"Yellow" has no fate with us. Only "red" people spend all their time with each other. This "red" is bitter and astringent, and it is really hard to swallow. But if I don't eat, I'll be hungry. I'm really a little red.
However, children also have their own ways. My grandfather's cousin is a juren, and his wife I call her grandma. Their branch is very rich and has land. Although Juren is dead, my grandmother is still building it. The family is still very good. Her own grandson died young, so she gave all her love to me. She is one of the few people in the whole village who can eat "white". She not only eats by herself, but also leaves half or a quarter of a white-flour bun for me every day. As soon as I wake up every morning, I immediately jump off the kang and run to grandma's side, shouting "grandma!" " "She immediately smiled from ear to ear, put her hand back in her chubby sleeve, and rushed out of her pocket and handed it to me in a small bun. This is the happiest moment of my day.
In addition, I can occasionally eat a little "white", which I bought by myself. In the summer wheat harvest season, our family has no harvest at all. My aunt and aunt Ning, who live across the street-their family is extremely poor-took me to the rich fields in our village or other villages to "pick wheat". The so-called "wheat picking" means that when other long-term workers cut the wheat, there will always be some ears of wheat left. These are not worth picking up, so we poor people come to pick them up. Because there will never be too many rides, I only pick half a basket for half a day. However, for us, this is already a fortune. My aunt and aunt must take special care of me. A child of four or five or six years old can pick up ten catties and eight catties of wheat in a summer. My mother wiped all these off. To reward me, after the wheat season, my mother ground the wheat into flour. Steamed into steamed buns; Or paste it into white flour cakes to satisfy my desire. So I ate a lot.
I remember one year, when I was picking wheat, my performance might be a little "extraordinary". On the Mid-Autumn Festival-farmers call it "August 15th"-my mother got some moon cakes from somewhere and broke a piece for me, so I squatted down beside a stone to eat. At that time, for me, moon cakes were really wonderful things, and it was hard to compare them with dragon liver and phoenix marrow. I seldom eat it once. I didn't notice if my mother was eating. Looking back now, she didn't eat a bite. Not only moon cakes, but also other "white" ones, which my mother has never tasted, are saved for me to eat. She may have been eating red sorghum cake all her life. You can't even eat this in a disaster year, you can only eat wild vegetables.
As for meat, the memory of eating seems to be blank. Next door to my mother's house is a workshop selling boiled beef.
The old ox who worked hard for farmers all his life could no longer plow when he was old, so several farmers bought it at a very low price, killed it in an extremely barbaric way and cooked and sold the meat. Old beef is hard to cook, there is really no way. The farmer peed in the meat pot, so the meat was rotten. Farmers are kind-hearted. In this case, they told their neighbors, "Don't buy meat today!" My mother's family is poor. Although she loves my grandson very much, she can only use clay pots and spend a few dollars to make money. A can of beef soup is better than nothing. I remember once, there was a tripe in the jar. This has become my patent. I can't bear to eat it all at once, so I cut it piece by piece with a rusty iron knife and eat it slowly. This tripe is really comparable to moon cakes.
"White", moon cakes and tripe are rare. How about "yellow" "Yellow" is also rare. But although I am only a few years old, I have figured out a way; Spring, summer and autumn; Grass and crops have grown outside the village. I will mow the grass outside the village, or cut sorghum leaves in other people's sorghum fields. The landlord not only does not prohibit it, but also welcomes it. Because the ventilation can be improved when the leaves are cracked, sorghum can grow better and the grains can be beaten more. Grass and sorghum leaves are for cows. Our family is poor and we have never raised cattle. My second uncle's family has land and often raises two big cows. My grass and sorghum leaves are for them. Whenever I walk into my uncle's house with a big bundle of grass or sorghum leaves on my back, I am not afraid to wait on the grass in the cowshed, and I can always eat "yellow" rice. Speaking of Chinese New Year, I feel in my heart that in the past year, I have made great contributions to feeding cattle and have the courage to go to my uncle's house to eat yellow powder cake. Yellow flour cakes are steamed with yellow wheat and dates. Although the color is yellow, it ranks above the "white", because it is only eaten once a year during the New Year, and things are rare, so yellow flour cakes are expensive.
What I said above is all about food. Why do you talk about food when you talk about your mother? The reason is not complicated. First, as a child, I care about food easily. Second, almost all the delicious food I said above has nothing to do with my mother. She has nothing to do with anything but "yellow". I stayed with her until I was six years old, and then I briefly went home twice. Looking back now, even my mother's face is blurred and there is no clear outline. In particular, I find it difficult and easy to understand: I can't remember my mother's smile anyway. She never seems to laugh. Her family is poor and her son is far away. She suffered a lot. Where does the smile come from? Once when I went home, I heard my aunt Ningda tell me:
"Your mother always said,' If I had known I'd sent him out and never come back, I wouldn't have let him go!' "How much bitterness and sadness are contained in a short sentence! I don't know how many days and nights the mother looked at the distance and looked forward to her son's return! However, this son never came back until his mother left this world.
For this situation, I was confused at first and didn't understand it deeply. In high school, a few years older, I gradually understood. However, depending on others, the economy cannot be independent and has no ambition, so it cannot be realized. I secretly made up my mind and made a vow: once I graduate from college, I will find a job myself and marry my mother immediately. However, before I graduated from college, my mother left me forever. The ancients said: "The tree wants to be quiet but the wind will not stop, and the son wants to raise it but not close." This is exactly what I should say. I can't bear to imagine my mother's dying thoughts for her beloved son. When I think about it, my heart will crack and tears will fill my eyes. When I rushed back to Jinan from Beiping and Qingping from Jinan to attend the funeral, I saw my mother's coffin and humble house. I really want to hit a coffin and go underground with my mother. I regret it. I really regret it. I shouldn't have left my mother. No matter what fame, status, happiness and honor in the world, you can't compare with being with your mother, even if you don't know a word, even if you eat "red" all day.
This is my "permanent regret".