记得是儿时,几乎是每年春节刚过,我们都置身于嘈杂的人群中。妈妈抱着我,旁边站着姐姐,火车长鸣,爸爸用手摸摸我的脸蛋,又摸摸姐姐的头,背着行囊,不时地回头,跨进车门。站台在儿时的记忆里便是爸爸的远行。爸爸长年在外,每年在家的时间屈指可数。所以我傻傻地以为爸爸并不喜欢我们,甚至忽略了他的存在。春节爸爸回家时,手里提着大包小包,满脸胡须,我有时拿不准家里是来了一 I remember that when I was a child, almost every Spring Festival just passed, we were all in a noisy crowd. My mother held me and stood beside her sister. The train rang and Dad touched my face with my hand. She touched her sister’s head again and carried her bags. From time to time, she turned back into the car door. The platform was my father’s journey in my childhood memories. There are only a handful of time at home every year when my father is outside. So I thought foolishly that Dad didn’t like us and even ignored his existence. When Spring Festival’s father returns home, he carries a large bag and a bearded beard in his hand. Sometimes I can’t tell if my family is coming.