Holding Mother's Hand
Weekend with his son home, already over 60 years old mother can not help but go to the street to buy some good food, no matter how to persuade. Mother said: I am very happy to see you come back and cook delicious food for you! I said,"Let me go with you." Mother happily said: OK, you go, want to eat what mother buy.
To get to the vegetable market, you have to walk a little way and cross a road. Cars came and went in the street, and crowds flowed in a hurry. As she grew older, her mother's legs were obviously not flexible and her movements were slow. She carried the basket and took me by the arm as she walked and talked about the trivia of life. I bent down and listened patiently to her, although I had heard many of her words many times. People have many old sayings, trees have many roots, and my mother is already fond of nagging at this age. My son ran to the front early, crossing the road, I hurriedly shouted at the back: slow down, for fear that my son did not pay attention to the traffic. American Reading Appreciation
After crossing the road, my mother suddenly stopped, she put the vegetable basket in her arm, freed her right hand and extended it to me. For a moment, my heart could not help but tremble. What a familiar gesture!
When I was a child, I had to cross a road to school every day. My mother was working at the hospital. The school and hospital are on opposite sides of my house. Every day my mother would see me off, and she would always send me across the road before turning back to work. She would always reach out to me with her right hand and hold my small hand as she bent down and told me to cross the road slowly and see the passing vehicles clearly.
More than thirty years have passed, the small hands that used to be held in the mother's hands have grown into a pair of big hands of men. The young mother of the past has also been wrinkled, white-haired, and thin fingers, but her hand movements are still so skillful. I didn't reach for it. Instead, I reached out and took the basket from her arm, lifted it in my hand, and put my hand in her other arm.
Joy flashed in his mother's eyes and her smile rippled, just like an old farmer facing a bumper harvest of farmland or a worker facing a product designed and produced by himself.
Hand into the mother's arms, the heart of how much pain, how much love, and how much sigh. Just now when I saw my son crossing the road, I couldn't help but feel tight in my heart and quickly shouted for my son's attention. Now my mother has to cross the road every day to buy vegetables, but I didn't care. When my son comes home from school late, I am always anxious, afraid that something will happen. However, my mother is always busy with work and the like. I only come home to see her once a few months and a half. Out of an obligation? Or is it a concern? I don't know. Many times we can love children and do it well, but we often forget to respect and care for the elderly as we love children.
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