Thanksgiving to parents inspirational essay
Introduction: Once I did not know what to do, now I have slowly grown up, slowly leaving behind the childhood innocence and capriciousness, began to contact the adult code of conduct, I know what I have to do, what should be done, also know hundred good filial piety is the first, we should know how to be grateful know how to bear. The words of gratitude to parents are short and easy to understand, dedicated to our hard-working mom and dad. The first thing you need to do is to get a good idea of what you want to do.
One, “June, back to the backbone of parents”
In June, the mountains are full of wildflowers in full bloom.
What kind of evening breeze is it that blows the hair?
What kind of white moonlight comes to the streets of a foreign land, unable to hear you call my breast name; what kind of white moonlight comes to bounce around night after night, gently waking me up from my homesick nightmare?
In the winding folds of the mountains, I see you, father, standing in the golden fields of wheat, looking back towards the village.
I see you, Father, standing in the golden fields of wheat, looking back towards the village. The sunset is editing your back, measuring your diminishing angle with the land.
My father’s back has carried the plow in the spring, the mud in the summer, and the wheat clippings and budding rice in the fall.
The first time I saw the film, I was able to see it.
When I was a child, I was weak and sick, and my father always carried me on his back, over the mountains and through the ruggedness of the ditches, to the township health center.
I remember once, on my way home, the wind suddenly blew, followed by a downpour of rain. The company’s main business is to provide a platform for the development of a new product.
I think it’s a good idea to have a good time.
My umbrella was my father’s, and my father’s spine, however, was holding the sky pouring with rain.
When the rain cleared, my father’s back, drenched in rain, wrung out his ragged clothes, picked me up and continued on his way.
When I was on my father’s broad back, I watched his athletic stride, and I never woke up from that sweet dream.
My father’s back has carried the bone-chilling rain, the wound-licking wind, and the dry food and water from the cellar through the seasons of the years.
The year I left home for a long journey.
The first time I saw my father, I went back to the house, and I knew that my departure had opened my father’s tear bank.
I don’t dare to turn around, but I vaguely see my father’s spine crawling against the wall twitching.
After walking away, I could still hear my father’s advice: “Son! If you’re determined, go after it! When you’re tired, come back!
I wonder, Father, what kind of emotion is it that makes you no longer tough?
I wonder what kind of emotion, Father, makes you no longer tough? No longer inhibited and disguised?
Father, I left your care, and I’ve been moving around the world ever since.
The first time I saw a woman, I was a little bit of a mess.
From one city to another, I’m like a migrating bird, weaving in and out of the changing seasons, wandering through my father’s gray hair and tears. I am always determined to tell myself not to be discouraged, no matter how hard it is!
The road I have traveled, my father has never arrived in this life, and the world I have seen, my father has never experienced in this life.
I wish the winter was longer and longer.
I wish the winter was longer and longer, so my father wouldn’t have had to work so hard. The first time I saw it, I had to sit down and sharpen my scythe and tie my cattle prod.
I think it’s a good idea to have a good time.
My father’s back, which holds up a vast sky for me.
I think it’s a good idea to have a good idea of what you’re doing.
When I came home that year, I saw that my father, who was over a year old, no longer had a strong back and his spirit was not as hale and hearty as it used to be, and I advised my father not to go to the ground, but he always said, “Let’s do it one day if we can move.
This is the stubbornness of my father, this is my father’s philosophy.
Perhaps, my father was right.
I know, father, that you are afraid that one day your son will be tired, tired of running around, or down and out, and will come back and still have a meal.
I know, father, that you want your son to always have nostalgia in his dreams and his soul in his hometown!
Father, you have used the lofty mountains of the Loess Plateau to support my belief that I should be strong and brave through the greatest of storms, and that I should not feel lonely when walking through the darkest of nights.
The rabbits moved from nest to nest, and the grass on the cliffside, after countless years of withering.
Father, when did your back begin to stoop, like a curved plow? I don’t know if it’s the handmade shaving of relentless years, or the artisanal operation of the gourmets’ storm?
Perhaps the back of my father’s back is the back of the mountain, a simple interpretation of the ruggedness of the ancestral Yellow Earth people.
What other words can be said? June, when all the thoughts return, when all the love is thrown to the ground, Father, be happy! You want to be healthy!
