The Fire in My Fathers Hands Essay Example for Free

The Fire in My Fathers Hands Es advanceWhen I was a kid, ab turn up 5 to 8 years gaga, my manpower would unceasingly get c sr. whenever the surrounding air is chilly. My dad would constantly tell me to rub them together, wish well you would in order to conduct fire. And so I did it. I rubbed and rubbed and rubbed. My fingers powder against each other from the tips of my light uptle fingers to the base of my palm, solely none of this worked. My hands placid be cold, gem cold. thence my dad said laterwards watching me rub for a whole 3 proceeding You can stop clash your hands when they are warm again, as rubbing would make your peel off raw. I replied plainly theyre still cold. Then he told me to hold out my hand and he beated rubbing warmth into my hands his strong, rough hands massaging my palms, my fingers, then suddenly my hands are warm again. afterwards a period, I wondered will my hands ever become tough and strong equal my fathers? traffic pattern Till You Get Tired of ItMy Mom is my role model. I guess this is due to the point that I used to scarcely see my Dad because he comes home re to lankyyy late he still does, though non as late, while my Mother took care of me ever since she quit the job as the General Manager when I was in 2nd grade. She is the one who is there for me whenever I have a problem, like a robot on standby, but she is also a harsh whip with her clear though she never throw me. My most notable memory of my Mom is when I sucked at math in 3rd grade. I dont kat once how to do a problem so naturally, I asked her. However, after she taught the same problem 4 times, I still didnt get it. I was afraid she would get mad, but she didnt and in the end when I finally got it, I asked her why she is so patient. She simply replied practice makes perfect, an old adage I hear very often to this day.The Playful ShadowEveryone in my family has different hair. My fathers, a hair like a bush or a vigilant meerkat or a comb. A comb with black and white bristles because my father is slowly aging. It stands tall and mighty nevertheless, and doesnt ever miscellany no matter how many times you run your hand through the mass of black and white. separate times my father applies hair gel to his hair, though I dont see a point. After all, conspiracy cuts dont have a vision of potential for shaping. In contrast though, my hair is like a teasing shadow, flexible and could be shaped into anything. Its of medium length, though sometimes when I am too ineffectual or busy I dont pester my give to take me to the hair salon in a nearby department store. Speaking of her, my mother has the smoothest hair in the family. Its silky and sleek almost all the time, and has a certain shine to it whenever light falls on her hair, like twinkling stars on a silent, dark night.Not The UsualIt was around my mid-summer vacation. I went to my grandmothers in Taipei, but I standed for a presbyopic time, about 2 weeks or so. I came back home eventually, but before the moment when I stepped through onto the white marble floor, I never realized the beautiful house that I considered as mundane was indeed quite nice. I immediately noticed the sunlight streaming through the tall windows that c over up a side of the spacious living room, as opposed to my grandmothers artificially lit house and the tiny space one is allowed to move in. You really have to pick your way carefully in order to not trip over something. Although this is mean for me to put it like this, especially since I have been accepting their hospitality for an extended period of time but after this time I learned to appreciate the place I live in.The next day, my mother started her usual sermons, Why dont you start doing your grammar workbook. Then I replied, But mother, its summer. Even if I finish it you wont give me any cease time. Fine, you can have free time after you finish 5 pages in the workbook. Yes. I exclaimed. Then I thought to myse lf. Well, this is rare, mother is giving me free time.Home RulerIn German my shout out means home ruler. It means king. It is like the wind strong, yet soothing. An energizing gust that one would obtain on a hot sunny day. It is like the symphonies that Beethoven conducted, vivid, strong symphonies.Henry was my fathers lay down and now I have it. Before that my fathers severalize is Eric, then he changed it to Chief during college years. But now he is Henry, and I am Henry Jr. On that lazy afternoon when he told me that he changed his name twice, I asked him why he wanted to be called Henry.He replied Because I like the sound of it. What? You chose your name and my name only because you like the sound of it? Isnt there some kind of symbolism behind it like Chinese names do? I pressed. But he just simply said Nope.in person though, I do not dislike my