I have lived away from my hometown for over 30 years; every autumn, as I sit and watch the raindrops falling softly, the image of my father comes back to me, from the time I was eight or ten years old until now, at over fifty years old.
My father's youth was filled with misfortune. As the youngest of ten siblings, his grandfather passed away when he was eight. He only learned to read and write before staying home to work and live with his older siblings, as his grandmother also passed away when he was 14. My childhood memories of my father are of him being energetic in the hard work of plowing and harvesting in the fields; quick and agile on the football field; and especially, he possessed a naturally gifted, melodious singing voice that easily captivated the memories of girls his age. Therefore, despite being poor and having lost his parents early, having to make a living with his siblings, he was loved and respected by many. He met my mother at just nineteen years old and they became husband and wife. In the 1960s, my parents had a love story that began naturally, unlike many young men and women of that era who had to rely on matchmaking to get married. My parents' love resulted in the birth of ten of us siblings. The burden of providing for our families, paying for our education, and ensuring we received school supplies made my parents forget all the joys and youthfulness of their own lives. With his diligent and hardworking nature, and the demands of life, my father could do almost anything. When my siblings and I were young, he worked in the fields, tended cattle, tilled the land, and weeded the rice paddies. In the evenings, he would dig ponds for fish, build pig and chicken pens, and mix straw with mud to plaster the walls of our house. He did whatever work he could find, plowing for hire, and even mending our torn clothes, never leaving it to my mother. After 1975, when the country was unified, my father became a model cooperative member; he actively participated in and successfully completed the tasks assigned to him in both the plowing and ox-cart teams.
I remember one time, it was early 1980 when my mother had just given birth to my sixth sister; normally, my father would have come home early after finishing his work at the cooperative. But that day, he had an important meeting and didn't come home until late at night. When I opened the door, I smelled a strong odor of alcohol. He hugged me, stroked my head, and told me to go to sleep. I could hear the choked tone in his voice, and because it was late at night, I didn't see the tears streaming down his thin, bony, dark cheeks, weathered by a life of hardship. Because of his lack of education, despite his aptitude, ability, hard work, and good health, and his capacity to handle all the work and help others in the cooperative, he spent his whole life as only a team leader in the plowing group; although he was promoted to team leader many times, he was always dismissed. He couldn't fulfill his youthful dreams because his parents died early, he didn't get much education, and he was not valued by society when he grew up. From then on, all of my father's thoughts and calculations were focused on his children. He often told me, "No matter how hard or difficult things get, your parents must try our best to raise you and educate you so you grow up to be good people; without education, you will suffer and be humiliated for life. Only through education can a person reach their dreams." And from then on, no matter how busy he was, he always cared about and reminded my siblings and me to study hard. Under no circumstances were we allowed to think about "dropping out of school to help the family." I am the eldest of several siblings, and from a young age, I shared with my father the hardships of making a living during the difficult and challenging subsidy period. However, I was very studious, loved reading, and was quick-witted, so I learned quickly and completed all the homework assigned by my teachers right in the classroom.
On summer nights, I followed my father to the forest to work on the farm. He often reminisced about his vibrant youth, telling me many stories about everyday life, about the disadvantages faced by those with little education, both in times of peace and war. Through these stories, I understood that my father wanted us siblings to strive in our studies, no matter how difficult, and not to be distracted by frivolous pursuits that would hinder our pursuit of knowledge for our future lives. When I passed my university entrance exams, my father was overjoyed and prayed for my success in the many hardships and difficulties that lay ahead. He always hoped that I would succeed and have a peaceful and fulfilling life. On my graduation day from the Faculty of Literature, he came to congratulate me and said, "Wealth and poverty are both predetermined, my child, but I believe that you will have a rich spiritual life, one that aligns with your dreams and with the times." My father's hopes for me have now partially come true, but my father has been gone for more than a decade. My father passed away at the age of 66, an age when the current generation is finally enjoying a more relaxed life, pursuing their own hobbies and spending time with their children and grandchildren.
As autumn arrived, bringing gloomy rain and wind, my heart ached with longing for my father as I sat beside the memorial meal for him.
Source
Comment (0)