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A Father's Love |
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Angels always come in the dark, but what happens when an angel's wings are
broken and it can no longer fly back to its own heaven?
In my memory, my father was a man of few words and not very good at
expressing himself. He wasn't as meticulous as my mother, but he gave me a
warmth I had never experienced before.
Every time my father came home from work, I would wait for him at the door
with eager eyes, ready to say something. But he never looked at me directly,
and my enthusiasm was dampened. I would lower my head and walk into my room,
wondering why other fathers talked so much with their children, but you
hardly said a word to me and my brother. Were we not your own flesh and
blood? Every time I had this thought, I trembled.
But one winter night, when the wind was howling in the north and only my
mother, brother, and I were home, my mother got up to drink water and found
my face was red and my hands were burning up. She called you and told you to
come home. You were already exhausted, but you rushed home as soon as you
heard. You didn't say anything, but you picked me up and took me to the
hospital.
When I woke up and saw you sleeping soundly beside me, I suddenly noticed a
few more wrinkles on your weathered face and a few more silver hairs on your
head. I couldn't help but cry.
Just as I was about to reach out and touch you, you woke up and asked me
what was wrong. I said I wanted water, and when you got up to pour me a
glass, I noticed that your body was no longer as upright as it used to be. I
knew you had sacrificed too much for our family!
Since then, my father began to talk to us with love! Although sometimes you
were strict, we knew you were doing it for our own good!
With your role, the angel's wings have flown back to its own sky. |
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