Colorful years

Holding the fire tongs, he carefully picked up the carefully selected piece of meat and slowly placed it into the fire pit to roast.

As the flames leap joyfully and the meat is skillfully turned, the sizzling sound of roasting meat rises melodiously, like the most beautiful melody in nature, making one's mouth water and yearning for it.

When the meat was roasted until it was fragrant, golden brown, and crispy, my father would smile and hand me the tempting piece to taste. I would happily accept this loving gift from my father, chewing it heartily and savoring the warmth and deliciousness of home.

The rich and mellow flavor instantly spread throughout my mouth, as if I were in a culinary paradise, intoxicated by it, forgetting the hardships and troubles of the world.

Every two or three days, I would eagerly pester my father to roast some fragrant cured meat for me. This had become a special privilege and enjoyment for me.

Although my other siblings were incredibly envious, none of them dared to compete with me for this unique culinary gift. Because in my father's eyes, I would always be the son who deserved his endless love.

The reason I have this privilege is that I understand my parents' thoughts and wishes very well, and I always obediently follow their wishes, never causing them any worry or trouble.

I am well aware of their hardships and difficulties, so I always try my best to share their burdens. Whether it is clearing land for planting, chopping firewood and cutting grass, or taking care of my younger siblings, I do my best and do everything perfectly.

I long to repay their kindness in raising me with my actions, and to let them feel my growth and progress.

In terms of academics, I need no worries from my parents. As a top student, I consistently rank first in my grade in every exam. This outstanding achievement is not only my personal honor but also the best reward for my parents' hard work.

They are always proud of me, praising my intelligence and diligence to everyone they meet. Whenever this happens, I feel incredibly proud and satisfied.

However, I do not become selfish, stingy, or miserly because of this. Although I have the privilege of enjoying delicious cured meat all to myself, whenever I see the longing looks in my brothers' and sisters' eyes, I will not hesitate to share the cured meat in my hands with everyone so that we can all enjoy it together.

Because I deeply understand that sharing is a virtue, bringing endless joy and happiness. I am willing to pass this joy and happiness on to everyone, so that they too can feel the warmth and strength of home.

Those memories of cured meat are not just about the longing for its delicious taste, but also a deep nostalgia for the profound affection between family members.

Like sparkling pearls, they are embedded in the treasure box of my memory, forever shining brightly. Whenever I recall those beautiful times, I feel immense happiness and contentment. Because I know that love and warmth will forever accompany me through every stage of my life.

However, good times always pass quickly, and hardships in life always arrive unexpectedly.

That year, my hometown suffered a once-in-a-century drought, and the crops yielded almost nothing. The family's granary grew emptier day by day, and life became increasingly difficult. My father and mother were always frowning, working hard to make ends meet.

It was a hot summer afternoon. My father sat on the doorstep. He rarely smoked, but he held his pipe tightly in his hand, taking puff after puff. His brow was furrowed and his face was full of worry.

Meanwhile, her mother was busy trying to find some food to fill their stomachs from the already empty granary.

I walked to my father's side and called softly, "Father." My father looked up at me with his bloodshot eyes and forced a smile: "Son, are you hungry? But there's nothing left to eat at home."

A pang of sadness gripped my heart, but I forced back my tears. I lowered my head and whispered, "Dad, I'm not hungry. You and Mom eat first."

I knew that I couldn't be a burden to my father and mother at this time; I had to do my best to share their worries. So, I picked up a wood-chopping knife, quietly left home, and decided to go to the mountains to chop some firewood to sell in exchange for food.

The mountain path was rugged and uneven, and the scorching sun beat down on the earth. I chopped firewood, sweat pouring down my face, each stroke striking the hard wood. Sweat soaked my clothes, dripping onto the ground beneath my feet, as if telling the story of my hardship and struggle.

I don't know how long I chopped firewood; I only know that as the sun set, I returned home carrying a heavy load. My father and mother were already waiting at the door, their eyes filled with heartache and reluctance. But I know that they were more proud and gratified for me.

That night, although we didn't get to eat the delicious cured meat, my father stroked my head with his rough hands and said earnestly, "Son, you are the hope of our family. You must study hard and make something of yourself in the future so that our family can live a good life."