Accidentally reading a poem published in the newspaper by a son about his father, filled with anguish over the words he had not yet said before his father left forever, I suddenly looked back at those busy days, have I ever written about my father, about my feelings for him or the memories of the days with my father?
Perhaps as I sit here writing these lines, my father is also sitting there typing each letter on the computer keyboard - a job of typing documents for hire with a small income, but it helps him feel that old age is still meaningful. My parents have 4 children, we grew up, matured and then left our parents' arms to start our own businesses. When the children became adults, our parents were also in their twilight years.
When I was young, my father worked as a rubber tapper for a farm. We went to school in the morning and followed him to the rubber plantation in the afternoon to help him peel the latex, cover the bowls, and sometimes to pile up the roots and sweep the leaves. My father's work outside the rubber plantation usually lasted from 4am to about 3pm, and the rest of the time he went into the forest to burn wood to make charcoal. At that time, there wasn't much fuel, and charcoal was still the preferred fuel, so my father didn't waste any time to earn more money to pay for his children's education. I remember one time when my father went into the forest to chop wood and was bitten by a snake, but he still gritted his teeth and endured the pain and carried the bundles of wood home. After that, he had a fever and was delirious, making my mother and I so worried that we cried. After being treated at the hospital, my father laughed humorously that his legs were so strong that the snake's fangs would have broken. My father was like that, always living positively, looking at life with an optimistic eye.
In addition to his main job, my father also worked in the hamlet, which at that time did not have the policies and regulations like today. During the day, he went to work, and at night, he and his uncles discussed the hamlet's work. The kind-hearted ones thanked him for his contributions to the hamlet, while the mean-mouthed ones said, "Eating at home, carrying the burden of the village." Not minding it, my father often told us that in life, we must know how to give, to think about the common good of the collective, which is also the way to build good things for ourselves. And my father has been working hard on social work for 20 years. The assets he has now are the certificates of merit, which he treasures like treasures, kept at the bottom of the cabinet, and every now and then takes them out to clean and admire.
The day I left home to start a new life was when my father took his briefcase to study computer science. I could not believe that after 1 year of perseverance, my father had obtained a computer science certificate and mastered the basic operations of office computer science. At that time, he was 64 years old. My father said that he was no longer young enough to continue working for hire with manual labor, so he wanted to learn to work with his mind with the support of machines. My brothers and I pooled our money to buy my father a desktop computer and a printer so that every day he could type documents for the uncles and aunts in the hamlet and at the committee. It was only a few thousand for a few A4 pages, but for my father it was a great joy to still earn money by labor, while he still had a pension from his years as a rubber worker.
Sometimes my siblings and I gave our parents some pocket money, but my father only accepted a small amount, and told them to save the rest for his grandchildren. I worked far away and studied for university, and life with so many worries took up so much of my time that I didn't realize how inconsiderate I had been towards my parents. Now sitting across from these words, memories of my father flowed back like a cool stream of water, filling my mind. My father had worked hard all his life for my siblings, and even in his old age, he didn't want to bother his children.
Every time I come home to visit, my father chases the chickens away and puts on a pot of sticky rice because he knows this is my favorite dish. The sticky rice spreads on the tip of my tongue, not only the sweetness of the sticky rice but also the warm love my father has for me.
Writing about my father, no pen or paper can express all my feelings for him. Although it is little, although it is a bit late, I am sure that when reading these lines, my father will feel the love of his children for him. Sometimes words of love need to be said so that at least once in our life we do not have to regret because the words we wanted to say were not delivered.
Hello love, season 4, theme "Father" officially launched from December 27, 2024 on four types of press and digital infrastructure of Dong Nai Newspaper and Radio and Television, promising to bring to the public the wonderful values of sacred and noble fatherly love.
Please send to Dong Nai Newspaper, Radio and Television your touching stories about Father by writing articles, writing feelings, poems, essays, video clips, songs (with recordings),... via email [email protected], Electronic Newspaper and Digital Content Department, Dong Nai Newspaper, Radio and Television, No. 81, Dong Khoi, Tam Hiep Ward, Dong Nai Province, phone number: 0909.132.761. The time to receive articles is from now until August 30, 2025.
Quality articles will be published, paid royalties, and rewarded at the end of the topic with 1 special prize and 10 excellent prizes.
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!
Dang Khoa
Source: https://baodongnai.com.vn/van-hoa/chao-nhe-yeu-thuong/202507/noi-cung-cha-fc60cbc/
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