The village trumpeter

BPO - In my mother's eyes and in the small village where I live, my father was often referred to as "the village's trumpet bearer." When I was little, every time I saw him laugh it off when someone called him that, I would giggle along because he said it was a joy he found in his journey of earning a living.

My family wasn't well-off back then, in fact, we were quite poor, with four walls made of wooden planks and a floor made of red earth. Family members and visitors alike wore sandals to avoid getting dirty. My parents toiled year-round in the rice fields and coffee plantations, then rushed around doing all sorts of odd jobs just to earn enough to eat. Yet, those hardships never deterred my father from helping others.

In the scorching midday sun, I was sitting on the steps plucking gray hairs from my father's head when I suddenly heard the clacking sound of a cane coming from the end of the alley. My father squinted slightly towards the sun-drenched road, then quickly called me inside to get a can of rice to give to the blind old man who often begged for alms in the neighborhood. After the old man's frail figure disappeared down the hillside, bowing profusely in thanks, my father affectionately patted my head, his voice warm and gentle: "My daughter, always remember 'Helping those in need'."

On another stormy night, while the whole family was fast asleep, suddenly a dog barked incessantly outside the door. This was followed by frantic knocking. Uncle Tư, our neighbor, soaking wet, rushed over, his voice panicked, asking my father to help pull his tractor, which was stuck deep in the field. My father hastily put on his faded jacket, grabbed a flashlight and a chain, and started the tractor, taking Uncle Tư with him. Although my mother grumbled about him leaving home in the middle of the night, she still managed to brew a pot of hot tea for him to take along to warm himself up. She said that was just how my father was; whenever he heard about someone's broken-down vehicle or mud-stuck field, he was always ready to help, day or night. In my restless sleep, I could still sense my mother's anxiety through the faint rustling of her tossing and turning. It wasn't until dawn, when my father, covered in mud, returned, that the worry on my mother's face finally disappeared. Although his appearance clearly showed the fatigue after a sleepless night, when he sat down at the dinner table, my father's eyes lit up with joy as he recounted his struggle through the mud to pull Uncle Tư's tractor ashore. He said that kindness and compassion are important in human relationships. Especially in farming, after so many years surrounded by fields, helping anyone you can is something you do wholeheartedly, because you understand that producing rice and coffee is not easy.

My father's way of showing love was also evident in his frequent help digging graves for the deceased. Some people advised him that this work was hard and could bring bad luck because the deceased carried a lot of negative energy. Yet, he silently ignored them, and without hesitation, he even spent his own money to buy measuring tapes, shovels, and sturdy iron stakes to ensure the grave digging was done properly. As soon as he heard of someone's death, whether it was early morning or late at night, he would quickly pack his tools and go to the funeral. Only after the coffin was neatly placed in the ground would he feel at ease returning home. I vividly remember when I was in high school, a relative died of old age. Even though that person had once caused my family great hardship, my father still picked up his tools and dug the grave without mentioning the past. When someone wondered why he still wholeheartedly helped despite the person's bad treatment, he remained silent. My father frowned slightly, gazing into the distance, then slowly said, "Filial piety means fulfilling one's duty to the very end. The deceased are gone, and seeing them off on their final journey is the proper thing to do."

Even now, seeing my father always busy with his selfless acts of kindness fills me with warmth. Like when he rushed an injured person to the hospital at night, or quietly dug a grave under the sympathetic gaze of others, or even when he didn't mind getting his hands dirty pulling carts for neighbors. Witnessing these things from childhood until now, I understand that it was his joy because he always lived with a warm and sincere heart. And more than anything he did, it was the invaluable lesson of compassion and sharing that he silently instilled in my heart.

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/19/171955/nguoi-vac-tu-va-hang-tong