When I was a child, my view of home was simple. My feeling is white rabbit toffee, sweet and full of rich milk flavor. Home is my parents and me, and it is the happiness of holding hands with big hands. When I was sick, my parents would go to the hospital behind my back, stay in front of my bed and buy me a lot of toys regardless of the sweat dripping into my eyes. I won an award at school,
They will keep praising me, their eyes are full of smiles, and they are happy from ear to ear; On weekends, they will take me to the park, ride a wooden horse with me, ride a swing with me, and buy me a lot of food to satisfy all my willfulness.
So, I think home is that sweet white rabbit toffee, put it in your mouth, let it melt slowly, and all the dissolved happiness is full of milk fragrance.
When I grow up, I have a different view of home. I think home is a glass of lemon juice, which is sweet at first, sour in the mouth and a little bitter. Mom and dad will no longer meet my wayward requirements, but will ask a lot of me, not to see their smiling faces, but to be full of seriousness. They will say, "When you grow up, you will have to rely on yourself for many things in the future." My grades have dropped, and they will seriously educate me, forbid me to watch TV any more, and sign me up for many extracurricular classes to learn this and that. I understand that when I was a child, I didn't come back for a happy day, and I had to face a cup of sour lemon juice.
Later, my opinion changed again. Home is just a cup of boiled water, tasteless. If you add sugar to it, it will be very sweet. Similarly, if you add salt to it, it will be salty. The ups and downs are up to you. Studies have become heavier, and it seems that I can't understand my parents' concern. It seems that parents don't care about themselves, and there is no such relaxed and happy atmosphere as a family of three. However, I didn't pay attention to a cup of hot milk when I stayed up studying and gloves and scarves when it was cold.
Home is a cup of boiled water, the taste is up to you, everything is self-aware, and the taste of home is slowly realized by yourself.
No matter how high you fly, it is like a wired kite. Kites are home at this end, and the taste of home will never be forgotten.