The storks fly…

My parents came from a poor rural area in a remote border area, where food and clothing were constant concerns. Life was not easy and became even more difficult when three children were born one year apart.

To make a living, my father and mother discussed going with some people from the same hometown to build houses for places in need. With his skillful hands and the construction profession taught by his grandfather, from the “products” of a few small houses in the commune, my father was sought after by many people. Then my father’s wanderings with his profession became longer, from a few weeks to a few months, sometimes he only returned once every six months. The reunions were so short, just like the blink of an eye, then my father hurriedly set off, leaving behind the small roof and the expectant eyes.

I, a 3-year-old child at that time, longed for my father's hug. Every time he returned, he would hug us tightly, sniff our hair, and kiss our cheeks. The smell of dust and sweat from my father was a peaceful warmth that I would remember for the rest of my life.

Making a living has never been easy. Dad had an accident at work and broke his leg. This time, Dad came back with crutches, but on the face of the man marked by the wind and the weather, there was still a warm smile, and his arms were still open to hug his children tightly.

During the 3 months waiting for his leg to recover, my father could not sit still but did all sorts of things to do. He received rattan yarn to weave handicrafts; when there were no goods, he took care of the chickens, the vegetable beds... Those were hot summer days. At that time, our house did not have electricity or electric fans. My baby had prickly heat all over his body, and at night he kept squirming and crying because he was uncomfortable. My father hung a hammock in front of the porch and limped to carry me from the bed to the hammock. My father waved the hand fan and sang a lullaby to my baby. The cool breeze and my father's deep voice: "The stork, the stork flies lazily, lazily flies lazily/Flying from, from the palace gate, flying out, out to the fields..." lulled me into a deep sleep.

The day Dad was about to return to work, a place more than a thousand kilometers away from us, I saw Mom sigh many times. Mom whispered to Dad about raising livestock and farming to make a living. Mom worried that the life outside would take too much of Dad's health and even endanger his life. Dad looked at Mom - a small, weak woman and the children who were still in school and shook his head slightly. Dad was like a stork, flying away in all directions to take care of the family.

The visits home were few and far between, but my father's love for his family was always evident and real. It grew thicker over the years, seeping into every page of my memories. And every afternoon, my sisters and I would sit outside the gate, waiting for my father to return so we could rush into his arms and find the familiar warmth...

This summer, the sun seems less hot, the cool wind blows across my shoulders, the way home is so close and peaceful. Because dad has really come back!

Van Anh

Source: https://baodongnai.com.vn/dong-nai-cuoi-tuan/202508/canh-co-bay-la-03b1696/