It was a Saturday, just like before, it was a busy day. ? Outside, my father and Mr. Patrick were busy chopping wood by the door. Inside the house Mom and Mrs. Patrick are busy doing spring cleaning. The boys slipped away to the open space behind the house with their kites. Now they even risked their brother being beaten if caught, sending him to the kitchen to get more thread. It seems that today there is no limit to how high a kite can fly.

My mother looked at the living room, where the furniture had been moved from house cleaning. She looked out the window again. "Girls, come on! Let me go find the boys with the string, and then watch them kite for a while."

On the way we met Mrs. Patrick, she smiled guiltily as if she was having sex with a girl What's wrong with the door?

There is no better day to fly a kite than that day. We connected the new strings to the boy's kites, and they flew higher and higher. We could barely make out those little orange dots as kites. Sometimes we slowly pull the kite back and watch it dance up and down in the air. Finally, I pulled it back to the ground for the joy of letting it fly next time.

Our father even dropped his tools and joined us. Our mothers show up as a different side, just like little girls do. I think we were immersed in happiness. Parents forget their responsibilities and their majesty; children forget their daily fights and petty jealousies. I vaguely felt that "heaven may be like this."

It wasn’t until it got dark that we walked home with sleepy steps. I thought we had dinner, and I thought the house must be cleaned so that it would look clean and tidy enough for Sunday. The strange thing is that we never mentioned it again. I felt a little embarrassed because no one else was as excited as I was. I keep these memories deep in my heart, where they seem to not exist but are still there (meaning those memories are hidden there, but they are not evoked)

Time flies, today I am While the kitchen of my city apartment was busy, my three-year-old cried and asked me to take him to the park to see the ducks.

I said: "I can't go, I have to do this and that, and when I'm done I'll be too tired to walk."

Our mother came to see us, Watching her shell beans. "It's a nice day," she said, and then she suggested: "It's warm and breezy. Do you remember the day we flew the kite?"

I felt a sudden joy in my heart, between the stove and the sink. Stopped what I was doing. The dust-covered door was opened instantly, and with it came memories. "Come on, you're right, it's too good a day to miss."

A decade has passed and we are in the aftermath of a great war. We spent the entire evening asking the soldiers who had returned from the front, the youngest Patrick boy. Ask him about his experience as a prisoner of war.

I told the story very bluntly, but he suddenly fell silent for a long time. What was he thinking, what was that dark and terrible thing?

A gentle smile emerged from his mouth, "Do you remember? No, of course you don't remember. There has never been a thing that made me remember that deeply.

I didn't dare ask him. "What is that?" ”

“When the situation was very bad, I often thought of what happened that day in the POW camp.

Do you remember the day we flew a kite together? ”