A kite may always earn a continuous line.
Mothers in the world love to worry about things, and my mother is the most worrying about all mothers. In her eyes, all children are chickens that have not hatched their eggshells. She must hatch us forever.
When I was young, my sister went to elementary school. What she fears most is caterpillars and drawing lessons. The person she drew had a terrifying face, and the drawing teacher could only shake his head after seeing it. Once, my sister was a little uncomfortable, but one of the assignments was not completed. It was a painting. To paint an apple, she cried in embarrassment. Mom said: “I’ll help you draw.” After dinner, Mom took my sister’s crayons and drawing paper and spread them out under the lamp. She is determined to draw an apple well and “shame” for her sister. Mother painted very carefully and seriously, using a variety of colors. I remember that it was an apple with extremely complex colors, half red and half green, and then red and green gradually approached, intersected, merged, and merged. My sister lay on the bed and cried: “The teacher wants a red one.”
My mother often tutored us with homework, especially arithmetic. She doesn’t want us to study liberal arts, she wants us to study science and engineering. She understands the basics of science and engineering, which is arithmetic in elementary school. Once, when the big exam was approaching, she helped me to “convert”. She must ask me: “How many meters are a foot.” I said, “Teacher, as long as we know how many decimeters are a meter.” But my mother said, “In case there is a question about how many meters are a foot, What do you do?” Her logic is right, and I can’t think of any reason to refute it, so I can only jump.
In fact, my mother may be more appropriate to tutor me in Chinese, but she does not tutor me, only controls my studies. The first time I watched “A Dream of Red Mansions” was in the fourth grade of elementary school. My mother taped up all the places that were not suitable for me to read. On the contrary, it made me very curious and tried every means to know what was written on the back of the tape.
Later, my sister and I finally left home. But we are like kites, no matter how high we fly, the thread is still firmly in the hands of our mother, and she always pays attention to our movements. Later, I went to a regional arts troupe to play the cello. Mom always got off the car and stayed for a few days when she passed by. Once, I told her that we went to a water conservancy construction site to perform, where there is a Dali Mountain, there are many marbles and so on. My mother said: “This is a prose idea, you can write a prose.” At this time, I am over 20, the overall situation is settled, and I have no talents, and the cello that is halfway to become a monk will not be a useful tool. The dream of science and technology entrusted to us has long been shattered, and seeing me alone, eating all day long, doing nothing, but giving birth to a lot of troubles, my mother persuaded me to do so. After that, I had nothing to do and wrote an essay. Unexpectedly, this became my first work printed in type, which gave me the delusion of being a writer.
After that, I started to dance the text and the ink. Every article must be reviewed by my mother, and then corrected according to her opinion, before it can be sent to the editorial department, and I will listen to the editor’s opinion again and then amend it. She is much stricter than the editor, and her comments are extremely specific and subtle. I often disagree, but it’s not as logical as her, and I don’t know how to explain it, so I have to jump again.
Then, I went to the Beijing workshop, the kite string was still in my mother’s hands, and every article was always sent to her first. However, unlike before, my mother agreed to let me consider her opinions after listening to the editorial department’s opinions. At this time, I was writing as fast as the gate was opened, one after another, she was really overwhelmed. Finally one day, she came up with a letter immediately after an opinion letter, saying that she withdrew the previous letter and went with me. The kite broke the line and flew headlessly, whether it was able to fly to the sky, or it fell down, but the kite itself didn’t need to complain. This last letter was written under the persuasion of my father, who persuaded my mother to leave me alone and write it myself. This is Dad’s consistent policy for us. He has only one concern for us, that is, to cross the road. When going out, you must say: “Cross the road carefully!” It seems that the only crisis in the world is to cross the road. As long as you cross the road safely, People are safe, everything is fine, and there is all hope. It’s also concise.
When I grow up, people boast and boast: “Your parents are well-educated.” Some are dissatisfied, and they always say: “You are spoiled by your parents.” It seems that for us, I have no merit at all. of. Maybe it’s right. When I was a child, I liked painting, and the paintings were quite reasonable. The teacher always said: “It’s not like your sister at all.” But the adults asked me to learn foreign languages. They invited the teacher to take English classes three times a week. I could only deal with it perfunctorily. . In the end, even the perfunctory could not go on, so I had to stop the class.
Today, twice a week, I willingly squeeze the car for half an hour to study English at the Palace of Culture, struggling with declining memory. I couldn’t help thinking, if my parents fisted me together, maybe I could understand the original work by now. Think about it again, if the adults followed my interests back then, maybe I can draw a few strokes now. It seemed to be a matter of no matter what, like no matter what, I made a dream of writing a novel. After much deliberation, children are always the works of their parents. Whether they care about it or not, it’s their work. A kite may always earn a continuous line.
