描写父爱的文章或诗句?除了朱自清的

描写父爱的文章或诗句?除了朱自清的
描写父爱的文章或诗句?
除了朱自清的

描写父爱的文章或诗句?除了朱自清的
我上大学的时候学的一篇文章,这是描写父子情深的,来自“大学英语”第三册第一课
Christmas Day in the Morning
He woke suddenly and completely. It was four o'clock, the hour at which his father had always called him to get up and help with the milking. Strange how the habits of his youth clung to him still! Fifty years ago, and his father had been dead for thirty years, and yet he waked at four o'clock in the morning. He had trained himself to turn over and go to sleep, but this morning it was Christmas, he did not try to sleep.
Why did he feel so awake tonight? He slipped back in time, as he did so easily nowadays. He was fifteen years old and still on his father's farm. He loved his father. He had not known it until one day a few days before Christmas, when he had overheard what his father was saying to his mother.
"Mary, I hate to call Rob in the mornings. He's growing so fast and he needs his sleep. If you could see how he sleeps when I go in to wake him up! I wish I could manage alone."
"Well, you can't Adam." His mother's voice as brisk, "Besides, he isn't a child anymore. It's time he took his turn."
"Yes," his father said slowly. "But I sure do hate to wake him."
When he heard these words, something in him spoke: his father loved him! He had never thought of that before, taking for granted the tie of their blood. Neither his father nor his mother talked about loving their children--they had no time for such things. There was always so much to do on the farm.
Now that he knew his father loved him, there would be no loitering in the mornings and having to be called again. He got up after that, stumbling blindly in his sleep, and pulled on his clothes, his eyes shut, but he got up.
And then on the night before Christmas, that year when he was fifteen, he lay for a few minutes thinking about the next day. They were poor, and most of the excitement was in the turkey they had raised themselves and mince pies his mother made. His sisters sewed presents and his mother and father always bought something he needed, not only a warm jacket, maybe, but something more, such as a book. And he saved and bought them each something, too.
He wished, that Christmas when he was fifteen, he had a better present for his father. As usual he had gone to the ten-cent store and bought a tie. It had seemed nice enough until he lay thinking the night before Christmas. He looked out of his attic window, the stars were bright.
"Dad," he had once asked when he was a little boy, "What is a stable?"
"It's just a barn," his father had replied, "like ours."
Then Jesus had been born in a barn, and to a barn the shepherds had come...
The thought struck him like a silver dagger. Why should he not give his father a special gift too, out there in the barn? He could get up early, earlier than four o'clock, and he could creep into the barn and get all the milking done. He'd do it alone, milk and clean up, and then when his father went in to start the milking he'd see it all done. And he would know who had done it. He laughed to himself as he gazed at the stars. It was what he would do, and he mustn't sleep too sound.
He must have waked twenty times, scratching a match each time to look at his old watch-midnight, and half past one, and then two o'clock.
At a quarter to three he got up and put on his clothes. He crept downstairs, careful of the creaky boards, and let himself out. The cows looked at him, sleepy and surprised. It was early for them too.
He had never milked all alone before, but it seemed almost easy. He kept thinking about his father's surprise. His father would come in and get him, saying that he would get things started while Rob was getting dressed. He'd go to the barn, open the door, and then he'd go get the two big empty milk cans. But they wouldn't be waiting or empty, they'd be standing in the milk-house, filled.
"What the--," he could hear his father exclaiming.
He smiled and milked steadily, two strong streams rushing into the pail, frothing and fragrant.
The task went more easily than he had ever known it to go before. Milking for once was not a chore. It was something else, a gift to his father who loved him. He finished, the two milk cans were full, and he covered them and closed the milk-house door carefully, making sure of the latch.
Back in his room he had only a minute to pull off his clothes in the darkness and jump into bed, for he heard his father up. He put the covers over his head to silence his quick breathing. The door opened.
"Rob!" His father called. "We have to get up, son, even if it is Christmas."
