After two generations of pain

  Time is a cruel thing after all, it can destroy everything effortlessly. Such as a long-lasting feeling, a delicate sculpture, a person’s appearance, or an elongated shadow.
  Before my senior internship was over, my father kept calling me to ask when I would go home. His tone was soft and soft, with a little boyish expectation. Because I was busy making materials, I was naturally impatient with his urging. I told him hurriedly that I would buy a ticket and go home after the internship. Don’t always urge me like this.
  Probably the tone was too perfunctory. When my father spoke again, I could clearly hear the loss of his tone. The joy was also reduced to a simple call, and then he hung up the phone.
  At that time, I didn’t understand his hypocrisy at all, and even complained about his petty temperament in my heart. He didn’t understand my hardships in life, and he couldn’t see my struggling with the monster of life. He wanted to keep me in captivity, lock him beside him, and guard him.
  We all feel that we have changed each other. I am no longer the obedient and well-controlled little cotton-padded jacket in his impression, and he is no longer the omniscient and omnipotent Superman in my memory. We are so similar, and It’s that alienation.
  The plane landed at Xianyang International Airport and it was terribly cold. I haven’t adjusted to this cold, and the cell phone in the bag has started desperately clamoring. Needless to say, this must be my father’s phone again. On the day when he learned that my internship was over, he urged me with the frequency of five calls per day and quickly bought a ticket! Hurry home! Hurry up!
  I kept moving in his hurry, like a top spinning a top. I hate this rhythm, and I hate him who made me look like this. So you see, I don’t understand my father at all, let alone the heavy love deep in his heart.
  When I got off the bus, he was already waiting at the station. When I got out of the station, he walked over to help me carry the suitcase. His face was gray, like a dusk that was about to dark in the afternoon. He smiled at me and seemed to think he was not smiling well, only to show a row of teeth stiffly. He took the luggage and turned and walked slowly, dragging him in the suitcase, making his rickety back curled up. I walked over to help him. He waved his hand and lifted the suitcase high. I knew he wanted to show his heroic image in my mind, but the steps on his feet were a little messy. He was so brave and so fragile. .
  When my father was old, I didn’t know at all. Until I saw him again, I was suddenly stung by his old man. The pain spread from my eyes to the whole body. I just felt that the cold wind around him was colder and he was thinner.
2. I can’t control myself and him
The urge to quarrel, even though I love him

  The war with his father began a week after returning home. He criticized me that the quilt was not folded and the floor was not cleaned. He hated me biting chopsticks while eating and playing with a mobile phone while sleeping. He could not tolerate me talking to him while wearing a mask. He had to wear makeup when he went out. , Makes me feel like an old woman with a mother-in-law.
  I really can’t understand why he never complained to me during the week I went home, why did I have to wait a week before I moved these things off the table, and it seemed to be like this every time I went home . So, I threatened to buy tickets back to school the next day. He fumbled out a cigarette, and when he finished smoking, he quietly helped me to pack everything. I know this is his weakness. As long as I say I want to leave, he will lose. But I never thought how sad he was every time I said this.
  I remember when I was very young, my father took me on a bicycle. He tied a small chair to the beam of the bicycle and laid a soft cushion on the chair. He was like a hero sheltering from the wind and rain. The little me was completely in his arms. Sitting in the front, I wore a ponytail and raised my head high. I sang children’s songs. He sang children’s songs. I counted one, two, three, and he counted along.
  Those shattered days are like sparkling crystals, sparkling in my memory, but I still can’t control the urge to quarrel with him, even though I love him.
3. The older the person,
The softer the heart becomes

  I remembered my father again because of the man in front of me.
  Under the hot sun, an uncle creeped on the ground to repair the pipeline. In his eyes, the broken channel was his faith. I watched him bow down and beg for life, like his father’s older and kinder face. I don’t know if it’s because the older the person, the softer the heart becomes, as soft as the snail’s tentacles, and if you touch it a little, it will shrink nervously.
  When I passed by the uncle, he suddenly looked up, it was a vicissitudes of the face. He wanted to laugh and was afraid to smile badly, so he showed a row of teeth stiffly and put an expression on his face, and said to me: “Sorry, repairing pipes at noon, noisy you to sleep.”
  His tone was sincere as a goat, I wet my eyes in his sincerity. My father has always been indifferent. I don’t know whether he is the same as the uncle in the days he worked, and he clearly apologizes to others for doing what he does. I don’t know whether the expression on his face is the same. Humility. Those unclear around my heart, tied a knot at the end, my sadness surged.
  When I called my father, he was at work.
  My father was flattered about my phone call. In his impression, I rarely took the initiative to call him. He thought I had something wrong, but I just said that I missed him a little bit. He still asked me if he didn’t have enough money to pay for it. But I digressed on this topic and asked him something else.
  The topic stopped here, so we went back to the question of when is my next holiday and when do I plan to buy tickets? I couldn’t escape his cross-examination, and confessed to him with all the emotional and rational struggles. Before everything went back, he came to pick me up and we kept arguing at home. It’s just that when I quarreled later, I had learned to let him. When he criticized me, I listened as much as possible. I kept smiling when he was not used to it. He said it was boring, and a war was resolved peacefully.
  However, I still hate my father. I hate that he grows up too fast, like a shadow, like an old newspaper.
  He did not know that in all his old journeys, the pain between our two generations.