Qingming's worries and worries are not idle worries, but real worries with reasons, because we have to pay homage to our ancestors on this festival. In ancient Tomb-Sweeping Day, there were many customs, such as forbidding fire, eating cold food and sweeping graves because of mesons, as well as hiking, planting trees, swinging, playing polo and inserting willow branches. This festival is full of vitality. In this festival, you can comfort your deep sorrow and sustenance. Qingming is a Qingming day, but there is also a deep attachment in this day.
During the Qingming Festival, I always think of many people consciously or unconsciously, sometimes a name, sometimes a detail, sometimes even a phone number, or a clear and distant melody of a song. My memory is related to some of the dead and some of the living, but the past involved has also passed away. Tomb-Sweeping Day gave us a reason to indulge our feelings, and we can fly to the horizon with our thoughts. Just like those kites tied with strings, no matter how far or near, there will always be a string called Qingming.
On this day, I am sure that the people I can remember are my grandmother and my father.
Memories about my grandmother appear in my dreams again and again, and the dream will always be the day when I last saw her. I vomited blood all night. In order not to delay my exam, she quietly hid half a jar of blood, washed her shoes and socks, arranged her hair, and sat by the bed waiting to send me to school. Before becoming a monk, grandma stopped me, stuffed two oranges into my hand and said, be good, go to the exam, and grandma will sit here waiting for you when she comes back.
/kloc-that summer when I was 0/5 years old, I returned to my small yard. I haven't left my grandmother's yard since the full moon, and I saw that the edge of the bed where my grandmother had been sitting for 15 years was empty. Ask my mother, ask my uncle, they said that my grandmother was in hospital, and they also said that I would go to see my grandmother after the exam and take her home. I took one exam after another, which was the senior high school entrance examination for my junior high school graduation. The next day after the exam, I came home and saw my mother and uncle sitting in the living room, looking dignified. The first words they said made my head explode with a buzz. What they tell me is that when you grow up, they want to tell you something. Then I learned that grandma had been in the hospital for three days and left. When I entered the hospital, the tumor in my stomach was broken, and people soon lost their shape and lost weight. The doctor said that the operation is meaningless to an 80-year-old man, so let his favorite child come to see her off. However, my strong grandmother told my mother and uncle to let the children remember me sitting by the bed and sending her to school. This will scare the children, so I won't see her. I don't know if this is grandma's lifelong regret or if this is her real pride. I don't know if this is the regret of my life or my luck. My grandmother, in this way, returns to my dream every Qingming, without panic or haggard, always with clean shoes and socks and calm eyes.
Another person I often think of is my father. My father was the first man I met in my little girl's life. He is the arm that can always indulge her willfulness, care for her irrationality, give her human trust and love, and be as warm as the mountain behind her forever. I don't know how many teenagers it takes for my daughters to solve the misunderstanding of fatherly love one by one. Father loves warmth but is reserved. Father sometimes prefers to regard love as a great secret.
When I was a child, my feelings for my father were just harsh. I even feel like Jia Baoyu in the Grand View Garden. My grandmother takes care of me as kindly as Jia Mu, but my father, who doesn't go home often, always brings back so many books and wants to check how my poetry and calligraphy practice are. In my eyes, he is Jia Zheng. He was the first person who taught me to recite poems, read ancient Chinese and copy. Until I went to the Chinese Department for graduate study, almost every paper I wrote, my father had to revise it word by word, not only the level of the article, but also the order in which I reversed my pen. So he often revises more articles than my original figures. But until my father died, I was still a little afraid of him. It was not until many years later that my mother told me something I didn't know before my father died.
It was his 60th birthday. It was freezing in Beijing at that time. I'm in college. I rode home from school at noon and bought a big cake. I was afraid that the cardboard box would break the cake, so I rode home in the cold wind with the handlebar in one hand and the cake box in the other.
Running to the fourth floor, I said happily, "Dad, I will go to class in the afternoon, come back from school and celebrate your birthday in the evening. Let's eat this big cake. "
Dad took a casual look and said, "hey, this is what you children eat." I don't eat this. "
I thought at that time, it was a shame, but I didn't think much about it when I saw my father laughing, so I ran back to class. When I came back from class, my mother had taken the cake out of the box. We cut the cake together, talking and laughing. I remember pasting maple leaves on white cardboard, writing poems and making birthday cards for him. Dad had a good time on his 60th birthday. Although he said he didn't like cake, I think he ate the whole plate.
Many years later, my mother told me another version of this story. After I went to school that afternoon, a family friend came to my home, a little boy named Tao Tao who just went to college. Dad said to him, "Tao Tao, this is the cake that your little Dan sister just bought for me. I don't like it. Please accept it. " Tao Tao was so happy that he left with the cake.
After a while, less than an hour after school in the afternoon, my father, like a child who made a mistake, began to fidget in the room. My mother asked him what was wrong, and my father whispered, "I was wrong." A girl bought that cake for me. I don't like it and I can't give it to others! " Please help me think, what color is the cake box? What brand is it? What did the girl write on the cake? How much can you think of? Let's get together. I must go to the cake shop to buy an identical cake. "Then, dad hurried out, got on his bike and braved the cold wind to find the cake he didn't like at all. It is said that a quarter of an hour before I got home, my 60-year-old father came home with a box of the most similar cakes. This is my father, and this is the father I have been misreading.
Every time I go to Tomb-Sweeping Day, I always think of the sentence in The Analects: "Be aware of your parents' years. One is happy and the other is afraid. "When parents are healthy, the child's heart is always gratified and proud, with a little coquetry and lively joy; But the thought that they are old and there are only a handful of filial days on their knees will make them worry.