinate department after his retirement in the name of caring for the cultural life of old comrades after retirement. It was a gift from his former subordinate department in the name of caring for the cultural life of old comrades after retirement. In the past, there were many visitors at home, also to exchange culture, such as history and culture, wine culture, tea ceremony, even to send mahjong to a public servant is also waving a folk culture flag to visit the door, but also never see my father smile a two. Father a word to solve our doubts: "In the past, in office, such as a man with a jade. Today, when I am idle, it is harmless to the country and to people. If we don't get along with each other, I'm afraid we will really become a dictator. I will gladly accept any such beautiful thing in the future". It's a pity that from now on the door can be closed, those old swallows in front of the hall in the past, perhaps according to the change of the wind letter migrated to a warmer place.

After my father retired, he had a lot of time to refine his cooking skills. Since the death of my grandmother, among the many chores of the family, my father chose to cook, nearly thirty years of immersion, had accumulated some experience, coupled with the abundance of supplies, children and grandchildren have become a blessing to the mouth. My mother's taste is light and sweet, my brother's family, I am spicy, my father is aware of all of them, cooking will have to be a mix and match.

I don't know if it's the unique subtlety of my father's generation, or the paternal reserve given to them by thousands of years of traditional culture, but in any case, we brothers never got his face-to-face approval. But fortunately, we still had our mother, from whom we learned that our father would talk about even the smallest of strengths, so I was thinking that it was probably from this that we knew our son better than our father.

But strangely enough, our fathers have a common problem of intergenerational parenting. They are too shy to express their licking nature in their sons, and often pour it out to their grandchildren like a duck. The nephew is still in infancy, it will get him a lot of fleshy nicknames, and toddler, but also love can not be released, often held in the arms to teach him to babble, even naps can not be wrapped in their own quilt.

The nephew was more than three years old, it, as usual, his father carried him out to turn the street. Generally speaking, buy some snacks, sit in the stroller will turn around, not more than an hour or two before and after, after all, there is a family waiting for him to cook. But that day was already dark but no one had been seen, unlike today when everyone has a phone handy for contact. My mother was a little worried when she didn't get any news, but then my brother said, "Don't worry, it's not like you're delayed in playing somewhere, so I'll cook, and you go check the street."

Out the door but a few hundred meters to see the grandfather and grandson sitting on the roadside lounge chairs, nephew holding a toy, the father took off his jacket and rested on the back of the chair, holding a cigarette, is smiling at the nephew. I came close to them to find, the father saw me and laughed: "Oh, really can not engage, and now this little dog's fat, one breath can not go back, only sit down to smoke a cigarette to rest." I complained that my father was too accommodating to the children, while urging them to hurry home. The father put out the cigarette butt in his hand and squatted down to the shoulder a pat: "puppy, on". I just want to stop, my father seems to anticipate the general hand wave: "You do not care, we agreed to have a beginning and an end." I know that my father is stubborn up is a tendon, no one can stop, so I just have to sigh lightly, holding his jacket and follow behind.

I was sitting on my father's neck when I was a child, and I was afraid of falling as he walked down the court, and I tugged on his black hair with my tender hands.

The finger looks old! Looking at my father's white hair in the wind, slightly hunched back, I realized that this is where my nephew has grown fat? It is clear that my father, who walks like the wind and stands like a pine, has grown old. In the past, the willow was planted in the south of the country. Now look at the shaking down, mournful river pool. The tree is like this, how can people be embarrassed!

Father slowly become old, should have children and grandchildren around the knee, to take care of the elderly. However, fate played a big joke on him; his elder brother met with a great disaster and was imprisoned, and his sister-in-law, who was married for the second time, left her sons and daughters with cerebral palsy and was never heard from again. The eldest nephew became an adult and stayed in Beijing to work, so the burden of caring for the youngest nephew with cerebral palsy fell on his elderly parents again.

The young nephew was born with a cerebellar deficiency and was bedridden for a long time. When he was first brought in, skin and bones, head as big as a bucket, covered with bedsores, the mother saw the tears came out. In addition, the young nephew's organs were failing and he could not absorb calcium, so he could not even grow his teeth. My father had to feed him every day with pork liver, meat, fresh fish and eggs chopped into minced meat with japonica rice and vegetable leaves cooked into a thick porridge, and my mother also scraped various fruits into a paste with a spoon to give him nutrition. Food is still okay, but as the young nephew grew up, bathing became the biggest problem, the young nephew is difficult to sit and hard to stand, like a boneless person, parents can only hold a wash, and occasionally change hands, a bath finished, parents will be tired half a day can not move. If this is a few years down the road, the difficulties can be imagined.

Occasionally, there were times when I was happy in the midst of suffering, and if I came home, my mother would tell me that my young nephew had grown a few pounds and a few taels, and that the proportions of his head had become more normal. At first, I wondered how my nephew could be measured so accurately, since there was no pan weighing at home and he could not stand up. Later, I learned that the mother first weighed her own weight, and then held her nephew on the scale, minus his own weight, a modern version of Cao Chong weighing the elephant. In this way, along with the slow recovery of their nephew's physical appearance, the parents would ignite a thirst for miracles.