On this wonderful day, I pray for parents everywhere: peace in spring and autumn!
II. “Old Dad”
On New Year’s Eve, old dad called from the coach station to summon his son to pick him up, who was stunned.
Another Chinese New Year, the son had already agreed with his parents on the phone that he would still not go home this year.
The first time I saw the film, I was very happy.
The son had a hard time finding a hospital nursing job with a home health care company in the provincial capital the year before, and then as a small head last year. With a tight staff and high price point for the spring, he wanted to set the example.
Old Dad limped for eight years, and that year he was a village cadre and led the effort to blow up a mountain to get rocks and hurt his left foot.
The old man wore a cotton cap with ear protection on his head, and his hands were stuck in the sleeves of a black pair of cotton gowns, and under his buttocks was a big black bag.
When he saw his son running, he got up, shook a few times and fell down.
The old man grabbed his son’s hand and said with a smile, “The beard is longer than dad’s. Which girl would dare to want you!” The old man had lost two more teeth, and the coarse, hard flesh on his palm stung him.
The son cried.
The old man smiled again, his face full of brown walnut lines squeezing out the flowers, looking here, feeling there, and then sitting on the edge of the bed, looking around the 8 square meter hut that his son had rented, as if he were looking at his family’s compartment full of bales after the autumn, and saying cheerfully, “We have a nest, and we are secure.”
Behind him lay a river bank of hometown specialties, with five large bottles of homemade spicy toon in oil being the most eye-catching.
New Year’s Eve dumplings, my son wants to go to the supermarket to buy, “Come back!” A turn, a packet of bacon thrown into the son’s arms, the son’s face brushed red.
The dumplings with bacon are a rule set by the old ancestors. The fatty dumplings were served on the table and the old man fished out three pairs of chopsticks from the black bag and told his son to take out three bowls and arrange them in order.
The son looked at his father suspiciously, and he picked out a few dumplings from the plate and put them in the empty bowl, “Your mother is very prosperous, don’t think about it.” The company’s main business is to provide a wide range of products and services to its customers.
This is what the mother said, when she went to the county high school, her son came back from working in a restaurant during the holidays and made dumplings with her mother every New Year’s Eve.
Mother praised him for his good dumplings, and always said that eating the dumplings made by her son was the only way to celebrate the New Year. He missed his mother and wanted to call. “Where is the melon? Back of the ears are a year.”
The first time I saw it, I had to go back to my house.
The son brought a basin of hot water to soak his feet, and the old man hastily put away his feet, “The New Year’s sweeping soaking feet run wealthy.” The company’s main business is to provide a wide range of products and services to the market. The son was confused, and the purple-purple-colored, leafy skin wrapped around the swollen foot crept up the calf.
The son said tentatively, “Dad, I want to work for three more years, and then our family will turn over a new leaf.” The company’s main business is to provide a wide range of products and services to the public.
Don’t blame my mother, my son put his hand on my father’s cotton back, “I’ll make dumplings for you every New Year’s Eve.”
“What?” The old man’s head snapped off the pillow and he turned his face away, his eyes glowing.
The next day after breakfast, the old man said solemnly to his son, “I’ll go back at noon today.” The son was anxious. The company’s main goal is to provide a platform for the development of the company’s business.
The son knew it was a waste of time to persuade him, so he took out a bunch of money from his underwear pocket and stuffed it into his father’s black bag, saying heavily, “I’ll do a good job.”
On the way, both the old man and the son were happy.
As they boarded the train, the old man kept stroking his son’s disheveled beard and said, “Pick up and send a picture to your mother.”
The train left the platform.
The old man stood stiffly in the aisle, his eyes staring straight out the window, and suddenly he let out a long sigh and wiped his tears.
A year ago, his partner died, and she didn’t want him to tell his son, saying that he could earn money to marry his daughter-in-law, and that only if he did, would she feel at ease over there.
III. “Every old father in the vicissitudes of life was once a young man on a white horse”
This year I realized that my father, the old farmer who had been stuck in the mud for half his life, was not a rough man.
My old phone devolved to him, loaded with facebook, and he started using twitter to catch up with the zeitgeist. In the middle of summer, he put a picture on twitter of lotus flowers blooming under the blue sky and white clouds, which he planted with his own hands. The photo was accompanied by the caption: “The lotus leaves are endlessly blue, and the lotus flowers are distinctively red.”
