Father’s Prose Poems


…       This is the text in my father’s diary. This is the prose poem that his life left behind. After several decades, I watched tears flow, but my father is already as old as an old newspaper. The story on it is the lyrics of Li Jian’s prose poem written by his father. Every time I listen to this song, I have tears in my eyes.. My father is already old like an old newspaper. The story above is a lifetime. My father is old and his hair has been white for more than half. Due to the old problem of lumbago, father always walks with half rickets, which makes him look a lot shorter. He often sits in a fixed position on the sofa watching TV without saying a word.. Every time I open the door to enter, I can see his silhouette, thin and old, like a statue that has been left untouched for a long time in the light and shadow..    My father is gentle, reserved and taciturn. In my impression, he will hardly get angry, let alone clash with others. Except that I was bullied by a senior boy once in primary school, he rushed to the school and kicked the boy’s ass.. In the next few decades, my father has never been so angry. Even if the storm raged, even if the hardships of life made him gasp for breath, he would grind his teeth and insist on walking on the thorny road without complaining or crying..    My father’s culture is not high, because he was born a rich peasant, he was deprived of the opportunity to go to junior high school, so only the primary school culture. I have seen his graduation photo of primary school. He is tall and thin, wearing tight old clothes and his trousers hanging high. I don’t understand. How can a rich peasant get away with a family that can’t even find the right clothes for photography??    At that time, my grandfather had already died, leaving my great – grandparents, my grandmother and four children, and my father was the eldest and only boy. After graduating from primary school, I held up this tottering home with my grandmother. I can only rely on her sporadic narration and imagination to make up for the suffering I suffered in the middle.. Because in my father’s mouth, I have never heard the words’ bitter, difficult, tired’, and in his view everything is necessary in the course of life.    My father, who was deprived of the opportunity to study, did not only pay attention to the loess and blue sky from now on. He became a scholar in the village by self – study. His family asked my father to write materials, applications and even petitions. Even people from other villages asked my father to help with this and that.. And my father never refused, and even if he was tired, he was polite to people.. Later, my father worked in the brigade headquarters, then transferred to the commune ( later renamed town office ) and worked until he retired..    When I was a child, my favorite thing was to listen to my father’s stories. He had so many stories, what kind of loyalty to the country, what kind of loyalty to Taoyuan, what kind of timely rain and black whirlwind. I don’t know how many stories my father has in mind, and I can’t pay them out. Sitting on his father’s leg after dinner, listening to his father’s story, he sometimes puts his mouth in a mess. Time passes by little by little in this warm atmosphere, and happiness at this moment becomes eternal.. Every time I finish listening to my father’s story, I go back to Joseph with the children. Although I have been talking about it in various ways, I am really proud to look at the children’s envious eyes.. Even when I have a dispute with my children about something, I also want to pull them and say,’ Go, ask my father,’, as if my father is omniscient and omnipotent..    I went to college in Changsha, where there seems to be floods every year. One year during the summer vacation, days of heavy rain flooded the railway and could not buy train tickets to go home. I stayed in school for a week. My parents were worried and watched the news every day to see if the flood had subsided. Later, my father called me and told me not to be afraid of spending money and buy a plane ticket to go home. On the day I came home, my father went to the airport to pick me up. He saw that I didn’t say a word, took my luggage and took me out.. Sitting in the car, he was in the front row and I was in the back row. I saw his eyes red in the rearview mirror of the car and tried hard not to let tears fall down. My nose is also sour, and I try very hard not to let tears fall down. My father, my mountain-like father, was full of tears because he was worried about his daughter..    After my father retired, he served my grandmother at home with all his heart, as well as my sister, a vegetable. My mother finally freed herself and could go to the square dance and the park with the old ladies every day.. A few more years later, my grandmother left and my sister also left. My father was finally relieved from his daily life of carrying excrement and urine, but I saw him suddenly getting old, with fewer black hair and more wrinkles.. In addition to getting up early to climb the mountain every day, the rest of the time is to sit on the sofa and watch TV without saying a word..    The year before last, my family suffered a sudden disaster. My husband and I fought Shui Piao for many years and also owed a debt. The family I worked so hard to build returned to before liberation overnight.. More serious than economic losses are psychological pressure, disappointment to society and confusion to the future.. At that time, I couldn’t sleep well, but I still went to dinner with my parents as usual.. At the dinner table, watching me eat hard to swallow, my 70 – year – old father said,’ You should eat, you should sleep, what can’t pass, and your father. Your father is not old yet, and he can still help you carry it.” I choked up and tried my best not to let tears fall into my rice bowl..    Looking back on my father’s life is also like a prose poem, without luxuriant rhetoric and elaborate decoration. However, he told me with his tenacity and love that he would trip over bumpy roads and get hurt by thorns, but as long as his spirit did not fall, there was hope..    My father is old. He is already old like a newspaper. The story above is a lifetime!