The first autumn wind had just blown, and the cold was still warm. Just on Sunday, I came to my father's house as usual and stayed with him routinely.
My father sat alone in the yard, guarding a pile of sorghum ears in front of his eyes, skillfully cleaning the empty sorghum shells on the ears, and preparing to make a cooking broom. More than an hour passed, and his father placed a pile of sorghum spikes like a hill. I said, "Daddy, a lot, what are you doing so many times?" Father didn't lift his head, still carefully cleaned up, and said lightly, "Just a few more, wait for me to go, you use slowly. Eight I ’m in my teens, how many years can I still have it? ”Yeah, my father is already 80 years old, maybe he ’s really not coming, especially in the last two years, his father ’s health is obviously not as good as before. A lot older. Today, my old father is still thinking about doing more for his children! My heart shook, tears blurred my eyes, and a warm stream of happiness came to my heart. The father apparently didn't realize my feelings, but just silently cleaned the bright seedlings with his calloused hands. That contentment seemed to allow his son to use his own cooking broom, which is his greatest happiness.
Today, although I am not confused, in life, I always complain about my lack of happiness. Happiness is actually very simple. It happens to us all the time, and we ignore her gently. In fact, happiness may be the few broomsticks that my father put, maybe the father sent him to the hospital by himself when he was a child, or maybe the son who is looking back home from the village ... a picture in tears Clearly came to my mind.
It was a cold winter night when I was in first grade, and I had a sudden stomach bleeding. At that time, there were only bicycles and no tractor in a village, let alone a car. My father only rode a bicycle by himself, let my brother hold me, and took us both to the Nancun Township Hospital. The house leak happened to be rainy night. Who knows, halfway, the bicycle was heavy because of heavy load, and the tires were flat, so my father had to ride a bicycle without a bit of air, and walked nearly ten miles to reach the hospital. I can't remember how I felt at the time, but so far, I can't imagine what kind of scene it is! When I think of these, my tears are always out of control. They are tears of happiness, even more grateful ones!
Later, when my mother died, I went to Pingdu to go to normal school and went home once a month. I still clearly remember that every Saturday night at the end of the month, the thin figure of the bridgehead father looking at his son home ...
The autumn sun was slanting on his father's vicissitudes. His father was like a statue. How hard was his face! For his children, he struggled all his life, but the old man asked nothing but just silently Burning self for children.
The tears of happiness blurred my eyes again ...
Happiness is like a light cup of tea. She does not have the grandeur of the mountains and the majesticness of the sea, but happiness is warm. Only if you taste carefully can you feel the sweetness.
Happiness is actually very simple!