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记忆中总有一双粗糙的大手,抱着我走街串巷。长大后,他骑着一辆自行车,当了我六年司机。他就是我的爷爷。还记得六年级的一个晚上,天如同破了一个洞,一下闪电劈过,屋外下起倾盆大雨。马上就要期末考试了,每天的题海战术压得我喘不过气来。而且,今天的数学考试我只得了35分。老师勃然大怒,我被留在教室里补课。天乌压压的,黑成一片,我才和同学走出来。门口接孩子的家长走光了,雨滴声“哗啦啦”地不断在耳畔响起。这时,
There are always a pair of rough rough hands in memory, holding me down the street. Growing up, he rode a bicycle, when I was a driver for six years. He is my grandpa. I remember a night of sixth grade, the same day as breaking a hole, about lightning split, the next downpour under the house. The final exam is coming soon. And I got 35 points for today’s math test. Teacher furious, I was left in the classroom to make up classes. Day pressure, black, I only came out with my classmates. Parents take the child out of the door of the parents gone, raindrops, “crashed” constantly ringing in the ears. At this moment,