Last spring, suddenly there was a lot of rain. In front of the morning's window, the howling of cuckoos was heard, and it was loud and hearty! Into the study, standing in front of his mother, it was the last photo of her mother and me in front of the campus. Her hair was a bit messy because of the servant dust, but her face was filled with laughter from her daughter. . life
A 10-year-old father is a reticent man unless he drinks alcohol. She remembers that she had hated her father since she was 10 years old. That year, when his father drank too much alcohol and hit the mother slyly, she and her younger brother looked at him, and in his young heart, he had meticulously woven hatred into every pore of his body. The father is in the village and is the director of the village committee. In the eyes of the ordinary people, it can be considered large and small.
People said that Bagan was like a girl: There was a yellow fluff on her pink face, and she smiled and bent like a bow. He lives in the village of Heletara in East Horqin, Inner Mongolia. He is bleak for the winter and winter and it is like a grassland in the summer. On a large piece of green grass, the yellow flower was opened first, and six small petals were attached to the ground. The horses were undead. Lily orchids wait until the cornflowers bloom before they bloom. Every time at this time, the adults of Bagan were even more busy: he
No matter how things change in the world, the mother's story will always be the clearest scenario in my heart. My mother died more than six years ago. In recent years, I have been wandering away most of the time. I have constantly changed my job, but my memory of her has grown. According to one word, a mother should not be a crop person who has worked hard but hasn't received any return. It can't be overstated that something that can happen to my family can be used to describe life. Cultural Revolution
Economists, sociologists, and anthropologists may find a hundred ways to answer the question of why culture is important, but I can start with a play. One day in Taipei, the performance of "Si Lang's mother", I specially brought the 85-year-old father to listen. I was like a caged bird listening to him singing from an early age. It was difficult to exhibit with wings. I was like a tiger leaving the mountain and being alone. I was like a shallow dragon and I was stuck on the beach.
My son is called Tieji and is ten years old this year. Whatever reason he understands, he doesn't want to listen to me. Write a letter to him and wait till he is 18 years old. To love your children and love yourself in this world is the most important thing. Love yourself is the cornerstone of your life. To love yourself is to accept yourself completely in the depths of your heart, that is, to accept your own weaknesses and lack. Finish
My earliest punishment for my son was to raise his voice. At that time he was still less than two years old. When he realized that I was not talking, but when I was shouting, he knew that he was in a disadvantageous position, and he became very big. Frightened eyes, carefully observed my further behavior. When he was two years old, my shouting gradually lost its effect. At most, he was just shocked. Then he had nothing to do.
On her mother's birthday the year before last, I bought a very ordinary dress and sealed a 50-dollar red envelope and went back to her mother on a bicycle. When the mother did not even look at it, she put the red envelope in her pocket and put the clothes on the table. Call me lukewarm: sit down. I had a sweat on my bicycle, tired and thirsty, and I went to drink tea. When I was drinking tea, I heard the voice of a car outside. It was a big sister's return.
My father came back with a haircut. We looked at his new hairstyle and smiled. The hair on the back of the head was cut and brushed. There was no level, rough, and play inferior to children. My father is 50 years old and more and more like a child. He doesn’t lift his legs when he walks. His feet slamming on the ground and squeaking. He hears from the house and tells whether he is walking or whether my 8-year-old nephew is walk. Sometimes, the food is not delicious, he is stubborn
1 I remember clearly when heavy rain fell on the evening of August 9 when I was off work. The water on the road did not cross my knees. I stood in front of the unit and was extremely anxious. It's been an hour off work time, but the rain hasn't meant anything small. I couldn’t wait any longer. No one answered the phone number at home. I was afraid that when Tian Tian had an accident, she bit his teeth and put his coat on his head and rushed into the storm.
I became a burden to go home from the hospital and enter the door. My tears burst into tears, and the sadness in my heart surged again. My parents have left me forever in that accident. I will be alone in the future. The happiness and laughter of the family of the past have become my sad memories. I looked at my room, but I couldn't walk over. My legs, the doctor said that I had to rely on miracles to stand up.
Inscription: I hear people say that if you run in the moonlight, you can let your deceased family see themselves. Just as the moonlight was very good that night, I ran for a long time in the moonlight. Mom and Dad: You must be very good, I know. Yesterday, I went to the store to buy batteries. A pair of mother and daughter looked at the clothes. The mother was holding a pink jacket and gestured on her daughter. She said: Bigger, a little bigger.
In the rugged and rough journey of life, who cares for you the most sincere and affectionate, who cares for you and always gives you selfless devotion; who tirelessly teaches you to do things for others; who is for you Trivia and trouble? correct! Are great mothers. Maternal love is selfless and never stops. No mother does not love his children. one way or another,
The Cao Cao Tangtang class, the traveler’s trip to the horizon; Mother hands line, wandering clothing. Departure thick seam, meaning fear of delay in return. Who knows how to behave and win Sanchun Hui? These are the poems of Meng Jiao, expressing the gratitude of the children to their mothers and praising the greatest love of the mother. My mother is an ordinary rural woman. She is so ordinary, but
When I was a child, I could grow up carefreely on my mother’s back. It was the mother’s dream of knitting her daughter, lit the lamp in my heart, and accompanied me through the rough journey of my life. I can't think of how a seriously ill mother walks with me. How I grew up on my mother’s back can be imagined. A sick mother is more difficult than a healthy person. It was the mother who taught me to learn how to do things. when
I remember there was a public service announcement on TV: A gray-haired mother had a good meal at the table. Several telephone calls rang one after another. The children said that they had something to do with friends or with colleagues and classmates. Eat outside. The mother was disappointed at one time and her smile froze on her face. In the end, she couldn’t eat any food and sat alone on the couch until late at night when her family did not return home. Voice-over
As the day dawned, my father took the firewood and hit me on the road. When I first came to junior high school in the county town, my father's burden was even heavier. As winter approaches, his father often finds time to cut firewood up the hill, and then sells it to the county town. This gives me a living allowance and tuition. Every weekend, I will go home to help my father cut firewood, and then go to the school on the mountain road in the early morning on Mondays. This time because of me
No one can ignore such a face: tears are covered, sobbing: begging, begging you. The brown is trembling. There must be red and swollen eyes in the dark glasses. The eyes are desperate and beautiful. Her name is Susan Smith. She said: This was originally a gentle autumn night. She drove with her two children, three and 14 months old, on a quiet road. Suddenly a gangster picked up a car and held a gun.
The scene of that day, when I was drowsy and lazy, at lonely midnight, like the slow motion in the movie, clearly surfaced in the fall of 1991, when freshmen reported. At 4 o'clock in the morning, my father gently woke me that he was leaving. I am ignorant of climbing up, and other freshmen are sleeping sweetly. What kind of happy and happy dream they should have in mind at the moment! And because of me
Nothing else is free, and a collection of prose is drawn. Open a page, it is a commemoration of his father's article. When one of the fathers is seen as a book, it may take a lifetime for the child to read, and a heart-shrinking sensation immediately stabs. After calculating, my father left me for six years. In these six years, I missed him all the time. I even tried to be able to