I love my home

Author: Compiled by the Editorial Department of this Book / Country:
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2004-03-01
Features: At dusk, the son finally returned. His wife rushed up and hugged him, asking all sorts of questions. The son broke free and excitedly told us that he had gone to the suburbs alone, feeling that only by playing wholeheartedly in nature could he expand his thoughts and gain inspiration. Before, the son wasn’t like this—he only wanted to stay at home and couldn’t be driven out. Since primary school, I would force him to return to his hometown during every vacation, saying, "Don’t forget your roots are in the Northwest." We didn’t have time to accompany him, so we let him go alone. We sent him to the ancient mausoleums of the Western Xia kings for remembrance, to the desert to play, and to swim in the mother river. I remember once, his uncle pushed him into the water. He cried and struggled to climb back up: "Uncle, do you want to drown me?" I said, "If you don’t want to drown, swim yourself. Get in! Go to the deeper water, then swim back by yourself—nobody will carry you." I grew up in the Yellow River water, so I wasn’t worried about anything. The son really cried and went back into the water, even choking a few times. This time, it was his uncle who got nervous. Now, the son can navigate the Yellow River waves like a pro.
The son thinks his father is embarrassing, but he understands and cares for him. The son grew up in a theater troupe, surrounded by singing, dancing, and performances, but he kept himself detached and refused to have anything to do with the arts. His mother bought him a piano and even wanted to hire a teacher for him, but he refused to learn. The piano grew mold (rust), so he didn’t learn, and I had to take it up instead. Now, if I were to perform on stage at the China Central Television (CCTV), there would be no problem at all. His mother saw that he was tall and well-proportioned and wanted him to learn dance. He said, "Please, Mom, don’t mention the word 'dance' to me."
The son always felt embarrassed about his father: other people’s fathers played good guys, but his father always played villains. The son has always felt unable to look people in the eye among his peers, so he never mentioned who his father was and didn’t allow others to talk about him. However, he understands his father. In truth, I don’t love this profession—I’m passionate about the military and dream of becoming a general. But due to my background, the military wouldn’t take me, so I had to join the theater troupe. Now, at 46, it’s impossible for me to become a general. With no other choice, I can only do my best in this field, maintaining myself and my family. The son understands more than anyone. He told his best friend, "My dad works really hard; he has to bow his back to earn my tuition." Hearing this, I felt quite content. Having a son who understands you means no matter how hard life gets, it’s all worth it.
When I first came to Beijing, I did horseback riding performances at the Yuantian Gymnasium for survival. Wearing high-heeled riding boots for a whole day. Every time I came home, the son was already fully equipped—wearing a raincoat and a gas mask—waiting for me, ready to help me take off my boots. He knew my stomach was big, so it was difficult for him to bend down to take off my shoes. Why was he fully equipped? Because my feet smelled so bad that the moment I took off my boots, the whole room would stink. Without a mask, the child would throw up his insides. Now, I don’t need to wear boots anymore, and the son doesn’t need to take off my shoes for me either. But every time I come home from being out, there’s always a cup of warm tea waiting for me. The moment I step inside the door, I can "gurgle-gurgle" and drink it down. During meals, the son would place a cup of wine in front of me, even though his mother would complain, "Dad has high blood pressure—he can’t drink alcohol." Parents don’t ask for much; a cup of warm tea and a cup of wine are enough to make them feel like old masters, completely forgetting that they’re just a laborer returning home.
Once, my leg got injured, but I didn’t want to be hospitalized. Many people persuaded me, but I wouldn’t listen. Later, the son spoke up: "Old man, with your leg swollen like that, you should go to the hospital." Just because of his words, I obediently went to the hospital.
