一直觉得,母亲不是那么爱我。在她心里,我甚至比不上一瓶酱油。七岁那年,刚好是打酱油的年龄。家里来了一桌客人,母亲给我两毛钱,命令我去打一瓶酱油。抱着打好的酱油快走到家门口时,我学人家玩三棒鼓,一抛,接住了,再一抛,眼睁睁地看着它从手指缝漏了下去。我蹲在碎掉的酱油瓶旁边,无助地哭泣。哭声把母亲和一位女客招出来了。女客拉起我,笑眯眯地说,哎哟,酱油瓶打破了呀,没事,让妈妈再买一瓶。我仰起头,小心翼翼地看着母亲,母亲比女客更笑眯眯地,哭啥呀,不就是两毛钱吗? Always feel that my mother is not so love me. In her heart, I’m even smaller than a bottle of soy sauce. Seven years old, just the age of soy sauce. The family came to a table guests, my mother gave me two cents, ordered me to play a bottle of soy sauce. When I was about to hit the door with the soaked soy sauce, I learned to play three sticks of drums, a toss, catch, another toss, and watched it stitch away from my fingers. I crouched beside the broken sauce bottle and wept helplessly. Crying out of the mother and a lady out. My lady pulls me up, smiles and says, hey, the sauce bottle is broken. Nothing, let’s buy another bottle. I looked up, looked cautiously mother, mother smiled more than the woman, cry what, is not it two cents?