"Aw-right," he said sleepily.
The door closed and he lay still, laughing to himself. In just a few minutes his father would know. His dancing heart was ready to jump from his body.
The minutes were endless--ten, fifteen, he did not know how many--and he heard his father's footsteps again. The door opened and he lay still.
"Rob!"
"Yes, Dad--"
His father was laughing, a queer sobbing sort of laugh.
"Thought you'd fool me, did you?" His father was standing by his bed, feeling for him, pulling away the cover.
"It's for Christmas, Dad!"
He found his father and clutched him in a great hug. He felt his father's arms go around him. It was dark and they could not see each other's faces.
"Son, I thank you. Nobody ever did a nicer thing--"
"Oh, Dad, I want you to know--I do want to be good!" The words broke from him of their own will. He did not know what to say. His heart was bursting with love.
He got up and pulled on his clothes again and they went down to the Christmas tree. Oh what a Christmas, and how his heart had nearly burst again with shyness and pride as his father told his mother and made the younger children listen about how he, Rob, had got up all by himself.
"The best Christmas gift I ever had, and I'll remember it, son every year on Christmas morning, so long as I live."
They had both remembered it, and now that his father was dead, he remembered it alone: that blessed Christmas dawn when, alone with the cows in the barn, he had made his first gift of true love.
