Father's lullaby

BPO - I grew up in a small house by the river, where the wind rustled through the bamboo groves, the water trickled against the banks, and my father's lullabies filled the air every night. Unlike my mother's sweet lullabies, my father's songs didn't follow a pattern, weren't as gentle as my mother's, but they are the sounds I remember most from my childhood - a melody that breathed the earth, the sky, and the quiet spirit of a man.

My father was a man of few words, as sturdy as the teak wood he had planed and chiseled to build this house. But every evening, after dinner, he would cradle me in his arms, sit on the swaying hammock on the porch, and begin to sing. His lullabies had no names; sometimes they were folk songs from Central Vietnam that he had pieced together, sometimes just a few repeated verses, but they contained a whole world of love.

I remember my father's voice, deep and husky, like the wind blowing through the coconut trees behind the house. Someone once said his voice wasn't pleasant or melodious, but to me, it was the most wonderful music. Every time I heard my father's voice, I felt calm, safe, and loved. Once, when I was eight, my father took me back to my paternal grandparents' village on his bicycle. It was a scorching June day, and the bumpy dirt road made the wheels slip constantly. I was exhausted and cried the whole way. My father didn't say anything, he just quietly rode me, then softly sang a lullaby – the familiar song he always sang to me every night. Right in the middle of the intense midday sun, that song was like a cool breeze, soothing my weariness.

As I got a little older, I started to feel embarrassed about my father's lullabies. When friends asked me what I liked to listen to, I didn't dare say that I still loved hearing my father's voice, still wanted to be held in his arms and sung to sleep. During adolescence, I gradually drifted away from my father – a simple, rough, and taciturn man from the countryside. I pursued modern, upbeat music, only to find myself tossing and turning in the late nights, remembering his deep, husky lullabies.

Then I went to study far from home, and on those nights far from my hometown, that lullaby would occasionally echo in my dreams. Some nights I would wake up startled, my pillow soaked with tears, my heart empty. I called my father, not saying much, just wanting to hear his voice. But he was still the same, taciturn, only asking, "Are you eating and drinking well?" and "If you miss home, try to study hard, and come home someday."

On my graduation day, my father attended the ceremony. He stood at the back of the hall, holding the graduation cap I had given him. While everyone was taking pictures, hugging each other, laughing and crying, I just wanted to run and hug him, to thank him for the wordless lullabies that had nurtured me throughout the years.

Time passed. Now I'm a father, and my daughter just turned three. Every night, I lull her to sleep with the lullabies her father used to sing. I don't sing well, and my voice is hoarse like her father's, but she giggles whenever I sing. I suddenly understood that some melodies don't need to be perfect – they just need to be sung by someone you love.

Yesterday, I called my father. He was drying rice in the yard, his voice still hoarse and gruff as ever. I told him about my daughter, that I had imitated him rocking her to sleep like he used to. He just laughed, saying nothing. But I knew that on the other end of the line, he was moved.

My father's lullaby is no ordinary song. It's a father's expression of love for his child, his unique way of saying "I love you." And now, I'm continuing that melody for another generation – lullabies named after a father's love, echoing through the ages.

Hello, dear viewers! Season 4, themed "Father," officially launches on December 27, 2024, across four media platforms and digital infrastructures of Binh Phuoc Radio and Television and Newspaper (BPTV), promising to bring to the public the wonderful values ​​of sacred and beautiful fatherly love.
Please send your touching stories about fathers to BPTV by writing articles, personal reflections, poems, essays, video clips, songs (with audio recordings), etc., via email to chaonheyeuthuongbptv@gmail.com, Editorial Secretariat, Binh Phuoc Radio and Television and Newspaper Station, 228 Tran Hung Dao Street, Tan Phu Ward, Dong Xoai City, Binh Phuoc Province, phone number: 0271.3870403. The deadline for submissions is August 30, 2025.
High-quality articles will be published and shared widely, with payment for their contributions, and prizes will be awarded upon completion of the project, including one grand prize and ten outstanding prizes.
Let's continue writing the story of fathers with "Hello, My Love" Season 4, so that stories about fathers can spread and touch everyone's hearts!

Source: https://baobinhphuoc.com.vn/news/19/171884/bai-hat-ru-cua-ba