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爸爸的梳子 Dad's comb

2021-06-10 20:06 次浏览
母爱如水,无微不至的呵护着你、滋润着你,无时无刻不让你感到贴心的温暖与关怀。父爱却如山,给你朴实的依靠与安慰。父爱并不表露于言词。它或许只是你胜利时,一个欣慰的表情,或许只是你失败时一个鼓励的眼神,或许只是你放弃时一句打气的话语,又或许,只是一把梳子这么简单。
Mother's love is like water. It takes good care of you, moistens you, and makes you feel warm and caring all the time. Father's love is like a mountain, giving you simple dependence and comfort. Fatherly love is not expressed in words. It may just be a happy expression when you win, an encouraging look when you fail, a cheering word when you give up, or a simple comb.
去年的大年初一,爸爸暂时放下了手头繁忙的工作,不远万里从老家赶来看我,相见才几个小时,马上又要赶回去。候机楼内,我和爸爸并排坐在椅子上。从头至尾,没有太多的言语,只偶尔问一句“学习怎么样”“生活习不习惯”,我都一一回答。因为,爸爸是个不善于言词的人,不知道如何表达他对我的爱。
On the first day of the lunar new year last year, my father temporarily put down his busy work and came to see me from his hometown. We met for only a few hours, and he will go back soon. In the terminal building, my father and I were sitting side by side in a chair. From the beginning to the end, I didn't have too many words. I only occasionally asked "how about learning" and "I'm not used to living", and I answered them one by one. Because, dad is not good at words, do not know how to express his love for me.
爸爸看了看手表,嘴唇动了动,像要说什么。我知道,又到了分离的时刻。我转过身去,泪水在眼眶里打转。爸爸和蔼的笑笑,轻抚着我的头,道:“别哭,看人家刘三姐,临死都没哭。”我被逗乐了,爸爸就是这么幽默。但笑过以后,心里又泛起一层酸涩的不舍。“来,爸爸给你梳梳头。”爸爸说道,把我抱着坐在他腿上,一只手在包里翻着什么,另一只手则搂着我的,就像小时候那样,生怕摔着了,摔疼了。只见爸爸从破旧的行李包里,掏出了一个红色的梳子,梳子上印着鲜红色的牡丹花,开得正茂盛,一簇一簇,好像还可以闻到淡淡的幽香。“记得吗?”爸爸笑着说“这是小时候爸爸给你梳头的梳子——都好久没用啦,爸爸还留着呢。”我鼻子一酸,看着眼前的这把梳子,点了点头,年幼时候的记忆一幕幕浮上心头。
Dad looked at his watch and his lips moved as if to say something. I know, it's time to part again. I turned around, tears swirling in my eyes. Dad kind smile, stroking my head, said: "don't cry, look at other people's third sister Liu, dying did not cry." I was amused, dad is so humorous. But after laughing, the heart and a layer of sour not give up“ Come on, Dad, comb your hair Dad said, holding me in his lap, one hand turning something in the bag, the other hand holding me, just like when I was a child, for fear of falling, falling pain. My father took out a red comb from his old luggage. The red peony flowers were printed on the comb. They were blooming in clusters. It seemed that he could smell the faint fragrance“ Remember My father said with a smile, "this is the comb my father used to comb your hair when I was a child. It hasn't been used for a long time. My father still has it." My nose a sour, looking at the front of this comb, nodded, childhood memories floating on my mind.
爸爸不再说话,细心的帮我梳理头发。他用右手梳下,再用左手拢起,再梳下,再拢起。偶尔有一绺头发掉了,爸爸就耐心的拾起,又梳下,拢起。发丝在梳子间溜走,好像时间的飞逝,转眼间,我已经历了人生的十几个里程碑。我眼前渐渐模糊了。爸爸的梳子,没有妈妈的细腻和温柔;没有姥姥的亲切和慈祥,所有的则是一种迟钝的生涩,但我知道,在这生涩的梳子间,浸透着爸爸在着是三年中,对我那无尽的思念和不舍啊!
Dad stopped talking and helped me comb my hair carefully. He combed it with his right hand and then with his left hand, combed it again and gathered it up again. Occasionally a lock of hair fell off, Dad patiently picked it up, combed it down and gathered it up. Hair in the comb slip away, as if time flies, in the twinkling of an eye, I have experienced more than a dozen milestones in life. My eyes are beginning to blur. My father's comb is not as delicate and gentle as my mother's; Without grandma's kindness and kindness, all of them are dull and astringent. But I know that in this astringent comb, Dad's three years of life have been filled with his endless yearning for me!
慢慢地,爸爸绾起了最后一缕发丝,一扣一扣的将头发结在头顶。头发,似乎比以前更加凌乱了,但我的心却变得豁然开朗。爸爸,始终都是深爱着他的女儿的啊!我回过头来,看见爸爸的眼底有泪花。我像个小大人似的拍拍他的背,“快走吧,别落了飞机。”爸爸看着我,笑了。
Slowly, my father curled up the last strand of hair and tied it on the top of his head. Hair, it seems more messy than before, but my heart has become suddenly clear. Dad, always love his daughter! I looked back and saw tears in dad's eyes. I patted him on the back like a little adult, "let's go, don't get off the plane." Dad looked at me and laughed.
父爱,它从不稍逊于母爱,只是他并不表露与言词,甚至有时会是严厉和苛刻。但是,他却将那一份最深的爱,深藏在了心底。
Father's love is never inferior to mother's love, but he doesn't show his words, and sometimes he is severe and harsh. However, he hid the deepest love in his heart.
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