This Christmas he wanted to write a card to his wife and tell her how much he loved her, it had been a long time since he had really told her, although he loved her in a very special way, much more than he ever had when they were young. He had been fortunate that she had loved him. Ah, that was the true joy of life, the ability to love. Love was still alive in him, it still was.
It occurred to him suddenly that it was alive because long ago it had been born in him when he knew his father loved him. That was it: Love alone could awaken love. And he could give the gift again and again. This morning, this blessed Christmas morning, he would give it to his beloved wife. He I could write it down in a letter for her to read and keep forever. He went to his desk and began his love letter to his wife: My dearest love...
Such a happy, happy, Christmas!

两三岁时我就懂得了有一个哑吧爸爸是多么的屈辱，因此我从小就恨他。当我看到有的小孩儿被妈妈使唤着过来买豆腐却拿起豆腐不给钱不给豆儿就跑，爸爸伸直脖子也喊不出声的时候，我不会像大哥一样追上那孩子揍两拳，我伤心地看着那情景，不吱一声，我不恨那孩子，只恨爸爸是个哑吧。尽管我的两个哥哥每次帮我梳头都疼得我呲牙咧嘴，我也还是坚持不再让爸爸给我扎小辫儿了。妈妈去世的时候没有留下大幅遗像，只有出嫁前和邻居阿姨的一...

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两三岁时我就懂得了有一个哑吧爸爸是多么的屈辱，因此我从小就恨他。当我看到有的小孩儿被妈妈使唤着过来买豆腐却拿起豆腐不给钱不给豆儿就跑，爸爸伸直脖子也喊不出声的时候，我不会像大哥一样追上那孩子揍两拳，我伤心地看着那情景，不吱一声，我不恨那孩子，只恨爸爸是个哑吧。尽管我的两个哥哥每次帮我梳头都疼得我呲牙咧嘴，我也还是坚持不再让爸爸给我扎小辫儿了。妈妈去世的时候没有留下大幅遗像，只有出嫁前和邻居阿姨的一张合影，黑白的二寸片儿，爸爸被我冷淡的时候就翻过支架方镜的背面看***照片，
直看到必须做活儿了，才默默地离开。
最可气的是别的孩子叫我“哑吧老三”（我在家中排行老三），骂不过他们的时候，我会跑回家去，对着正在磨豆腐的爸爸在地上划一个圈儿，中间唾上一口唾沫，虽然我不明白这究竟是什么意思，但别的孩子骂我的时候就这样做，我想，这大概是骂哑吧的最恶毒的表示了。
第一次这样骂爸爸的时候，爸爸停下手里的活儿，呆呆地看我好久，泪水像河一样淌下来，我是很少看到他哭的，但是那天他躲在豆腐坊里哭了一晚上。那是一种无声的悲泣。
因为爸爸的眼泪，我似乎终于为自己的屈辱找到了出口，以致以后的日子里，我会经常跑到他的跟前去，骂他，然后顾自走开，剩他一个人发一阵子呆。只是后来他已不再流泪，他会把瘦小的身子缩成更小的一团，猥在磨杆上或磨盘旁边，显出更让我瞧不起的丑陋样子。
