Father - Peaceful melody in my heart

Illustration photo. Source: AI

The smell of father and the mossy green memory

Back then, our small house was very poor. My mother worked hard at the market stall from dawn to dusk, and my father came home every day with a sweaty back. He was a construction worker. I still remember clearly the smell of lime walls and cement that permeated my father every time he stepped through the door. At first it felt strange, but then I got used to it, and that smell became so familiar that if my father went away on a construction project, I felt strangely absent.

People still think that construction workers are dry and dull. But my father, God has given him an artistic soul. His hands, though rough and calloused from hard work, can paint beautiful, vivid pictures like a real artist. The picture my father drew of me when I was young is still hung solemnly in the corner of the house, not only as a memory, but also as a source of pride for me to show off whenever someone visits. My father also plays the guitar and sings very well. My mother told me that in the past, my paternal family had many difficulties. My father was the eldest of thirteen siblings, so his artistic dreams had to be put aside, giving way to the burden of making a living and the responsibility to his younger siblings. Perhaps that is why my father always gave in and loved his younger siblings very much. His strictness, if any, was not revealed through scolding, but lay silently in his watching eyes, on his broad shoulders whenever I leaned against him. From childhood to adulthood, my second brother and I had never known physical punishment. The saying "spare the rod and spoil the child" seems to have no place in the way my father loved and raised us.

My most beautiful childhood was probably the nights of the full moon. My father brought out the guitar, the high and low sounds of the guitar blended with the warm voices of my father, mother, my second brother and me in front of the porch. Under the golden moonlight, my whole family forgot all the hardships and difficulties, only love and happiness remained. My father sang, my second brother tapped the rhythm, my mother and I clapped our hands. We were immersed in the melodies of love, of strange peace. No matter how difficult life was, my parents still tried to save money, taking care of my two brothers so that they could go to school and have an education like their friends.

On weekends, when my second brother chose to follow my mother to the market, I followed my father to the construction site. I played in a corner with bricks and sand, but my eyes never left my father's shadow. I followed every step my father took as he climbed the high scaffolding. Under the scorching summer sun, my father's sweat soaked his faded shirt. My heart ached, I felt so sorry for my father. I only hoped that in the future, I would have a stable job, work hard and persevere to repay my father's immense kindness.

I still remember clearly the nights of pouring rain, my father and I had to sleep at the construction site because we lived far away and could not return in time. Even though we had chosen a corner to avoid the rain, the heavy rain still poured in, wetting our sleeping place. In the cold night, my father could only hold me in his arms, wrap the blanket around me, then put his coat over our heads to keep us warm. The warmth from my father's arms, from that faded coat, was enough for me to sleep soundly until morning, strangely peaceful in my father's arms.

What I cherish most, and until now, when I am nearly 40 years old, and am the father of two naughty boys who are no less than me and my brother two days ago, is the morning when I wake up and my father washes my face. One hand of my father gently strokes and holds my head, smoothing the few strands of hair that stood up after a long night - to lie down neatly. But the most wonderful, the most moving, is when my father's rough, strong, calloused hand touches my face. Not soft or smooth at all, but that hand brings me protection, peace and strange calmness. Each callus on my father's hand is like a deep imprint in my mind of the hardships and difficulties that my father has endured, to bring warmth, peace and love to my family life over the years. Now, when I wash my two sons' faces with my own hands, I feel the invisible thread connecting sacredly with my father, as if continuing that warmth and love through each generation.

The melody of love remains forever

Since I grew up, I left my parents' arms, went to work far away and built my own family. However, I always arranged to visit my parents on every vacation or holiday. Deep in my heart, I always longed to return to the peaceful moonlit nights of the past, to gather in front of the porch, to sing loving songs with my parents and older brother. Now, if that moment came true, surely the joy would be even greater, because the "family band" of the past now has more members, more cheerful laughter, and the small arms of my grandchildren gathered around.

This year, my father turned 70 years old. At an age when his body is no longer as flexible and agile as before, and his hair is stained with the color of time, I know I am lucky to still be able to hear my father's voice over the phone, to see my parents whispering to each other morning and night through video calls whenever my longing is full. I thank life for giving my father a wonderful life partner, my mother, by his side. And for his love of music and his artistic soul that have not changed over the years. That is the small joy at the age of seventy that helps my father fill the sadness when his children and grandchildren are not around.

I am proud of my father, and my father's grandchildren are even more proud of their grandfather through the stories I tell them every day. The melody of love that my father lit up in my heart since those childhood days, I will forever cherish, treasure, and preserve as the most precious souvenir for me and my family. I only hope that my father and mother will always be healthy so that the beloved porch will still wait, so that the peaceful moonlit nights will be lit up again. Then the whole family will sing together the song: "The whole family loves each other", Dad!

Hoang Bach Khoa

Source: https://baodongnai.com.vn/van-hoa/202507/cha-giai-dieu-binh-yen-noi-trai-tim-con-82803f4/