孙旺财快死了。娘停住脚步,轻轻说。他早就该死!别这么说,那年头……可他用棒子面窝头喂狗!我一想到此,就恨得牙根痒。我十二岁那年,正赶上三年自然灾害,全国处处吃“低标准”的饥饿年代。挨肩的三个弟妹最小的才六岁,都是长身体能吃的时候,加上年迈的爷爷奶奶,只有母亲一天挣六个工分,分到家的粮食根本就不够一家半年吃的。母亲总是野菜树叶一大盆掺上一小碗棒子面在锅里蒸,我们用碗盛着吃。那年秋后分粮食,因为我爹是烈士,瞅瞅我们个个面黄肌瘦的,村支部特别照顾,多分给我们家一口袋 Sun Wang Choi is almost dead. Mother stopped, gently said. He must have been damned! Do not say that year ... but he fed his dog with a stick-noodle! I felt itchy when I thought about it. At the age of twelve, I was catching on with three years of natural disasters and eating everywhere in the “low standard” of hunger. The three younger brothers and sisters, the youngest, were six years old, both of whom were physically fit to eat. With the elderly grandparents, only the mother earned six cents a day and the food at home was not enough for half a year. Mother always leaves a large pot of wild herbs mixed with a small bowl of cornmeal in the steamed steamed, we eat with a bowl of Sheng. That autumn food, because my father is a martyr, Chou Chou we all pale and thin, the village branch special care, give us a home more pocket