父亲的手并不大,却很有力量,而且坚韧。或许是常年劳作的缘故,他的手满是疤痕和茧儿,像是风霜雨雪在上边留下的无数痕迹。这双手算不上灵巧,因为他修理的桌椅总不是十分的平整,拉出来的电线也并不十分的笔直。但就是这样一双手,却牵动着我细腻的思绪,伴随着我成长的辛酸,珍存着满满温暖的记忆。小时候的我颇调皮,爱撒娇,总是嚷着父亲要他抱。走累了,犯困了,傍晚看露天电影被大人们挡住了视线的时候,我总喜欢悬坐在父亲的手臂里。热乎乎的暖意从父亲的手 Father's hand is not large, but very powerful and tough. Perhaps it is perennial work, his hands full of scars and cocoon children, like wind and snow in the top left numerous traces. These hands are not smart, because his tables and chairs are not always very smooth, pulling out the wires are not very straightforward. But it is such a pair of hands, but affects my delicate thoughts, accompanied by my upbringing, Jane kept full of warm memories. When I was a kid, I was rather naughty and loved so much that my father always asked him to hold him. Tired, drowsy, watching the open air in the evening when adults were blocking the line of sight, I always like to hang in his father's arm. Warm warmth from his father's hand