The photo is awesome, with a sharp composition and bright colors. The rare thing is the poem, because my dad grows roots, not for ornamental purposes, but to dig up the roots that are sleeping in the mud for money and to make ends meet.
From a young age, I knew that lotus roots were an important cash crop for our family, and my dad happened to be a good digger. When I was a little girl, my dad used to pick lotus flowers for me to play with. And now, he uses a poem to describe it: Picking lotus flowers in the autumn in Nan Tang, lotus flowers over people’s heads.
I looked at my dad’s twitter feed and realized that similar verses were scattered throughout his career as a farmer with his face to the ground, and the hard work took on a hint of lightness, the romance and beauty of farming and reading.
Can you understand the vibration in my heart?
I never knew that my father could write poetry at his fingertips. Because in my memory, he was always quiet, busy working, busy earning money, busy raising a family, busy playing the role of a good husband and father ……
But I forgot that he was not born a father. He also had a gorgeous teenage years, longing for poetry and faraway places, just like you and me today.
2
Later at a dinner party, talking about the odd twitter of my parents, I brought up the stream of clarity that was my dad. A friend also told the story of his father.
When the family’s old house was being demolished and the old stuff was being cleaned up, my friend found a big stack of yellowed drawings from the attic. He was curious to look through them one by one and realized that they were pen sketches of landscapes and people, which were quite similar. However, his friend had never heard of anyone in the family drawing. He ran to ask his mother, who glanced at it and said, “Your father drew it.
His father had been dead for years.
The first time I saw him, I thought he had a lot of art under his broad labor clothes. My friend was thrilled and delighted to ask about my mother and learn that my father had once dreamed of being a painter.
More than 30 years ago, my friend’s father was a young man who spent his days sketching and painting with a clip on his back, dreaming of a bright future with a brush in his hand.
The company’s main focus is on the development of a new product that will be used in the future.
When he became a father himself, life was suddenly a chicken-and-egg affair. The company’s main goal is to provide a better solution to the problem. The two women, one old and one young, were quite critical of his obsession with painting, which was, after all, something that could not be immediately realized. They only see him expend time and energy, but not in exchange for the most basic rice and cabbage.
Finally, after a fierce family battle, my father silently put away his drawings and pens and never spoke of them again until his death.
A friend finished telling the story softly and drank a sip of wine, “I suddenly thought, if he was still alive today, would he also draw so many strokes again and put them in twitter, waiting for others to like and comment ……”
It seems that only when we are old and have dedicated our lives to our families will we have the opportunity to take out our dreams that were once put on the shelf and let them collect dust over the years.
I burned all those drawings in front of his grave, hoping that in the other world he could continue to paint.”
We were too late to participate in their teenage years, but we could only glance back in time through some traces, to see the young man who was dreaming and singing.
This is the first time I’ve ever seen a man who has been a part of the world for a long time.
3
The boys around us have become fathers one after another, and the change in status has really made a difference to them in one way or another.
What surprised me most was that Dahlin, a teenager who used to be addicted to non-mainstream, racing around on a motorcycle, had learned to put the baby to sleep and breastfeed. The company’s main focus is on the development of a new product, which is a new product. The company’s main focus is on the development of a new product, the “new” product.
These words were so deafening that I suddenly remembered those poems in my dad’s twitter feed.
The memory is blurred, drifting back to the distant many years ago when my dad used to hold a book of poems in one hand and hold me in the other, teaching my teeth to speak one line at a time, “Goose goose goose, bend your neck and sing to the sky ……”
Not without trace, the family has the whole set of The four masterpieces, there is a series of small books and comic books. Since when did that young man who loved books become concerned only with food and vegetables, banishing his hidden dreams far away?
Maybe it was the high tuition fees on my way to school, or maybe it was the exhaustion of trying to keep a family on track. Fortunately, that dream of his was always treasured in his heart, and when he held it out years later, it still shone.
Growing up, I thought the most powerful man in the world was my dad, who was so strong, could make so much money, and could handle anything. The first time I saw him, he was like all the other boys around me, who loved to play and be free. The weak shoulders, too, were once sheltered.
The boy who rode a horse on a sloping bridge, what turned you into a mellow uncle?
They are the most important thing in the world.
This is also the way of life.
The first time I saw the film, I was able to see it.