Father's love is like a mountain, tall and majestic; father's love is like water, clear and sweet; father's love is like fire, warm and severe. In our life, father's love is not as great as mother's love, it's small and ordinary; father's love is not as deep as mother's love, it's shallow in life to print a mark; father's love is not as beautiful as mother's love, it's scattered in every bit of life.
That morning, the north wind howled wildly,. The bottle of dark clouds in the sky was overturned with the power of thunder. I was ready to go to school early to sign up for everything. Looking at the weather outside the window, my father saw me. He waved his hand and said, "don't worry, dad will take you!" I jumped three feet high with joy.
My father took me into the parking lot, and my mood was like suddenly falling into the abyss from the mountain. I saw my father step on a worn-out old bicycle. The iron stains on the bicycle and the rotten mud on the wheels gave off a bad smell. I do not want to sit in the back seat, two feet carefully try to avoid mud. The bicycle moved forward slowly, just like his appearance. The wind roared with coolness. I thought to myself, it must be late this time. It's terrible! I knew I would not take this car! Suddenly, my father's voice came back to me again: "child, is it cold?" I was stunned, looking up to answer, but I saw my father. He was only wearing a long T-shirt, his bare arms were exposed to the cold wind and shivering. I stayed for a long time, tears of guilt filled my eyes. I asked my father in a trembling voice, "Dad, why do you only wear a shirt? Isn't it cold?" "Dad is not cold!" my father was in front of me, with a firm voice and a gentle voice, echoing between the heaven and the earth for a long time.
"Father is not cold!" this sentence, is not father's love? Yes!! what is father's love? Father's love is the bicycle, father's love is the T-shirt, father's love is the sentence "father is not cold!", heart, like a fire burning in the cold wind
My father and I, my father, are very fond of raising flowers. All the uncles in the factory call him "old flower fan". I was probably influenced by my father, and I fell in love with flowers, which was called "little flower fan" by my uncle in my father's factory.
Last year, a new flower house was built in my father's factory. I didn't buy any good flowers. The leaders of the factory suggested that the employees take the flowers to the factory from home, send them as they like, and sell them as they like. My father listened to the suggestion and went home to discuss it with me. I said, "which pot shall we sell?" my father said mysteriously, "guess." I pointed to a pot of Chlorophytum, father shook his head, I pointed to a pot of peony, father shook his head I pointed at more than ten pots in succession, but my father shook his head. I'm not so patient now. "Which basin are you selling?" my father smiled and didn't speak. He just pointed to the budding Fusang with his fingers. I was shocked at the sight. This pot of Fusang is the apple of our father's eye. How can we sell it to the factory? My father is not joking? I asked in a hurry, "you really want to sell Fusang?" my father said, "if you want to sell it, I will not sell this pot." When I heard it, I was shocked: "what! Do you want to give it to the factory? No! I won't give it!" my father said: "this potted flower can only be used for our family to watch at home. If it is put in the factory, all the staff can watch it when they have a rest." After listening to my father's words, I didn't make a sound. I knew that my father was a factory loving man, so I reluctantly agreed.
Two weeks later, one afternoon my father said to me, "tomorrow our factory will hold a flower show. Welcome to visit." When I heard this, I thought of Fusang again, and I didn't speak. My father said, "you must go and wear red flowers for you at the meeting." "what? Wear red flowers for me?" my eyes widened in surprise. Father smiled and said, "tomorrow you will know."
The next afternoon, I followed my father to the factory with a question mark. As soon as we sat down, we listened to the announcement of the president of the conference: "it is these two flower fans who have cultivated Fusang for more than ten years and sent it to the factory when it is about to blossom." I listened and blushed. My father and I were standing on the podium with big red flowers, and under the window over there was the blooming Fusang. It looks so red and so gorgeous in the sun.
Suddenly, I felt that the flower on my chest was far less lovely than that on my father's. I was so ashamed that I thought to myself: I must learn from my father, so that the flower on my chest will be more red and colorful.