Life is like sand leaking slowly through your fingers, bit by bit. Suddenly, my mother is over 70 years old. Old people like to talk when they are old. Although I go to my mother's house for dinner every day after work, my mother always likes to call me when she has something to do. Either report to me the new cookbook she studied or report to me my father. Well, my mother and I chatted on the phone again. She said, "Your father has changed a lot recently. He seems to have no spirit and few words. He goes out for an afternoon every day without asking him what he is doing. Must have gone to play cards. Tell me about it when you go home ... "With many questions, I came home.

I was knocking at the door when my father came out. He answered and I went out. Mother said, "He left again. Leave him alone and eat my handmade noodles. " Then she gave me a big bowl of noodles, and the smell of chopped green onion and balsamic vinegar went straight to my nose. My mother leaned in front of me and looked at me like a flower, grinning. I accidentally glanced at my mother's hair, and a large cluster of white hair jumped out of my head, which scared me. Mom's hair has always been black and smooth, and black hair has always been her pride. I wonder if dad has seen her white hair? Suddenly I felt very blocked, so I went downstairs to call my father and asked him where he was. Father said: I am in a Chinese medicine hospital. My shoulder and neck have been hurting for a month. I come to get the needle every afternoon.

I lost my mind. It turns out that my father is ill. He doesn't speak and has no spirit. He goes out every afternoon because he goes to the hospital for an injection. I feel terrible. I thought my dad didn't care about my mom. In fact, I don't care about my father and mother. I ran to the supermarket with tears in my eyes and bought a bottle of "black washing". I was sad when I applied chemicals to my mother's hair with a small brush. Mother's hair is for her children. When my father came back from the hospital, he saw me dye my mother's hair and volunteered to be an assistant, sometimes handing a comb and sometimes sending a brush. His eyes revealed his pity for his mother. When I washed my hair, I simply gave him the towel. Father bent down to wash his mother's hair and rubbed his hands between her hair, as if it were white hair, which must be restored to black in his hands.

It may be that her father washed her for too long, and her mother's reproachful voice rang again. Father hurriedly grabbed a dry towel and wiped it on his mother's head. I moved to my room and gave them the living room. At that time, the TV turned on, which seemed to be an interview between Zhao Benshan and Degang Guo. I heard my mother ask my father some questions over and over again, such as, "Why did Degang Guo change its name to Guo Dexiu? Like a woman's name. " My father replied seriously and professionally: "Show refers to what the program needs to show, not the names of people. What performance show, imitation show and cross talk show all have the same meaning, understand? " Mother continued to ask, "Why did Zhao Benshan dye her hair white?" The father replied, "How did you dye it? He is sixty years old, and it's time to forget it. " Mother let out a cry of "Oh" and suddenly realized: "Is it sad that he can't attend the Spring Festival Gala, and he has been worried about getting old all night?" Mom can usually ask dozens of childish questions at once, and dad takes his time to answer them. Like an encyclopedia, he never brings a card.

The two people answered questions and echoed each other, much like cross talk actors in life. Obviously, the mother in front of the TV is emotional and likes to show her emotions directly. But at this time, my father was a gentleman, not only without temper, but also with a little literary spirit. He bent down to let his mother attack him with 100,000 reasons on and off the screen, and also took time to listen to her talk about trivial things, including what clothes to wear and what dishes to go with. It was also from this time that I went home more often. My father still goes out for an injection, but my mother or I accompany him. I told him that the elderly should take care of themselves, and they can't support themselves when they are sick. My mother still dyes her hair every month, and my father has become the guardian of her black hair. The affection between parents is very gentle. Over the past 40 years, their companionship and mutual assistance have formed a tacit understanding, and the daily gossip of their parents is not romantic.