Happiness is when you can still call me "Sir!"

There are things that seem small, but are great happiness in life. Like the call “Grandpa!” echoing in the afternoon of the countryside, like the veiny hand stroking the hair of a child, or the gentle smile like the autumn sun of a grandfather every time he sees his grandchildren chattering beside him. For me, happiness is when I can relive those memories, when I remember, when I call, when I softly utter the two dear words: “Grandpa!”.

This afternoon, the weather is chilly. The wind blows gently through the window, carrying the incense from the altar. The thin smoke curls and wraps around his portrait, his gentle eyes and kind smile seeming to have watched me through the years. That scent suddenly awakens a whole area of ​​distant memories, the years of my childhood with him, warm, peaceful and strangely dear. On the anniversary of his death, my heart suddenly sinks. In the lingering scent, I feel myself shrink, like the child who nestled in his arms, both remembering and loving, and offering a gratitude that is difficult to put into words.

When I was little, everyone said I looked like my grandfather. When I grew up, people still said that. The past is long gone, many things are no longer remembered, but I know I will never forget the memories of him. When I was little, he was my whole warm world . He often took me out to play, and wherever he went, he proudly "showed off" to everyone that he was his "first grandson". When I grew up a little, I became his "right-hand man". When we made ice cream, I did the job of inserting sticks into the ice cream tray quickly and was "respected" by him and the whole family. The feeling of being praised and trusted by him was really proud for a child like me.

Among the myriad of memories, there is an image that is still deeply engraved in my mind, like an indelible mark: the historic storm No. 6 in 1989. I still clearly remember the image of my grandfather carrying a pot of rice on his head, swimming bare-chested in the vast ocean to find a dry place to cook rice. My mother and I carried the fish sauce jar into the house in the storm. The pig ran for its life under the bed. The water kept rising gradually, flooding the entire yard. My brother and I sat huddled on the bed rails, my younger brother kept crying out every time the wind blew, calling out: “Storm! Storm!” That storm sowed fear in our childhood that still remains today, but also left behind the memory of a brave grandfather who, in the midst of the storm, still worried about his children and grandchildren with each hot meal and each warmth.

That day, my father went to fetch rice, leaving only him, my mother, and I at home. A few years later, the whole family moved from Tinh Hai to Cong town. I still remember that afternoon, my two brothers sitting on a makeshift bed in the middle of the yard, my grandfather scooped each of us a bowl of hot rice mixed with lard. His “signature” dish was steamed cold rice mixed with lard and grated coconut, a dish from those difficult days that no one eats anymore. Yet to me, it is still the most delicious flavor.

Every year on the anniversary of his death, memories come flooding back, clear and vivid as if it were yesterday. More than ten years have passed, but today, the family still gathers around the dinner table, with the family-made beef ham that the eldest uncle made, a dish he made every Tet holiday. Although times have changed, although the taste is no longer the same, it is still enough to remind us of the old days, the days of reunion and warmth.

Family is like that, even though the years have passed, even though our loved ones have passed away, the memories are still full, like a small flame smoldering in our hearts, illuminating our steps. And he, who has been gone for so long, seems to still be somewhere, smiling as he watches his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren gather around the dinner table on the anniversary of his death.

At some point in life, we realize that happiness is not far away, but lies within the memories that seem so old. In the incense smoke on the anniversary of a death, in the gentle smile on the portrait and in the loving call that echoes forever in the heart: "Grandpa!".

Le Ngoc Son

Source: https://baodongnai.com.vn/van-hoa/chao-nhe-yeu-thuong/202511/hanh-phuc-la-khi-con-duoc-goi-hai-tieng-ong-oi-49807a3/