仔细地端详着它,没有什么特别,只是一道道裂痕特别显眼。轻轻地抚摸着它,没有什么异样,只是一块块老茧硬得扎手。它没有惊天动地的创举,没有叱咤风云的气势;它每天与黄土打交道,每天与汗水结缘。哦,它虽平凡,却有力,它不伟大,却值得我崇拜。这就是父亲的大手。这双平凡的手啊,带给我多少爱,多少欢笑,多少力量,多少希望。撒娇的我要和父亲拍巴掌,我们越拍越响,最后累得我手酸了,父亲的大手也拍红了。 Carefully looking at it, nothing special, but a crack is particularly conspicuous. Gently stroking it, there is nothing strange, just block the old man hard and hard. It has no earth-shattering initiative, no impetuous momentum; it deals with the loess every day and is associated with sweat every day. Oh, it is ordinary, but it is powerful. It is not great, but it deserves my worship. This is the father’s big hand. This ordinary hand has brought me much love, how much laughter, how much power, how much hope. I like to spoil my father and beat him. The more we shoot, the louder I get. Finally my hands get sore and my dad’s big hands are red.