The hot summer afternoon, the sunlight reflected off the cement floor of the yard like a giant fire pan, making everything blurred in the strange heat. In the small house, the chirping of cicadas on the old banyan tree could not drown out the somewhat harsh voice coming from the living room.
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| Illustration: Tran Thang |
“I told you, boys have to be strong. If they don’t go to college, they can do military service. After joining the army, they can go to professional school. I can take care of that. Train them for 2 years and they will be like men!”
Mr. Thang, the father in a brown khaki suit, spoke in a firm voice as if giving orders. Born into a family with a military tradition for three generations, his grandfather was a liaison officer during the resistance war, his father was a battalion commander. In his mind, his son had to be strong, mature, get a university degree “for prestige”, or go through the “fire” of the military to temper his character. He did not understand why Khoa was so insistent on the job of “carrying a ladder to fix air conditioners”.
His eyes looked towards Khoa who was sitting with his head down, holding a cell phone in his hand, the website of vocational schools still displayed on the screen.
“But it doesn't like it... Didn't you hear me?”
Mrs. Mai, sitting in the kitchen, heard her husband talking loudly and sighing. She stopped working and walked out to the living room. Unlike her husband, Mrs. Mai was born into a family of craftsmen. Her father was a famous carpenter in the area, and the cabinets and beds he made were still treasured by many families. Her mother was a skilled seamstress, and made ao dai for the whole village. She grew up surrounded by the sound of chisels and planes, the scent of fragrant wood, and the sound of sewing machines. In her opinion, there was nothing shameful about handicrafts, as long as one had good skills and an honest personality.
“He said he didn’t want to go to college just for show and then not be able to do anything. He wanted to study electricity. I could see he was passionate about it.”
Her voice was gentle but no less determined. She understood her son. Since childhood, Khoa was different from his peers. While his friends played marbles and soccer, he liked to tinker with the electrical appliances in the house. The first time he fixed a fan, his eyes lit up as if he had just won a prestigious award.
Mr. Thang shook his head and sneered:
“The job of repairing air conditioners and refrigerators? Carrying a ladder around the neighborhood? Oh my God! That is a job for people who don’t have a proper education!”
The atmosphere in the house was thick. Khoa still sat there, silent as a shadow. In his heart, every word his father said was like a knife stabbing him. He had just graduated from high school, his exam scores were not bad, but not enough to get into a top university. His mother wanted him to go to a nearby teacher training college, study for 4 years, then return to work as a primary school teacher in the commune. His father insisted that his son join the army if he could not get into a prestigious university.
But neither of them knew that, for the past two years, their son had been quietly watching videos on how to fix electricity online. He still secretly fixed fans and electrical outlets in the house, and occasionally helped his neighbors fix them without taking money. Once, while fixing Uncle Tu's old refrigerator, Khoa accidentally got an electric shock that numbed his hand, but fortunately it wasn't life-threatening. But he wasn't afraid. On the contrary, after each time, he studied harder and read more deeply. He liked the feeling of holding a screwdriver in his hand, liked the "click" sound when the broken machine suddenly started working again, liked seeing the surprised, admiring eyes of others.
That night, when Mr. Thang was asleep, Mrs. Mai sneaked into Khoa's room. The little boy was lying there, staring at the ceiling, his eyes wide open.
“I know what you're thinking,” she said, sitting down next to her son. “You're worried your father won't understand, aren't you?”
Khoa turned to look at his mother, his eyes red: “Mom, I really like studying electrical engineering. I’m not saying this to avoid anything. I’m happy when I can fix a machine. Like... like my grandfather did when he was a carpenter.”
Mrs. Mai smiled and stroked her daughter's hair:
“I understand. Your father has that kind of temper, but he really loves you. He’s just afraid you’ll suffer. But I believe in you. If you’re determined to do this job, I’ll tell him.”
