I won’t write a post today, I’ll tell you a story, this is a real story. This is a very poor household. My father passed away when my son first entered elementary school.
The mother did not remarry and lived a life of an orphan and widowed mother with her son with hard work. At that time, there was no electricity in the village. My son read and wrote under the oil lamp every night. My mother held the needle and thread and gently sewed her mother's love into her son's clothes. Day after day, year after year, as certificates spread over two mottled earth walls, the son was rising slowly like the green bamboo in spring. Watching his son grow half his head taller. The wrinkles at the corners of my mother's eyes were smiling.
When the trees all over the mountain were filled with autumn, my son was admitted to the county's Key No. 1 Middle School. But my mother suffered from severe rheumatism and could not do farm work. Sometimes she couldn't even eat. The son knew that his mother couldn't get the tuition, which was not about the tuition, but that the students needed to pay 40 kilograms of rice to the cafeteria every month. The child said: Mom, I want to drop out of school and help you do some farm work. Mom touched her son's head and said lovingly: If you have this heart, Mom's heart is sweet. But you must read the book. Don't worry, mom will give birth to you, and there will be a way to raise you. You go to school to register first, and I will find a way. The son said stubbornly, and the mother said he would go quickly, but the son still said no. The mother waved her thick slap and threw it firmly on her face. This was the first time her 16-year-old son was beaten;
Later, the son finally went to school. Looking at his back as he was leaving, the mother's eyes revealed reluctance.
Not long after, the canteen of No. 1 Middle School welcomed her late mother. She limped into the door, took off a bag of rice from her shoulder, and opened the bag panting. Master Xiong, who was in charge of collecting rice, grabbed it and looked at it, frowned, but accepted it. Because he found that this bag of rice, early rice, medium rice, , and late rice, the master didn't say anything when he saw her pitiful. My mother took out a small cloth bag and said: Master, this is 5 yuan. I’ll give it to my son’s living expenses this month. Then he limped away.
Another month later, my mother walked into the canteen with a bag of rice. As usual, Master Xiong opened the bag and looked at the rice. His eyebrows locked it again, but it was still mixed rice. He wondered if he didn't explain it clearly to his mother last time, so he said to her word by word: What rice do we collect? However, the varieties must be separated and cannot be mixed together, otherwise they will not be cooked, and the cooked rice will also be mixed. If this continues next time, we won’t accept it. My mother was a little nervous: Master, my rice is like this, what should I do? Master Xiong was so amused and asked back: Can your family grow a hundred kinds of rice in just one acre of land? After being asked like this, my mother didn't dare to say anything, and Mr. Xiong no longer paid attention to her.
At the beginning of the third month, my mother came again. When Master Xiong looked at Mi, he said spicyly in a tone that was almost unreasonable and said: Hey, why are you so stubborn? Why is it still mixed rice? We really can't accept it today!
Mom seemed to have expected it, and she bent her knees and knelt in front of Master Xiong. Two lines of tears burst out from her sunken and unsightly eyes: Master, let me tell you the truth, this rice is something I want to beg for! Master Xiong was startled and widened his eyes, unable to speak for a long time.
My mother sat on the ground, rolled up her trouser legs, revealing a pair of stiff and deformed legs that were swollen and spindle-shaped. Her mother wiped her tears and said: I have a late stage of rheumatism and it is difficult to walk, let alone farm. My son was sensible and wanted to drop out of school to help me, but I slapped him to school. And I can only raise rice in this way.
She explained to Master Xiong again that she had been hiding it from the villagers, and was even more afraid that her son would hurt his self-esteem when he found out. Every day at dawn, she would quietly touch the village more than ten miles away with an empty rice bag and a wooden stick. She would sneak into the village until it was dark. She gathered the rice she had been begging and sent it to school at the beginning of the month. My mother said in a nagging manner, and Master Xiong was already filled with tears. He helped his mother up and said: Good mother, I will go and tell the principal immediately that the school will donate the money to your family. The mother shook her hand in panic.Said: No, no, if your son knows that his mother is begging for him to go to school, it will ruin his self-esteem and affect his schooling. I have received the good intentions of the master, I just want you to keep them confidential!
After saying that, my mother still limped away. The principal of
finally learned about this and quietly waived his son's three years of tuition and living expenses as a student of . Three years later, my son scored 627 and was admitted to Tsinghua University . On the day of the graduation ceremony, the county No. 1 Middle School was roaring and drums. The principal specially invited my mother's son to the rostrum. The mother wondered: Why did several students who scored high scores only invite me to the stage? What's even more strange is that there are three bulging snakeskin bags piled on the stage. At this time, Master Xiong came on stage to tell the story of his mother asking for rice for her son to go to school, and the audience was silent. The principal pointed to the three snake-skin bags and said passionately: This is the three bags of rice that my mother asked for in the story, this is the food that cannot be bought with money in the world.
The son looked back in confusion and saw Master Xiong moving step by step towards the stage. We don’t know what my son was thinking at that moment, and I believe that the shock he gave him would never be less than the storm. So, the warmest scene of family affection in the world was staged, with mother and son looking at each other, and the mother's eyes were warm and soft, with some gray hair scattered on her forehead. The son pounced on her and hugged her. Crying loudly!