我要好好念书，上大学，离开这个人人都知道我爸爸是个哑吧的小村子！这是当时我最大的愿望。我不知道哥哥们是如何相继成了家，不知道爸爸的豆腐坊里又换了几根新磨杆，不知道冬来夏至那磨得没了沿锋的铜铃铛响过多少村村寨寨……只知道仇恨般地对待自己，发疯地读书。
我终于考上了大学，爸爸头一次穿上1979年姑姑为他缝制的蓝褂子，坐在1992年初秋傍晚的灯下，表情喜悦而郑重地把一堆还残留着豆腐腥气的钞票送到我手上，嘴里哇啦哇啦地不停地“说”着，我茫然地听着他的热切和骄傲，茫然地看他带着满足的笑容去通知亲戚邻居。当我看到他领着二叔和哥哥们把他精心饲养了两年的大肥猪拉出
来宰杀掉，请遍父老乡亲庆贺我上大学的时候，不知道是什么碰到了我坚硬的心弦，我哭了。吃饭的时候，我当着大伙儿的面儿给爸爸夹上几块猪肉，我流着眼泪叫着：“爸，爸，您吃肉。”爸爸听不到，但他知道了我的意思，眼睛里放出从未有过的光亮，泪水和着散装高梁酒大口地喝下，再吃上女儿夹过来的肉，我的爸爸，他是真的醉了，他的脸那么红，腰杆儿那么直，手语打得那么潇洒！要知道，十八年啊，十八年，他从来没见过我对着他喊“爸爸”的口型啊！
爸爸继续辛苦地做着豆腐，用带着豆腐淡淡腥气的钞票供我读完大学。1996年，我毕业分配回到了距我乡下老家40华里的铁岭。
安顿好了以后，我去接一直单独生活的爸爸来城里享受女儿迟来的亲情，可就在我坐着出租车回乡的途中，车出了事故。
我从大嫂那里知道了出事后的一切——过路的人中有人认出这是老涂家的三丫头，于是腿脚麻利的大哥二哥大嫂二嫂都来了，看着浑身是血不省人事的我哭成一团，乱了阵脚。最后赶来的爸爸拨开人群，抱起已被人们断定必死无疑的我，拦住路旁一辆大汽车，他用腿扛着我的身体，腾出手来从衣袋里摸出一大把卖豆腐的零钱塞到司机手里，然后不停地划着十字，请求司机把我送到医院抢救。嫂子说，一生懦弱的爸爸，那个时候，显出无比的
坚强和力量！
在认真地清理伤口之后，医生让我转院，并暗示哥哥们，我已没有抢救价值，因为当时的我，几乎量不到血压，脑袋被撞得像个瘪葫芦。
爸爸扯碎了大哥绝望之间为我买来的丧衣，指着自己的眼睛，伸出大拇指，比划着自己的太阳穴，又伸出两个手指指着我，再伸出大拇指，摇摇手，闭闭眼，那意思是说：“你们不要哭，我都没哭，你们更不要哭，你妹妹不会死的，她才20多岁，她一定行的，我们一定能救活她！”医生仍然表示无能为力，他让大哥对爸爸“说”：“这姑娘没救了，即使要救，也要花好多好多的钱，就算花了好多钱，也不一定能行。”爸爸一下子跪在地上，又马上站起来，指指我，高高扬扬手，再做着种地、喂猪、割草、推磨杆的姿势，然后掏出已经空的衣袋儿，再伸出两只手反反正正地比划着，那意思是说：“求求你们了，救救我女儿，我女儿有出息，了不起，你们一定要救她。我会挣钱交医药费的，我会喂猪、种地、做豆腐，我有钱，我现在就有四千块钱。”医生握住他的手，摇摇头，表示这四千块钱是远远不够的。爸爸急了，他指指哥哥嫂子，紧紧握起拳头，表示：“我还有他们，我们一起努力，我们能做到。”见医生不语，他又指指屋顶，低头跺跺脚，把双手合起放在头右侧，闭上眼，表示：“我有房子，可以卖，我可以睡在地上，就算是倾家荡产，我也要我女儿活过来。”
又指指医生的心口，把双手放平，表示：“医生，请您放心，我们不会赖帐的。钱，我们会想办法。”大哥把爸爸的手语哭着翻译给医生，不等译完，看惯了生生死死的医生已是泪流满面。他那疾速的手势，深切而准确的表达，谁见了都会泪下！
医生又说：“即使作了手术，也不一定能救好，万一下不来手术台……”爸爸肯定地一拍衣袋，再平比一下胸口，意思是说：“你们尽力抢救，即使不行，钱一样不少给，我没有怨言。”伟大的父爱，不仅支撑着我的生命，也支撑起医生抢救我的信心和决心。我被推上手术台。
