My husband has boasted himself as a good lover and good father. He works hard every day and dotes on his wife and son. He keeps all possible imagined opponents out of our family. However, he said he had never expected the fortress would be broken through from the inside. He has begun to foster him with great care since his son was born, but he turned out to be called a third party. The more he thinks of it, the better-tempered he becomes.
You Have Your Own Mum
When my son was three or four years old, almost every day a fight for a double bed would be on in our family. The battlefield began its position in bed and then out of bed, full of laughters and shouts. The fight had its theme ranging from warmth to tragedy, always ending with the cry of our son. But it didn't mean our son failed.
I remembered once my son was early persuaded to sleep by himself. But when the father and son finished bathing and came out, our son, wrapped a turkish towel, ran into our bedroom, climbed onto the bed and got into the quilt, shouting at my husband, "TonightI sleep with mum." After a little gentle encouragement and serious debate, my husband finally lost patience. He removed his false face, yelling at son, " Is there any kid sleeping in the adult' bed? Is there any kid so naughty as you? You have your own room and bed. Go back to your bed!" Our son broadened his small mouth and began to cry, "No daddy talks to a kid like you......" Then he blubbered, debating for himself, " You have your own mum. Go to look for your mum. She's my mum, not yours. Mama......" With this, he had a good cry.
Seeing the scene, I laughed so hard that I almost became breathless. In the end, feeling both amused and annoyed, my husband had to do out his pillow and quilt, murmuring, "Well! You are a winner, OK? I fear you, so I leave, OK? " Then he hugged all his bedding and ran away unwillingly from the living room to another bedroom.
I Remember What You've Said
When my son was in Grade Three, he became less obedient than before. Seeing other children keep quiet and polite, I also wanted him to behave refinedly like a little gentleman. But he refused to do like that. For this reason, I began to wonder if I hadn't taught him in a proper way. Meanwhile, I also paid close attention to the words I said to him. I tried to tell him what I read from books and what I believed reasonable, which I hoped would leave deep impression and have unconscious influence on him. However, what really came out of my mind without hesitation were still those clinches such as "Don't talk while dining!" and "Put your bookbag aside! Wash your hands!".....I was utterly discomforted, acting as if I was not qualified as a mother. After that, whenever I thought of saying these uncultured meaningless words, I would feel deeply guilty.
Once in a while, I ask my son why he can't remember what mother tells him. He would look at me and answer in a leisurely way, " I remember all you've said." On hearing that, I became so excited that I hurried to test how much I had taught him, "Then you tell me, what do you remember?" He thought a while and said, "Well, I remember you've told me to eat up rice and not to have leftovers in the bowl, or I will marry a girl with a pitted face when I grow up. I still remember you've asked me not to peep at girls toileting, or I will get pin-eyed. Besides, I can't swallow chewing gums, or they will make guts stick together so that I can't go to stool in my life......"
That will do! I hastened to interrupt him. See how much he has remembered! What should be remembered is not remembered. All he's remembered are nothing but such petty things.
The Most Beautiful Stone In the World
One Saturday noon, my son was invited to attend a birthday party. After I sent him to the destination, I told him I would pick him up after the party was over. His classmate's mother said she had a car and that she could drive my son home.
However, when it was time for supper, my son still didn't get home. I called the classmate, only to be told he had set out by 6 o'clock and that he should have arrived home. I ran quickly downstairs and asked everyone including security guard in our community, supermarket clerks and even nearby policemen. But they all didn't see my son. I fainted and became fearful, my hands ice-cold and my legs weak. On arriving home, I slumped onto the sofa, devoid of strength. Just then my husband on business in another city called me. I held the headphone tight and couldn't help crying. While I was crying, my son was ringing the door bell downstairs.
I opened the door and saw his face with two black marks on each side and his dirty hands as if he used them to search the trash. Seeing this, I became so angry that I pulled him in and gave him a slap without asking why. Then I shouted at him, " Where did you go to play? Why didn't you call home? Didn't you know how worried mum was......" Maybe frightened by my fierce look, my son stood there in silence for quite a while, not daring to say anything. I still couldn't refrain my anger, so I dragged him into the toilet, opened the tap and rinse his hands under the running water. Following the sound of "dang", a bright thing fell off his hands. I picked it up and found it a round semitransparent stone.
"What's this?" I snapped. At this time my son's tears streamed down. He sobbed, " I sent it to you......"
"Send to me? Where did you get it?"
"I picked it up on my way home. I though you would love it......"
"Anyway, you should call home first. " I said, still with a straight face.
"I intended to make a call, but aunt Chen said it didn't work." As he explained, he felt more and more wronged and began to cry.
It turned out that his classmate's mother invited them to play at home after dinner. Those children called home to inform their parents in turn, but when it was my son's turn, the mobile phone run out of power. My son was afraid that I would feel worried about his coming late, so he insisted on leaving early and not letting others accompany him home. Instead, he took a bus by himself, but he got off at the first stop before the destination. Then he had to walk home along the road. As he walked on, he saw in the flower bed something bright that was a beautiful stone. He thought his mum had a preference for beautiful stones. So he dug it out with his hands, rinsed the dirt on it under the tap and went home cheerfully. He didn't expect he would get a slap from me immediately he arrived home.
Suddenly I stood there and there was a gnawing pain in my heart. My son decided to go home early for fear that his mother would feel worried, so he took a bus for the first time and walked so far. He dug a stone in the flower bed under the streetlight because his mother might like it. He ran home happily, only to get a hard slap from me. At the thought of these, I felt so obsessed by deep remorse that words failed me, tears beginning to fill my eyes.
That night, I walked into my son's room and kissed his face gently. Tears came into his eyes. I embraced him with my arms and kept apologizing, " Sorry. Mum is wrong. Forgive mum, will you? " He shook his head and said while sobbing, "It doesn't matter. Mum." Taking out the stone, he said, " Mum, do you like it? " Then he added, " Mum, is it a diamond? " "No, " I told him, "but it's the most beautiful stone in the world. "