Buy some coins remember…

BPO - The little nephew whispered: "Is it July, Auntie? It's not July yet, but it's raining a lot, isn't it?". The little nephew's words suddenly reminded me of my childhood days, when on rainy days, we often sat wrapped around my father's legs, watching him whittle bamboo to weave baskets and trays, and listening to him slowly tell magical fairy tales. His voice was warm and slow like the rhythm of the falling rain, leading us enthusiastically into the world of Son Tinh, Thuy Tinh, Tam Cam, So Dua, the carving and entering of the hundred-jointed bamboo tree... Each story was not only a joy for children but also a profound lesson about humanity, life, and silent sacrifice that I only understood when I grew up.

Father was very strict, he taught us how to eat, how to think, how to do things and especially how to take responsibility. He rarely beat us, but every time we made a serious mistake, he would whip us with a rattan cane and we would remember it for life. The painful whipping was still imprinted on us for days. At that time, in our eyes, father was a terror, we all complained, but as the years passed, when we wished that father could hold a rattan cane and whip us, it was a luxury. In the last years of his life, father was seriously ill, the sisters came in and out to take care of him day and night. Looking at the rattan cane, the color of time still hanging on the corner of the wall, the younger brother, with red eyes, said: "If only father could hold the cane and let us be whipped again." But all that remained was "if only..."

I remember the hot summer afternoons when the neighborhood kids invited me to sneak out to play hopscotch, shuttlecock, or climb trees to steal guavas from the neighbors. Many times, while we were arguing, we would hear the sound of our father playing the flute drifting through the treetops, so soft and gentle that it made our hearts ache. We were all absent-mindedly forgetting that we were sneaking out to play, and we ran back, glued to the hole in the wall to listen to that sweet, melodious flute sound. In a flash, we were all grown up. Time, like a wind, unintentionally swept us away from the old thatched roof. Now, everyone has their own family, struggling to make ends meet. As for our father, he returned to the clouds on a drizzling day.

Sometimes, I am startled because I can no longer clearly remember my father's face, hands, or figure... Because of those difficult years, having a souvenir photo of the whole family was a luxury. Therefore, when I miss my father, I only know how to look for the places where he used to be attached. But everything seems to have been covered with a layer of dust by time. The stars change, the years pass by, the love that is like a thin ray of sunlight in the rainy day creeps back. Here is the old apricot tree that every spring my father used to call the sisters to pick leaves from, here is the milk fruit tree that probably looks like my age but still has lush branches and leaves, here are the banana trees (probably through many generations of children and grandchildren) are green in the pouring rain... The front yard and the back alley are covered with moss, but the person's figure is only a memory. I remember the old days when people took care of the green garden, the garden was full of vegetables and fruits. There were gourds, squash, and luffa with fruits hanging from them, grapefruits hanging from the branches, and ponds of green water spinach... Every morning with a shoulder pole and two small baskets, my father carried me on one shoulder and vegetables and fruits on the other to the market to sell. He was quite lucky with the market, so before he could finish the market, all the homegrown produce was gone. That memory seemed trivial, but it was something I carried with me forever.

I wandered to the market. The sound of vegetable and fish sellers calling out to each other. The afternoon market was still bustling with buyers and sellers, but why did I feel lost and unfamiliar? It seemed like there was a sad sound passing by. Was I looking for something or just wanted to buy a few coins to remember... hoping to hold on to a little image of my father from years ago. Missing someone is like a game of hide and seek. When we try to find it, it disappears like a dream in Nam Kha. And I understand, memories are like thieves, time will take everything away. However, there are people who leave forever but their image will still appear in our hearts. One day, we suddenly realize that we can no longer remember their voice, eyes, voice... but the vague, painful feelings deep in our hearts are still there, never fading.

Dad! I am old. In the rain this afternoon, I miss you and burst into tears like a child. I know that no matter how many years have passed, no matter how unclear my memories of you are, you will always be with me, because I am the most beautiful link from you and I will save every penny to remember you forever.

Hello love, season 4, theme "Father" officially launched from December 27, 2024 on four types of press and digital infrastructure of Binh Phuoc Radio - Television and Newspaper (BPTV), promising to bring to the public the wonderful values ​​of sacred and noble fatherly love.
Please send to BPTV your touching stories about Father by writing articles, writing feelings, poems, essays, video clips, songs (with recordings),... via email chaonheyeuthuongbptv@gmail.com, Editorial Secretary Office, Binh Phuoc Radio - Television and Newspaper, No. 228, Tran Hung Dao, Tan Phu Ward, Dong Xoai City, Binh Phuoc Province, phone number: 0271.3870403. The time to receive articles is from now until August 30, 2025.
Quality articles will be published, paid royalties, and rewarded at the end of the topic with 1 special prize and 10 excellent prizes.
Let's continue writing the story about Father with "Hello Love" season 4, so that stories about Father can spread and touch everyone's hearts!

Source: https://baobinhphuoc.com.vn/news/19/174501/mua-vai-xu-nho