爸爸守在手术室外，他不安地在走廊里来回走动，竟然磨穿了鞋底！他没有掉一滴眼泪，却在守候的十几个小时间起了满嘴大泡！他不停地混乱地做出拜佛、祈求天主的动作，恳求上苍给女儿生命！
天也动容！我活了下来。但半个月的时间里，我昏迷着，对爸爸的爱没有任何感应。面对已成“植物人”的我，人们都已失去信心。只有爸爸，他守在我的床边，坚定地等我醒来！
他粗糙的手小心地为我按摩着，他不会发音的嗓子一个劲儿地对着我哇啦哇啦地呼唤着，他是在叫：“云丫头，你醒醒，云丫头，爸爸在等你喝新出的豆浆！”为了让医生护士们对我好，他趁哥哥换他陪床的空档，做了一大盘热腾腾的水豆腐，几乎送遍了外科所有医护人员，尽管医院有规定不准收病人的东西，但面对如此质朴而真诚的表达和请求，他们轻轻接过去。爸爸便满足了，便更有信心了。他对他们比划着说：“你们是大好人，我相信你们一定能治好我的女儿！”这期间，为了筹齐医疗费，爸爸走遍他卖过豆腐的每一个村子，他用他半生的忠厚和善良赢得了足以让他的女儿穿过生死线的支持，乡亲们纷纷拿出钱来，而父亲也毫不马虎，用记豆腐帐的铅笔歪歪扭扭却认认真真地记下来：张三柱，20元；李刚，100元；王大嫂，65元
……
半个月后的一个清晨，我终于睁开眼睛，我看到一个瘦得脱了形的老头，他张大嘴巴，因为看到我醒来而惊喜地哇啦哇啦大声叫着，满头白发很快被激动的汗水濡湿。爸爸，我那半个月前还黑着头发的爸爸，半个月，老去二十年！
我剃光的头发慢慢长出来了，爸爸抚摩着我的头，慈祥地笑着，曾经，这种抚摩对他而言是多么奢侈的享受啊。等到半年后我的头发勉勉强强能扎成小刷子的时候，我牵过爸爸的手，让他为我梳头，爸爸变得笨拙了，他一丝一缕地梳着，却半天也梳不出他满意的样子来。我就扎着乱乱的小刷子坐上爸爸的豆腐车改成的小推车上街去。有一次爸爸停下来，转到我面前，做出抱我的姿势，又做个抛的动作，然后捻手指表示在点钱，原来他要把我当豆腐卖喽！我故意捂住脸哭，爸爸就无声地笑起来，隔着手指缝儿看他，他笑得蹲在地上。这个
游戏，一直玩儿到我能够站起来走路为止。
现在，除了偶尔的头疼外，我看上去十分健康。爸爸因此得意不已！我们一起努力还完了欠债，爸爸也搬到城里和我一起住了，只是他勤劳了一生，实在闲不下来，我就在附近为他租了一间小棚屋做豆腐坊。爸爸做的豆腐，香香嫩嫩的，块儿又大，大家都愿意吃。我给他的豆腐车装上蓄电池的喇叭，尽管爸爸听不到我清脆的叫卖声，但他是知道的，每当他按下按钮，他就会昂起头来，满脸的幸福和知足，对我当年的歧视竟然没有丝毫的记恨，以致于我都不忍向他忏悔了。
我常想：人间充满了爱的交响，我们倾听、表达、感受、震撼，然而我的哑吧父亲却让我懂得，其实，最大的音乐是无声，那是不可怀疑的力量，把我对爱的理解送到高处。
djbys:
又很感人！！
这个心情驿站应该是放松心情，体会真情的绝好场所！！
谢谢你！！！:)
访客:
辽宁北部有一个中等城市，铁岭，在铁岭工人街街头，几乎每天清晨或傍晚，你都可以看到一个老头儿推着豆腐车慢慢走着，车上的蓄电池喇叭发出清脆的女声：“卖豆腐，正宗的卤水豆腐！豆腐咧——”那声音是我的。那个老头儿，是我的爸爸。爸爸是个哑吧。直到长到二十几岁的今天，我才有勇气把自己的声音放 在爸爸的豆腐车上，替换下他手里摇了几十年的铜铃儿铛。
两三岁时我就懂得了有一个哑吧爸爸是多么的屈辱，因此我从小就恨他。当我看到有的小孩儿被妈妈使唤着过来买豆腐却拿起豆腐不给钱不给豆儿就跑，爸爸伸直脖子也喊不出声的时候，我不会像大哥一样追上那孩子揍两拳，我伤心地看着那情景，不吱一声，我不恨那孩子，只恨爸爸是个哑吧。尽管我的两个哥哥每次帮我梳头都疼得我呲牙咧嘴，我也还是坚持不再让爸爸给我扎小辫儿了。妈妈去世的时候没有留下大幅遗像，只有出嫁前和邻居阿姨的一张合影，黑白的二寸片儿，爸爸被我冷淡的时候就翻过支架方镜的背面看***照片，