Perhaps it was because my young nephew with cerebral palsy did not want to drag his elderly grandparents down, or perhaps it was because of the destiny that we are all born with, my young nephew finally closed his eyes in the evening of January 9, 2018, just after he turned 10 years old. After the experience of sending my parents to their old age, my father grew older and older.

The unbearable parting in life often makes people cherish the present, and my father has been more attached to his children and grandchildren since then. No matter which city the nephew performed in, my father would watch the local weather forecast on time and told my mother to let the nephew increase and decrease his clothing. For me, my father is mostly weibo @, he knows I have a bad habit, black and white, afraid to disturb my sleep, so rarely phone. The only thing that I can tell you is that I saw fresh river shrimp at the market today, so I bought some and waited for you to come back for dinner. The content varies. I usually go back to visit my parents on weekends, my father worried that I usually too much trouble lazy to run, will add some careful in the WeChat: "today leek fried snail, with bean paste, your mother does not eat, you do not come back, waste a pity." The company's main business is to provide a wide range of products and services, such as: "I have cooked heart and lung soup today, you can come back and help me clean up the garbage on my phone, it's stuck." Where this reason, I then could not refuse. I can always feel the smile of satisfaction on his face after receiving my affirmative answer.

As long as there is my permission to come home, rain or shine, I can always see my father in shadow on the wooden chair under the eaves of the gatehouse, looking at the intersection of my return home with fascination. My parents live on the seventh floor, there is no elevator, it is not easy to go up and down. Every time he was afraid that I would complain, he would rush ahead to explain: "I came down to smoke a cigarette, so as not to smoke your mother." My heart was clear, my mother and he had been married for 50 years, why did she ever dislike him for smoking? The only reason for waiting downstairs was to see my unworthy son a few minutes earlier.

I have no intention of saying anything. At this time, my father would generally use his jagged old hands to hand over a cigarette: "You take a break, smoke a cigarette and then we go up, just one or two vegetables not fried, put aside for a long time easy to compost yellow." Looking at his arm a piece of jagged spots, I said to myself in my heart: this is not an age spot strike? This is the frosty knife of the years carved on my father's body heavy vicissitudes of the years. And the pitying gaze on his face made me wonder: what kind of power made my father's vigorous steel turn into the tender heart of his children and grandchildren today? And in the years since then, how many midnight dreams, thinking about this scene always can not help but weep and sob.

When the number of people on my father's cell phone address book is getting smaller and smaller, I can't help but feel the emotion of burning the cyanide, things hurt their class. Finally, my father solemnly gathered my mother and I together to repeat the bereaved family: "No rescue, no memorial service, no tombstone. Ashes in front of the graves of parents and parents-in-law slightly scattered a little to comfort the filial thoughts, the rest is scattered into the river back to nature".

My father died very suddenly. I thought it was a cardiovascular disease caused by the cold weather, so I planned to send him to the hospital to recuperate with some medicine for a few days and then go home for the New Year, but I didn't expect that the MRI would show an advanced brain tumor and there was no need for surgery. Although the years are merciless and life is unpredictable, I still could not accept such a result in the face of my own father.

So, I sternly forbade anyone to reveal his true condition to him. It was not that my father could not face it honestly, but I deeply understood that the natural law of living from death itself is a great irony of life, and the only thing one can take comfort from is the uncertainty of the return date. Why should I let him extinguish those hopes in his heart? After all, he was still stroking his mother's face in the hospital room, saying that he would take her on a trip when he got well; after all, he was still worried about whether he would be able to prepare sausages and bacon for his grandchildren in Beijing before the year was out; after all, he was still worried about whether his eldest son in prison was safe; or perhaps he had hoped that I, his son, would finally be able to add a son and a daughter to his family to ease the pain of losing his grandchildren in his old age.

On his deathbed, my father was sometimes awake and sometimes confused because of the tumor pressing on the nerves in his brain. When he was awake, he would think about his aunts who were also sick. The youngest aunt was sick but still able to walk, so she would come to the hospital room every day to ask him about his health. The second aunt was very sick and far away in Wuhan, so fortunately the younger aunt was able to video him when he was awake, so he was able to have a last look at his siblings over the phone. The eldest aunt is three years older than my father and has been frail for many years, but she was also assisted by her daughter and son-in-law to the bed, and told my father her heartfelt feelings. When he was confused, his father tried to struggle out of bed and went to the kitchen to add some salt and skim the froth for his grandchildren's lotus root rib soup, not remembering that he was in a hospital room and had lost the ability to walk.

Relatives or remaining sorrow, others have also sung. Father, you finally left, with infinite longing for all your relatives, with the pursuit of life, calmly left us. You have explained to me the essential truth of the terms father, life and human being with your ordinary and full life. Father, if a son were to evaluate you, I would not label you as hard-working, honorable, clean and so on, then I would use Mencius' phrase "not ashamed of the sky, not above the people" as the conclusion of your life's personal values, here in the sky, in the country, in the people, in the work, here in the people, in the parents, in the hands, in the wife, in the children and in the friends.

Father, tomorrow is your anniversary, since you did not leave a tombstone, then the right to son of this memory as your belated letter to the ground, to the sky, even if the ghosts and gods, will also respect you a thousand feet without branches, open as main.

What is the fatherless father? Father, can you still hear the words of your son? No matter where you live, even if you fall into the Yellow Springs, I hope your soul knows, and that you can promise us a father-son relationship in the next life!