BPO - The sun set behind the high-rise roofs, the afternoon light gently spread through the glass windows and gradually faded away in the middle of the noisy street. I stood silently by the window, watching the dark clouds gather in patches, the wind blew through the rows of trees trembling in the small park at the end of the street. The summer rain was coming. The first raindrops tapped on the corrugated iron roof, then the crackling sound echoed in the heart of the city like an old familiar song. In that sound and the cool air, I felt like I was drifting back to the distant days - where my father was, where there was the smell of new rice, where there was a bright yellow brick yard and rainy seasons that not only wet my clothes but also soaked my memories.
In those days, my brick yard was sweltering hot every summer. The red bricks under my feet burned, but my father still endured it, still walking with firm steps, his bare feet stirring up the fragrant golden rice. I sat on the porch, waving my conical hat to dispel the heat, and every now and then I ran out to pour more rice, working while out of breath because of the scorching sun. My father smiled, his voice warm: "Just try to finish today and it will be done, if it rains tomorrow, don't worry, my son."
After my father finished his work, he went inside to rest for a while. I looked at the golden rice yard shining in the sunlight, smelled the gentle fragrance of new rice, and felt very comfortable. Then suddenly, the sky darkened. Black clouds came from somewhere, covering the golden yard. I shouted: “It’s going to rain! Dad!” My father was lying down, suddenly jumped up like a spring, grabbed the familiar wooden rake, and ran out into the yard. I followed him, holding a bamboo broom in my hand, running and worrying because I was afraid the rain would come too soon.
The sound of raking, brooms, and calls to each other to collect rice echoed throughout the neighborhood. Hands moved quickly, footsteps ran briskly across the yard, and everyone's eyes looked up to the sky anxiously. Luckily, the sky seemed to pity people, as if it understood the hardships of the farmers, so it only rained when the last bag of rice was safely pulled into the house. The rain poured down heavily on the brick yard. My father and I stood there, our clothes soaked with sweat, our hair stuck together, panting, but we still laughed in relief. That laugh was like a long sigh released after many tense moments...
The rain stopped, the sky cleared, the sun came out again. And then, a rainbow appeared. My father looked up at the sky, pointed at that bright light, his voice deep but full of confidence: "You see, after the rain, the sky is bright again. No matter what you do, as long as you try, the sky will not fail you." In that simple scene, I heard my father tell about the rice grain, about the sweat that soaked into the soil to have a full meal on the days when the harvest was scarce...
“Remember, farming is not about being lazy. You have to take advantage of every hour of sunshine, every rain. Each grain of rice is the sweat, the whole year of waiting of the farmer, my child.” At that time, I simply thought: “Dad is saying things I’ve heard before.” I still didn’t fully understand how much weight the “sweat” my father mentioned had, how much worry that “a whole year of waiting” contained. But when I left the fields, grew up and encountered life, those teachings became profound and meaningful. It was not only a lesson about work but also a lesson about life, that no achievement comes from luck, but only from hands that constantly cultivate, are patient and have a heart that is always patient.
My father is old now. His once thick black hair has turned white. The yard is no longer used to dry rice as much as before, because the fields have been rented to others. But every time it rains heavily, I see my father's hurried, hard-working figure.
The lessons my father taught me were not through words, but through his actions, through his calloused hands, through his back bent over the years. Now, in the middle of the bustling city, I often think of my father, of the golden rice yard under the sun. That place not only has rice, sunshine, and rain, but also my childhood - full of simplicity, warmth, and love. And above all, there is a quiet, devoted father, always a shade for me to lean on when life is stormy.
Hello love, season 4, theme "Father" officially launched from December 27, 2024 on four types of press and digital infrastructure of Radio - Television and Binh Phuoc Newspaper (BPTV), promising to bring to the public the wonderful values of sacred and noble fatherly love. |
Source: https://baobinhphuoc.com.vn/news/19/173793/khoang-san-thoc-vang-cua-cha
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