Love Story

Dad and Mom’s Love

For as long as I can remember, my father went out to work with the village people during the farming season, leaving all the farming work at home to my mother to manage. Whenever my father came back, my mother was interested in letting him talk about what was new outside. Later, when my father grew older and my mother was not well, my father contracted two acres of land in the village to plant fruit trees. He carried a hoe to the orchard every day to weed and spray pesticides on the fruit trees, and when the fruit was ripe, he was busy picking it and selling it at the market. When he came back, he scattered a pocketful of change on the bed, and his mother happily counted them one by one, smoothed them one by one, and chattered incessantly about his recent expenses. My father was having fun with a glass of sorghum wine and a plate of dishes that my mother had already cooked. The mother, most of the time, is at home doing housework, laundry and cooking, feeding the chickens and ducks, sometimes to the neighbors’ young daughters-in-law with children, or help cut a shoe pattern, as soon as the father returned from the orchard, the mother will put down the work in hand, very seriously to the father to pour wine, serve food, and sit with the father to talk about the household chores and the fruits of the garden and the crops in the field. Sometimes, I heard them complaining to each other, and my mother would always say that there was no end to the work in the field and that my father should come home early tomorrow. When my father came home and saw my mother busy, he blamed her for being idle.

My mother once told me that she was introduced to my father by a relative. Perhaps at the beginning, they did not have any feelings for each other. However, with time, in the trust and reliance on each other, their feelings have long surpassed love. One time, my father accidentally broke his foot while working in the field, and the back of his foot was bruised and swollen like a hairy bread, and he was afraid to walk on the ground. From then on, my mother took care of my father even more, and I realized from then on that a real love life should be like this.

Over the years, the family’s conditions have gradually improved, but my mother has always been diligent and frugal to work for the family. My brother and I asked our parents not to burn wood anymore, but my mother said that gas was too wasteful for cooking, and gas was so expensive, it was better to burn wood, so she insisted on using the most primitive wood stove. So, in the season of corn and other crops, my father and mother would line up the stalks, dry them, bind them, and then pull them home and put them together to make firewood stacks. So, at every moment when the smoke is rising, I can see the smiling faces of my father and mother in the kitchen ……

I don’t know what love looks like in the eyes of my father and mother, but I often see them as husband and wife, and see them smiling at each other without thinking, perhaps this is the most real love it!

Translated with (free version)

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