Father's love, always forgotten, in the intentional and the unintentional. Deep and eternal, like the silent nourishment of the earth by spring rain, like an inexhaustible spring in the depths of an ancient well, always oozing with the sweetness of life, regardless of the seasons. Before we even realize it, it subtly transforms into drops on the well's walls, offering itself to quench the thirst of the parched. Fathers are the actors whose roles transform over time. In childhood, we used to grab onto our father's clothes, wrinkling them, and he was more than willing to smooth out those creases, his slight smile reflecting his contentment. Time and growth cannot be stopped, and our shoulders become level with our fathers. From being the main character on the stage, fathers become background props, silently waiting and watching. Even if we move them forward or backward just a little, they are satisfied. The neglected fathers have been waiting for a long time, their dusty hair and disheveled clothing speak of their solitude. They are just props, nothing more.
The one who fell excitedly to the ground when I was born;
the one who fearlessly placed me on the crossbar of his bicycle and took me to kindergarten;
the one who, because of my mischief, broke belts in the process of disciplining me;
the one who waited for me at the dark alley after my evening classes, knowing I was afraid of the dark;
the one who made me fried eggs with noodles and bought me roasted chicken legs when I was studying;
the one who stayed up countless nights, worried about my reckless actions and transgressions;
the one who secretly gave me extra money for my indulgent lifestyle when I was away from home for education;
the one who followed the army truck for miles to see me off when I enlisted;
the one who, upon my return from the military service, I wanted to hug but didn't;
the one who, facing a terminal illness, could still smile and tell me that cancer cells were just thorns stuck in the hand;
the one who, in the final days of life, hadn't eaten for over ten days, and with a ruptured trachea, still managed to 'call' me by my childhood nickname;
the one who rejoiced in my growth and maturity, yet worried about my distress and restlessness, but now has left us forever.
For this family, he toiled his entire life, and when it was time for him to enjoy his retirement, he left us.
A turn, and it became an eternal farewell.
Dad, thousands of words cannot express my longing for you.
A father's love is as steadfast as a mountain. My thoughts are like waves crashing, and I can no longer continue writing.
On Father's Day, I'll share a cigarette and a drink with you. I love you, my dear dad!The trees wish for calm, yet the wind persists. Children desire to show filial piety, yet parents are absent. On Father's Day, please go home and embrace your father. This seemingly effortless task for you, one you may take for granted, has become as difficult for me as reaching the heavens.
父爱，向来都会在有意无意间被忘却。因为父爱深沉而隽永，如同春雨滋润大地般无声无息，宛如古井深处那不枯竭的泉眼，无论春夏秋冬，总会渗出甘露。在我们尚未觉察之时，它已微妙地化为井壁上的液滴，奉献自己滋润干枯。
父亲是角色被转化的演员。孩提时代，父亲的衣角被我们抓成皱巴巴的，他异常乐意，一次次独自抚平那皱了的衣角，嘴角不经意的微笑折射了父亲的欣慰。挡不住岁月挡不住成长，我们的肩膀与父亲同高。父亲由舞台上的主角，浓缩为搁置一旁的布景，他沉默地守候、等待，哪怕把他向前或向后挪动一点都已心满意足!落寞的父亲被忽略了很久很久，看他蓬松的头发和零乱的着装上，都是灰尘。他是布景，仅此而已。
那个为了我的降生，兴奋地抱着枕头摔在地上的人；
那个不畏风雨，把我放在自行车横杠上，推着我去幼儿园的人；
那个因为我的调皮捣蛋，打我把皮带都打断了的人；
那个在我下自习后，站在漆黑的巷口等待着怕黑的我回家的人；
那个在我学习的时候，给我做荷包蛋面条给我买烤鸡腿的人；
那个因为我的叛逆任性，为我在外面犯下的种种过失担惊受怕而夜夜难眠的人；
那个在我远离家乡求学时，偷偷的拿私房钱补贴我腐败生活的人；
那个在我报名参军，跟着军车送了我几十里地的人；
那个在我完成军旅返回家乡，下火车后，我想拥抱而没有拥抱的人；
那个在知道自己身患绝症，还能笑着告诉我癌细胞也就是扎在手上的一根刺而已的人；
那个在临终前，十几天没进食，在气管破裂的情况下却依然用最后的力气"喊"着我小名的人；
那个为了我的成长成熟而高兴，为了我的苦恼烦躁而忧虑的人如今却永远的离开了我。
为了这个家，操劳一生，到了该颐养天年的时候却离我们而去。。。。
一个转身，竟成永别。
爸爸，千言万语也无法寄托我对你的思念，父爱如山！
思绪如海潮侵袭，我已经无法再写下去了。
父亲节，我陪你抽支烟，喝杯酒吧。我爱你，我的好爸爸！树欲静而风不止，子欲孝而亲不在。 父亲节，请回家拥抱一下你的父亲。这件在你们看来容易至极甚至不愿意去做的事情，对我而言已难于登天。请善待父母。
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