name. Its alright, though it could be confusing when people just say Henry when both Yu and I are present. Thats pretty lots it, a fter all names arent goodish material for bullying anyways.All AloneOn lazy days when Im bored, I daydream a lot. Just staring into space or look at the sky and the clouds or whatever that catches my intrest. I imagine various things, from the future, to the past. Sometimes I think of of the possibility of having a brother or sister since I am the only kidskin in my house. I think of other people and their relationships with their siblings and sometimes I feel forlorn, because I never really had a person I can strike to at home. But other times when I see siblings fight I wonder if I would do the same. Chances are I would fight, be the peacemaker, or just let them go all over me. Perhaps I would try to maintain peace between me and my sibling. I suppose things get lively, crazy, and out of control sometimes when you have a sibling, but the more, the merrier right?Stop JudgingShun is my old, old classmate, a classmate I had in 4th grade. He was a boy who had eyes that scan dagge rs and a posture or a physique that suggested he can fight well. I always took care to avoid him, for I am afraid of what he might do, especially since he got in a fight with my best friend, Kevin. The fight exploded suddenly with Kevin beaten down pretty badly. But in a strange twist of fate, I had to take the late bus with him, not to stir the small bus is very, very crowded. Time passed and passed, and eventually I had to go on the bus. It turns out that he isnt much of a bad person. I was apprehensive at first, but after a while I got the courage to ask him a few questions and we started talking. It was then I realized the true pith of the saying dont judge a book by its cover.Party PooperRain, rain, go away. Go away so i can playI hate rainy days. The way it brings cool, humid air, and the way it forces me to rest indoors. The way it makes the skies dark, gloomy, and sometimes filled the air with static. It came when I went to Hualien the first time I went there. There wasnt much to do except to roam the department stores that was packed with refugees of the rain, just like my family and me. The rain prevented us from exploring Hualien maritime Park, the amusement park I was so excited to go to, but the trip prematurely ended. We did stay in Hualien for an extra day though to compensate for the missing day, but that doesnt cover up the fact that the rain ruined half of my vacation. Just as it ruined the bicycling trip my dad and I planned to go on. And the trip to the Sun-Moon Lake. Oh, how I hate the rain.Different Things, Deep MeaningsMy mother tells me a lot of things. Family values, information, something about maintaing discipline, and many others. However, I find her small tales most intruguing. She once told me about a tosh about a kid and his mother. The story begins when the child was hit by his mother because he did something bad. end-to-end his life, the child was always hit by his mother when he did something wrong. The strange thing is, the child never cried, not once when he was hit hard. He just held the tears in as the mother began her rentless attack, at least thats what I think she said, after all its been 3, 4 years. Anyway, the story goes on with the child finally reaches manhood, and the mother became an old lady, her hair streaked with dull gray, her hands and face wrinkly and her hands dont stop shaking. Then the child, now a man, did something to upset the mother again and of course the mother reaches to hit him as she did throughout her sons life. But this time when the blow landed, the son finally cried. Why? Because his mothers punch did not hurt, while in the past it hurt really bad. To this day, I still dont get the meaning of this flyspeck story.Work, Save, RelaxI have a dream. A dream to be able to do anything i want. I feel tired studying for tests and doing homework all day. To go to school, back home like a an endless cycle which will likely change to go to company, return home when I get a j ob. Someday, Id like to travel to various countries, taste gorment food, and maybe even sip on wine. I want to see new things, experience them, and try them. Someday I will make this happen. When my dream turns to reality, this may be when my hair is all gone, streaked with whitish gray strands, and arms that are weakened by time, but I would be happy, happy that my dream is fulfilled. Being free of the limit of duty, responsibility, and just be able to do anything I want is my lifetime goal. I have a dream. A dream to be able to do anything I want. I feel tired after studying and doing homework all day, and just doing work all day. Someday, Id like to just relax and enjoy, perchance when I retire. I would travel to far-off coutries and taste gorment food.