There were nights after that, when the whole family had fallen asleep, Khoa still lay awake. Some of his friends had been accepted into the economics school, some into the polytechnic university. In the group chats of his classmates, people were bustling about sharing their acceptance letters, discussing dormitories, and tuition fees. Khoa said nothing. He pressed each notification silently, put his phone down on his chest, and stared at the ceiling, his heart empty.
He had a moment of self-doubt. Was he turning down a chance to “change his life” just because of his lonely hobby? Was he a coward, lazy to study, so he made an excuse to go to vocational school?
But then, the next morning, when Mr. Bay brought the old air conditioner over to be repaired, and saw his bright smile when it worked again, he felt sure again: “No, I'm not lazy, I'm not running away. I'm just choosing a different path.”
Meanwhile, Mrs. Mai did not sit still. She called her sister, Mrs. Lan, who had learned tailoring and opened a tailor shop, and was now living a comfortable life.
“Sister, I want to ask you for advice. My son Khoa wants to study electricity. Mr. Thang disagrees, saying it is a manual, lowly job.”
“Oh my god!” Mrs. Lan laughed. “Every job is valuable, as long as it is done properly. I know an electrician who now owns a large company and is a contractor for many buildings. He is very rich. As for my son, after graduating from university in economics, he also has to work for hire. His salary after graduation is only five to seven million a month.”
That evening, Mrs. Mai told her husband. Mr. Thang listened and remained silent.
The July rain was cold and damp. Khoa stood at the door, looking out into the yard. His mother's orchid pots had been overturned by the wind. He went out and straightened each pot. When he returned, he saw his father sitting alone at the table, a half-burnt cigarette, his eyes looking somewhere far away.
Khoa stood still for a moment then walked back.
“Dad... can we talk for a minute?”
Mr. Thang did not turn back, just nodded slightly. Khoa sat down, trying to keep his voice calm:
“I know you love me. You want me to be a good person and not have to work hard. But... I really am not suited for the army. I also don't want to go to university just to get a degree.”
Mr. Thang frowned slightly, struggling in his heart. For many years, he had only known one path called success. But perhaps he was wrong?
“Remember the broken table fans in our house before?- Khoa smiled lightly: I fixed them. And I also changed the power cord of the rice cooker my grandmother gave me. I learned it all by myself. I love it. I love the feeling of bringing something broken back to life. Like... I'm healing something.”
Mr. Thang breathed softly. Outside, the rain was still drizzling. In his heart, old prejudices were gradually shaking.
“I know that being a worker is not classy. I don’t wear a white shirt, I don’t have an office name tag. But if I do a decent job, help others, and support myself, then what’s wrong with that, right dad?”
Mrs. Mai stood in the kitchen eavesdropping, her heart pounding. She silently thanked God when she heard her son's words. She saw that her son had truly grown up.
That was the first time Mr. Thang looked at his son with different eyes. A boy who he still thought was immature, now sat there, calm, clear, and full of ambition. Perhaps he realized that there were other paths, quieter, but sure, sustainable, if the person who took them carried passion and personality.
After a long while, he spoke, hoarsely and slowly:
“Being a worker... is also a way of life. But being a worker means being good. If you choose that path, then go all the way. Decide for yourself with your actions. Don't look back, don't complain.”
Khoa looked at his father, his eyes lit up:
“Yes. I promise.”
Mr. Thang stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and stood up. Outside, the rain had just stopped.
“Then tomorrow I will take you to submit your application. But if one day you regret it, don't blame me for not stopping you.”
Although he can now apply online, he wants to see in person what the school his child will attend will be like.
The next day, the sun had cleared up after the rain. Father and son woke up early, leaving at dawn. Mrs. Mai got up early to prepare breakfast. Mr. Thang was quieter than usual, his eyes still serious, but the way he put a coat on his son before starting the engine, or quietly put some change in his son's pocket, made Khoa feel warm.