I never set boundaries for my son; I let him judge right from wrong. At home, I never set rules. Even if the TV showed a bed scene with two people kissing, I wouldn’t say, "Son, go to bed! Don’t watch this." I would watch with him and discuss it. Sometimes he’d say, "It’s too early to kiss at this stage." If he saw it go too far, he’d say, "I’m tired of this, I’m not watching anymore." I thought to myself: it’s better to let him judge for himself. When he gets a girlfriend, he’ll know when it’s the right time to kiss. If I don’t let him see it, he’ll definitely feel mysterious and sneakily watch it, which would be abnormal. Just like seeing one person naked would be surprising, but if everyone on the street was naked, you wouldn’t find it strange anymore.
The son grew up without restrictions, deciding who he wanted to associate with on his own. At 17 or 18, during puberty, children should have their own secrets. Imagine at that age, who doesn’t have a little vague love, who doesn’t think about things? Besides, some of a child’s thoughts can’t be switched off like a light switch, nor can they be controlled. So I gave him space to be himself.
The son studies very hard during the week, only having weekends free. He loves making phone calls, so I let him. I often thought: if I didn’t let my son have his own secrets, how boring would his life be? As the saying goes, "A person’s private joy is true joy." I should also let my son have his own little world and his own private happiness. So far, no teacher has come to me, no girl’s parent has shown up. This shows that my son is doing well and hasn’t gone out of bounds.
When he was young, I disciplined him strictly, but as he grew up, I let him develop freely. My father was the chief accountant and chief scheduler at the factory, and my mother worked in secretarial work. Both were highly educated and wrote beautiful calligraphy. But my handwriting was terrible. Some fans and movie enthusiasts would bring notebooks for me to sign, but I could only sign my name and even struggled to write the date. It’s really embarrassing. I told my son, "Dad didn’t get much education, and I’ve embarrassed you—it’s no use, because back then there weren’t many opportunities to study well. Your conditions are so good now; there’s no reason not to study well."
When the son was young, if his grades were below 95, he’d get a slap; one point less, one slap. I said, "I work hard to earn money, and it’s only right. You should get 100—it’s only right. If you bring homework to me, you’re humiliating me, embarrassing me. I’ll handle the money, but your studies are your own responsibility."
In the first grade of primary school, I was summoned to the school by the teacher and stood with a few other parents, bowing our heads to be scolded. When the child saw this, his eyes were filled with tears, but he didn’t cry. Later, he realized that if he finished his homework, Dad wouldn’t get scolded, and he could play too. Gradually, he developed good habits and no longer needed me to manage him.
I often traveled for performances and didn’t have time to manage the child, but I knew he understood everything. I told him, "Do you want to smoke or take drugs? Look at those drug users—they’ve all died. What about ecstasy? If you get caught, you’ll go to jail." The child smiled and said, "Civic education is everyday; I love watching it too. After watching it, I’ll know. Dad, you don’t need to worry about me." The child already had the ability to distinguish right from wrong.
Usually, wherever the son went, who he gathered with, or his birthday plans, I never asked. Sometimes, he’d bring a group of kids home, and even if I was tired or annoyed, I’d force a smile and treat them like adults, sitting with them and chatting equally. That’s the only joy the child has, how can I not support him?
I didn’t read much, but with intelligence, insight, and experience, I won the China Drama for acting in plays and excelled at skits. But the son had no interest in me. He had his own opinions: he was good at basketball but didn’t play professionally; he was great at computers but didn’t go overboard; he loved art, and his bulletin boards always won awards, but he didn’t want to make it his profession. He’s now studying hard, preparing for college. He said, "Only after graduating from university will I know where my base is and which direction to take."
The only thing I’m certain of is that he hates what his father does and has no interest in the arts. Careers can’t be inherited, but intelligence can. The son is as smart as me. At thirty-something, I was a street performer in Beijing, but my fate changed when I reached middle age. As for the son, I have no worries at all: his conditions are better than mine, his choices are wider, and he’s so independent—his future doesn’t need me to worry about it.
The son is now in high school and doesn’t want to appear in the media or reveal his name or school. Please forgive him.