Going back to my hometown to go fishing with my father.

BPO - Every time I return to my hometown, I'm as excited as a child about to receive a gift. My hometown is a small fishing village located along the sun-drenched, windy central coast of Vietnam. There, the sea is not just a landscape but also a way of life. The people in my hometown are intimately connected to the sea, like their very breath. And the person I miss most whenever I think of my hometown is none other than my father.

My father was a fisherman. When I was little, I would often wake up early, sit on the sandy shore, and watch the flickering lights far out at sea, waiting for him to come home. The old boat rocking, the crisp sound of the engine, was a sign that he had safely returned after a night at sea. On those occasions, I would run out, my bare feet covered in sand, shouting, "Dad!" And he would smile, pick me up, the pungent smell of fish and salt mingling in his arms—a scent I can never forget.

Growing up, I left my hometown to study far away. City life swept me into its hustle and bustle, making my visits home less frequent. It wasn't until this year, after starting work, that I had the opportunity to return for an extended period and, for the first time, go out to sea with my father. He smiled kindly: "Be careful not to get seasick on your first trip!" I nodded, my heart filled with excitement but also a little apprehensive. The sea in my memory was a dreamy blue sky, a golden sandy beach under the morning sun, never the huge, dark waves in the middle of the night that my father had described.

The fishing trip began at 3 a.m. The sky was pitch black. My three children and I, carrying lanterns, walked hand in hand to the dock. The old boat that my father had been using for decades still stood strong as ever. My father said, "The boat is like a companion. If it can withstand storms, then we have nothing to fear." I sat beside him, listening to the waves lapping against the sides of the boat, the wind whistling through, and the engine roaring through the air.

Once we set sail, I truly understood the hardships I had only heard about before. The waves were strong, the boat rocked precariously, and at times it seemed as if it were about to capsize. The sea breeze was bitterly cold, cutting into my skin. I clung tightly to the side of the boat, my face pale. My father just smiled and said, "Just bear with it a little longer; you'll get used to it and find the sea much gentler." But for me, that first night at sea was a real test.

Then, as the sun rose, its first rays shone down on the water, gilding the entire ocean. The waves calmed, and the sky brightened. My father prepared to cast his nets, his movements skillful, each thread of the net flying like a bird's wing in the open sea. I watched him – his hair was streaked with gray, his back slightly hunched, but his hands were still steady, his eyes still shining brightly whenever he looked towards the horizon. That figure, that image, brought tears to my eyes.

I helped my father pull in the net, the fish glistening in the sunlight, filling the boat. My father smiled: "We're lucky today, son, the sea has given us a lot of fish." I smiled too, feeling relieved—not because of the abundance of fish, but because for the first time I felt so close to my father. Amidst the vast expanse of water, the salty air, and the wind, I felt like I had returned to a forgotten part of my roots.

When we returned to shore, the sun was high in the sky. The villagers were waiting to buy fish, their laughter and chatter echoing across the beach. I looked at my father, at the village, and saw how simple yet beautiful everything was. This is where I was born, where there are genuine people, a blue sea, and stories that never grow old.

That night, I lay on the bamboo bed in my parents' old house, listening to the gentle sound of the waves outside, my heart filled with gratitude. Grateful for having a homeland to remember, a father to love, and a sea voyage that allowed me to better understand my roots.

Going back to my hometown to go fishing with my father wasn't just a trip, but a homecoming—a return to childhood, to love, and to myself. I suddenly understood that some values ​​don't need grand words; they lie in the simplest things—like a fishing trip with my father, like a peaceful smile after a storm.

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/19/173338/ve-que-ra-khoi-voi-ba