这几日,父亲身体不适,在我的再三劝说下,他才同意进城检查身体。过马路时,我和父亲不约而同地伸出手,于是,两只久违的手握在了一起。记忆中,父亲的手温暖宽厚,如今却是硬硬的,凉凉的,犹如冬日里的枯树枝。岁月竟如此匆匆,让人来不及体味。童年的记忆模糊且断续,我唯独对父亲温暖宽厚的手印象深刻。小时候,我经常感冒,父亲只需用手心在我的额头上一贴,便知我是否发烧,胜过医生用的冰凉的玻璃棒。我特别害怕打针,疼痛的记忆和诊所里小孩子哭天喊地的氛围让我胆战 In the past few days, my father was not feeling well. Under my repeated persuasion, he agreed to go to the city to examine his body. When I cross the street, my father and I stretch out their hands, so two long-lost hands are held together. In memory, his father’s hand was warm and generous, but now it is hard and cool, like a dry branch in winter. So many years so hurried, people too late to appreciate. Childhood memory fuzzy and intermittent, I am only impressed by his father’s warm and generous hand. When I was a child, I often had a cold. My father just had a stick on my forehead with her palm to know if I had a fever, which was better than a cold glass rod used by a doctor. I am especially scared of injections, painful memories and the crying atmosphere of children in my clinic.