直看到必须做活儿了，才默默地离开。
最可气的是别的孩子叫我“哑吧老三”（我在家中排行老三），骂不过他们的时候，我会跑回家去，对着正在磨豆腐的爸爸在地上划一个圈儿，中间唾上一口唾沫，虽然我不明白这究竟是什么意思，但别的孩子骂我的时候就这样做，我想，这大概是骂哑吧的最恶毒的表示了。
第一次这样骂爸爸的时候，爸爸停下手里的活儿，呆呆地看我好久，泪水像河一样淌下来，我是很少看到他哭的，但是那天他躲在豆腐坊里哭了一晚上。那是一种无声的悲泣。
因为爸爸的眼泪，我似乎终于为自己的屈辱找到了出口，以致以后的日子里，我会经常跑到他的跟前去，骂他，然后顾自走开，剩他一个人发一阵子呆。只是后来他已不再流泪，他会把瘦小的身子缩成更小的一团，猥在磨杆上或磨盘旁边，显出更让我瞧不起的丑陋样子。
我要好好念书，上大学，离开这个人人都知道我爸爸是个哑吧的小村子！这是当时我最大的愿望。我不知道哥哥们是如何相继成了家，不知道爸爸的豆腐坊里又换了几根新磨杆，不知道冬来夏至那磨得没了沿锋的铜铃铛响过多少村村寨寨……只知道仇恨般地对待自己，发疯地读书。
我终于考上了大学，爸爸头一次穿上1979年姑姑为他缝制的蓝褂子，坐在1992年初秋傍晚的灯下，表情喜悦而郑重地把一堆还残留着豆腐腥气的钞票送到我手上，嘴里哇啦哇啦地不停地“说”着，我茫然地听着他的热切和骄傲，茫然地看他带着满足的笑容去通知亲戚邻居。当我看到他领着二叔和哥哥们把他精心饲养了两年的大肥猪拉出
来宰杀掉，请遍父老乡亲庆贺我上大学的时候，不知道是什么碰到了我坚硬的心弦，我哭了。吃饭的时候，我当着大伙儿的面儿给爸爸夹上几块猪肉，我流着眼泪叫着：“爸，爸，您吃肉。”爸爸听不到，但他知道了我的意思，眼睛里放出从未有过的光亮，泪水和着散装高梁酒大口地喝下，再吃上女儿夹过来的肉，我的爸爸，他是真的醉了，他的脸那么红，腰杆儿那么直，手语打得那么潇洒！要知道，十八年啊，十八年，他从来没见过我对着他喊“爸爸”的口型啊！
爸爸继续辛苦地做着豆腐，用带着豆腐淡淡腥气的钞票供我读完大学。1996年，我毕业分配回到了距我乡下老家40华里的铁岭。
安顿好了以后，我去接一直单独生活的爸爸来城里享受女儿迟来的亲情，可就在我坐着出租车回乡的途中，车出了事故。
我从大嫂那里知道了出事后的一切——过路的人中有人认出这是老涂家的三丫头，于是腿脚麻利的大哥二哥大嫂二嫂都来了，看着浑身是血不省人事的我哭成一团，乱了阵脚。最后赶来的爸爸拨开人群，抱起已被人们断定必死无疑的我，拦住路旁一辆大汽车，他用腿扛着我的身体，腾出手来从衣袋里摸出一大把卖豆腐的零钱塞到司机手里，然后不停地划着十字，请求司机把我送到医院抢救。嫂子说，一生懦弱的爸爸，那个时候，显出无比的
坚强和力量！
在认真地清理伤口之后，医生让我转院，并暗示哥哥们，我已没有抢救价值，因为当时的我，几乎量不到血压，脑袋被撞得像个瘪葫芦。
爸爸扯碎了大哥绝望之间为我买来的丧衣，指着自己的眼睛，伸出大拇指，比划着自己的太阳穴，又伸出两个手指指着我，再伸出大拇指，摇摇手，闭闭眼，那意思是说：“你们不要哭，我都没哭，你们更不要哭，你妹妹不会死的，她才20多岁，她一定行的，我们一定能救活她！”医生仍然表示无能为力，他让大哥对爸爸“说”：“这姑娘没救了，即使要救，也要花好多好多的钱，就算花了好多钱，也不一定能行。”爸爸一下子跪在地上，又马上站起来，指指我，高高扬扬手，再做着种地、喂猪、割草、推磨杆的姿势，然后掏出已经空的衣袋儿，再伸出两只手反反正正地比划着，那意思是说：“求求你们了，救救我女儿，我女儿有出息，了不起，你们一定要救她。我会挣钱交医药费的，我会喂猪、种地、做豆腐，我有钱，我现在就有四千块钱。”医生握住他的手，摇摇头，表示这四千块钱是远远不够的。爸爸急了，他指指哥哥嫂子，紧紧握起拳头，表示：“我还有他们，我们一起努力，我们能做到。”见医生不语，他又指指屋顶，低头跺跺脚，把双手合起放在头右侧，闭上眼，表示：“我有房子，可以卖，我可以睡在地上，就算是倾家荡产，我也要我女儿活过来。”
