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That day, I went to see my father, who had abandoned me for 26 years
How can I forgive this father who has disappeared for so long? I didn’t even have the strength to call him “Daddy.” He looked at me and his jaw dropped in surprise. I held back tears to make myself strong, I had a heavy hatred in my heart, what was the meaning of such an old man? I treated him as a familiar but strange adult, asking him questions he hadn’t asked in more than twenty years but wanted to know the answers.
I was born on the outskirts of Tianjin, with a nice river near my home, and sometimes woodpeckers can be seen flying in the forest. My favorite thing to do is lie in a daze in a cotton field, let the puppy snuggle up next to me to sleep, or occasionally lick me and let me go home. I remember that when I was in elementary school, I didn’t like to talk, but I liked to write and write down trees, flowers, and birds with pen and paper, which made me happy.
I didn’t want to go home, because my parents would quarrel every third and fifth, sometimes my father would beat my mother, and I could only hold the puppy helplessly, hide on the side, and cry. The uncle would occasionally come to persuade but unfortunately had little effect. How many times after the argument, my mother pulled me on a long walk, across the river, across the bridge, and ran to the relatives’ house? Along the way, my mother kept shedding tears and almost didn’t say anything. I’m also not in the mood to “explore” my surroundings as usual. Often after a while, Dad would come to apologize to Mom and take her home.
The noise became more and more frequent, and there were no more quiet days in my childhood. The two of them also seemed tired of it. One day when I was six years old, my dad asked me who I would like to live with if they divorced. Obviously, the experience of “escaping” with my mother in tears many times made me answer without hesitation: “I talk to my mother because you always make her cry.” “After a piece of agreement, my mother tore up all the photos related to my father, as if she also took away all the connections between him and me. I haven’t seen my dad since.
When I was 8 years old, my mom married my stepfather, but I never called him daddy because I knew he wasn’t. At that time, I did not understand the truth that “it is difficult to break the mirror”, and I still looked forward to the appearance of my biological father. Every year around my birthday, I would sit on the edge of the school playground and look in the direction of the school gate. How I wish that man would come to see me with something and hug me… I miss him, I wonder if he will think of me too?
At that time, every birthday always coincided with April in the solar calendar, and if it happened to be Thursday, I would wonder, what the unlucky number “four” is, and will I die on that day! So seeing my dad before I die, isn’t that too much? But the reality still disappointed me countless times, and this wait came to no avail. The word “dad” faded away in my life. I can’t help but ask, O man who gave me my life, why did you bring me into this world?
Longing to be loved in a foreign land