收到孩子寄回的包裹,年迈的他很是欣慰。包裹里那块“砖头”叫做手机,他上次进城时孩子教他用过。他拄着拐杖艰难地爬上后山,拨通绣在袖口上的号码,听到熟悉的声音时,已泪流满面。以后每个月,他都会爬上山顶。那一天天色很暗,下着细雨,突然一个踉跄,他跌落山谷,手机被甩在一旁:“爸,中秋我不回来了。” He was very pleased when he received the parcel sent back by his children. The piece of “brick” in the package was called a cellphone and the child taught him to use it last time he entered the city. He climbed uphill hard on crutches, dialing the number embroidered on the cuffs and burst into tears when he heard the familiar voice. Every month afterwards, he climbs the summit. It was a dark day, under the drizzle, suddenly a staggering, he fell into the valley, the phone was thrown aside: “Dad, Mid-Autumn I do not come back. ”