The vocational training center was located more than 30 kilometers from home. On the newly opened concrete road, with fields drying in the sun on both sides, Khoa sat on the back of the motorbike, the wind whipping his shoulders, his heart fluttering as if he was about to enter a new world .
When arriving at the vocational training center, Mr. Thang parked his bike, his eyes slightly narrowed, somewhat surprised. The center's campus was quite large, clean, paved with red bricks. A row of spacious, newly painted three-story houses, with an old royal poinciana tree in bloom.
A young teacher came out to welcome them, warmly introducing the training program, the modern equipment, and the employment rate after graduation. Mr. Thang walked behind, hands clasped behind his back, his eyes lingering longer on the notice board: "100% of students have jobs after graduation".
Khoa glanced at his father. He said nothing, just nodded slightly. But the nod made him breathe a sigh of relief.
Time flew by in the blink of an eye. The vocational training was fast and solid. From an apprentice, he became a teaching assistant, then the best student in the class. When he graduated, the center kept him as a support technician.
A few months later, Khoa returned to his hometown and opened a small workshop right behind the house, temporarily borrowing the old kitchen to place his machinery and equipment. Mrs. Mai set up an old wooden table for her son, rearranged the old kitchen, and made room for him. Mr. Thang helped build a rack to hang tools. The sign “Refrigeration Repair-Installation-Khoa Engineering” was erected in front of the gate.
Gradually, people came to know Khoa's skills. Not only because he was good at repairing machines, but also because he was dedicated. Many poor old people and sick people, he did not charge for his work. Once, when Mr. Hao's washing machine broke down, he brought it home and fixed it himself for 3 days, then brought it back to reinstall it. Knowing that Mr. Hao was the wife of a martyr, Khoa did not charge for his work. Mr. Hao tearfully thanked him.
Mrs. Mai said nothing, just cooked another pot of black bean sweet soup and brought it over to give to the old man. She understood that her son had grown up not only in his skills but also in his personality. As for Mr. Thang, standing far away and watching, he turned away and wiped his eyes.
By the time of the following year’s enrollment season, the vocational center had sent an invitation to Khoa to speak at a career orientation session. He stood on the podium, in a blue worker’s uniform, holding a microphone, his voice steady and warm:
“I used to worry a lot. I used to sit on Facebook, see my friends boasting about getting into this university or that university and felt sad. But then, when I stood in the workshop, holding tools, fixing a machine to work again, I understood: happiness is not in the diploma hanging on the wall, but in the joy of doing what you love.”
That day, Mrs. Mai sat in the back row, quietly listening to her son speak. When she saw her son standing on stage, confident and mature, she felt that she was right to support him, and right to persistently convince her husband.
One afternoon, Mr. Thang was leisurely making a pot of tea. Khoa was cleaning a standing fan, preparing to give it to a poor old lady at the beginning of the village. On the table was a vocational training application file of an orphan boy whom Khoa was accepting as an apprentice.
“Are you going to teach it?” he asked.
“Yes, I see that he is smart, skillful, and has special circumstances, so I teach him for free. Later, if he can do the job, then I will have another colleague.”
Mr. Thang nodded slightly, poured tea into a cup, and gave it to his son:
“Very good, my child. The profession is neither noble nor humble. If the person who does the profession lives a decent life, the profession will also be noble.”
Mrs. Mai was watering the orchids in the garden, listening to the warm laughter of father and son, smiling. This family had found harmony. She thought about the journey, from a mother who had to stand in the middle, she learned to become a supporter, a believer.
In the yard, the star fruit tree’s shadow was long. On the sign hanging in front of the gate, the words “Technical Faculty” were tilted in the afternoon sun. Perhaps that road was not as wide as the boulevard, not as sparkling as the distant university dreams, but it was the most solid road. Because it was chosen with the heart, supported by love, and carried out with the perseverance of the whole family.
NINH LE
Source: https://baovinhlong.com.vn/van-hoa-giai-tri/tac-gia-tac-pham/202508/truyen-ngan-loi-re-e562561/
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