When talking about my father, I don't know what words to use to describe the person who has run through my life. But there are always some moments that flash before my eyes.
\ It is the figure singing and dancing, 'Little swallow wearing flowered clothes, coming here every spring…'
\ It is the face standing in the sea of wheat, endlessly talking about the growth of the wheat ears.
\ It is the focused eyes threading a needle, embroidering plum blossoms on my clothes.
\ It is the hands coming and going, weaving gloves stitch by stitch.
\ It is the back that placed the seriously ill me in a basket, anxiously riding a bicycle to take me to the hospital.
\ It is…
\ Father is silent, but his love slowly permeates my life.
\ Father always wears a stern face, but when talking about his children, he smiles like a child.
\ Father lacks patience, but he would repeatedly accompany his granddaughter learning to sing, just for one note.
\ Father has no lofty words, but he always works hard for the whole family. We often talk to mother about this and that, but father never complains about our neglect; he always quietly watches over us, because he is our father. There was a time when I blamed him, but many years later I realized that the bond of blood makes it impossible for me to let go. Simply because I love him deeply!
\ Dad, happy Father's Day!
[Essay] Father
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