又指指医生的心口，把双手放平，表示：“医生，请您放心，我们不会赖帐的。钱，我们会想办法。”大哥把爸爸的手语哭着翻译给医生，不等译完，看惯了生生死死的医生已是泪流满面。他那疾速的手势，深切而准确的表达，谁见了都会泪下！
医生又说：“即使作了手术，也不一定能救好，万一下不来手术台……”爸爸肯定地一拍衣袋，再平比一下胸口，意思是说：“你们尽力抢救，即使不行，钱一样不少给，我没有怨言。”伟大的父爱，不仅支撑着我的生命，也支撑起医生抢救我的信心和决心。我被推上手术台。
爸爸守在手术室外，他不安地在走廊里来回走动，竟然磨穿了鞋底！他没有掉一滴眼泪，却在守候的十几个小时间起了满嘴大泡！他不停地混乱地做出拜佛、祈求天主的动作，恳求上苍给女儿生命！
天也动容！我活了下来。但半个月的时间里，我昏迷着，对爸爸的爱没有任何感应。面对已成“植物人”的我，人们都已失去信心。只有爸爸，他守在我的床边，坚定地等我醒来！
他粗糙的手小心地为我按摩着，他不会发音的嗓子一个劲儿地对着我哇啦哇啦地呼唤着，他是在叫：“云丫头，你醒醒，云丫头，爸爸在等你喝新出的豆浆！”为了让医生护士们对我好，他趁哥哥换他陪床的空档，做了一大盘热腾腾的水豆腐，几乎送遍了外科所有医护人员，尽管医院有规定不准收病人的东西，但面对如此质朴而真诚的表达和请求，他们轻轻接过去。爸爸便满足了，便更有信心了。他对他们比划着说：“你们是大好人，我相信你们一定能治好我的女儿！”这期间，为了筹齐医疗费，爸爸走遍他卖过豆腐的每一个村子，他用他半生的忠厚和善良赢得了足以让他的女儿穿过生死线的支持，乡亲们纷纷拿出钱来，而父亲也毫不马虎，用记豆腐帐的铅笔歪歪扭扭却认认真真地记下来：张三柱，20元；李刚，100元；王大嫂，65元
……
半个月后的一个清晨，我终于睁开眼睛，我看到一个瘦得脱了形的老头，他张大嘴巴，因为看到我醒来而惊喜地哇啦哇啦大声叫着，满头白发很快被激动的汗水濡湿。爸爸，我那半个月前还黑着头发的爸爸，半个月，老去二十年！
我剃光的头发慢慢长出来了，爸爸抚摩着我的头，慈祥地笑着，曾经，这种抚摩对他而言是多么奢侈的享受啊。等到半年后我的头发勉勉强强能扎成小刷子的时候，我牵过爸爸的手，让他为我梳头，爸爸变得笨拙了，他一丝一缕地梳着，却半天也梳不出他满意的样子来。我就扎着乱乱的小刷子坐上爸爸的豆腐车改成的小推车上街去。有一次爸爸停下来，转到我面前，做出抱我的姿势，又做个抛的动作，然后捻手指表示在点钱，原来他要把我当豆腐卖喽！我故意捂住脸哭，爸爸就无声地笑起来，隔着手指缝儿看他，他笑得蹲在地上。这个
游戏，一直玩儿到我能够站起来走路为止。
现在，除了偶尔的头疼外，我看上去十分健康。爸爸因此得意不已！我们一起努力还完了欠债，爸爸也搬到城里和我一起住了，只是他勤劳了一生，实在闲不下来，我就在附近为他租了一间小棚屋做豆腐坊。爸爸做的豆腐，香香嫩嫩的，块儿又大，大家都愿意吃。我给他的豆腐车装上蓄电池的喇叭，尽管爸爸听不到我清脆的叫卖声，但他是知道的，每当他按下按钮，他就会昂起头来，满脸的幸福和知足，对我当年的歧视竟然没有丝毫的记恨，以致于我都不忍向他忏悔了。
我常想：人间充满了爱的交响，我们倾听、表达、感受、震撼，然而我的哑吧父亲却让我懂得，其实，最大的音乐是无声，那是不可怀疑的力量，把我对爱的理解送到高处。

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