Missing Dad on a Rainy Day

BPO - This afternoon, on the way home from work, a sudden rainstorm came. I quickly pulled into a roadside coffee shop to take shelter from the rain. Through the water-stained glass, I saw a middle-aged man stopping his bike on the side of the road, his hands fumbling to cover the child sitting behind him with a raincoat. Both of them huddled under the awning, the wind blew in gusts of cold, the rain soaked the man's shirt. However, the child was still dry and warm, nestled behind his broad back. That moment suddenly made my heart sink, my nose sting. That image seemed to touch a deep memory in me, in that distant countryside, my father had quietly protected me through many rainy and windy seasons.

My house is located on the edge of a field, about 3 kilometers from the school. On sunny days, the red dirt road is dry, dust flying up every time a car passes by. But as soon as it rains, the path immediately turns into a muddy, slippery puddle. Yet, regardless of the scorching sun or the storm, my father has never once been late in taking me to school. Especially on rainy days, the continuous downpours make people just want to stay indoors. My father has never made me wait too long under the wet porch. At that time, I didn't think much, just hugged my father's back tightly, snuggling up to avoid the cold wind. But now, I understand that the wetness my father endured that day was to keep me dry and safe.

My father used to be a soldier of Uncle Ho. In the years after the war, he returned to his hometown to make a living. Perhaps because he had lived amidst hardship and danger, he was not afraid of the rain and wind. But since I was born, he became afraid of the rain. Not because of himself, but because his little daughter often caught a cold when wet in the rain. Time passed, I gradually grew up. On rainy days, even though I knew how to wear a raincoat and ride my bike to school, my father still followed me from behind. Once I fell off my bike because the road was slippery, and when I got home I was soaked. My father did not scold me, he just silently took a towel to wipe my head, then lit the stove to boil ginger water. I sat huddled by the stove, listening to the sound of rain falling in the yard, while my father was busy stoking the firewood with a worried look in his eyes. The cold outside seemed unable to penetrate the small kitchen, because the warmth from the bowl of ginger water and my father's rough hands warmed everything.

Then I went to college. The city rains were no longer as heavy as the country rains, but gentler and more persistent. But every time it rained, I missed my father. I missed the muddy road, my father wearing a conical hat, I missed the afternoons when we sat under the porch watching the rain fall and telling each other stories without beginning or end... Those seemingly meaningless moments are now the deepest memories in me.

Many years later, I went to work far away. The rare times I returned, for some reason, it was always on a rainy day. My father was old, his hair was streaked with gray, and his gait was no longer as brisk as before. But he still kept the habit of waking up early, looking at the sky to predict the rain, going out to the yard to look at the fields, then quietly turning back. Every time he saw me coming back, he smiled, the familiar, gentle smile as ever, then softly asked: “Did you bring a raincoat? It’s the rainy season in the countryside… If you get caught in the rain, remember to keep warm, okay?” The question sounded simple, but it made me choke up. Because I understood, behind that advice was a whole world of longing, the heart of a father who always followed his child’s every step…

The rain has stopped this afternoon. The man and the child have also left. The coffee shop is deserted, only the soft, melodious music and the smell of coffee lingering in the humid air, but my heart is filled with old memories. I suddenly want to go back to my hometown, sit with my father under the small porch, drink a cup of hot tea, watch the rain fall and the two of us whisper stories without beginning or end....

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.
Please send to BPTV your touching stories about Father by writing articles, writing feelings, poems, essays, video clips, songs (with recordings),... via email [email protected], Editorial Secretary Office, Binh Phuoc Radio - Television and Newspaper, No. 228, Tran Hung Dao, Tan Phu Ward, Dong Xoai City, Binh Phuoc Province, phone number: 0271.3870403. The time to receive articles is from now until August 30, 2025.
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Let's continue writing the story about Father with "Hello Love" season 4, so that stories about Father can spread and touch everyone's hearts!

Source: https://baobinhphuoc.com.vn/news/19/173108/nho-cha-ngay-mua