父亲是一个地地道道的农民,农民的正业是春耕秋收。然而,父亲却要在两脚泥水经营农事的时候,不荒捧读,不经意地做他的布衣文人,知足常乐地生活在自我营造的氛围里。在儿时的记忆里,父亲的床头总码着一堆被磨损的砖头书,残损的部位仿佛被人啃过。这些乡下人不屑一顾的故纸,父亲却小心翼翼地伺弄着。后来,这些书,有的不翼而飞,有的被人借而不还,余下的便被长大的我们慢慢地瓜分了。父亲的手头只留住了两套不知被他翻了多少遍的线装书《三国演义》《红楼梦》。 My father is an out-patient farmer. However, when the father and father ran muddy water to farm farming, he did not want to waste time reading and inadvertently doing his commoner and living contentedly in a self-created atmosphere. In her childhood memories, my father’s bed always had a pile of worn-out brick books on his head, and the damaged parts seemed to have been chewed. These villagers dismissive of the paper, his father was careful to tease. Later, these books, some missing, and some were borrowed, the rest will be grown up slowly we divided up. My father’s hand only retained two sets of dozens of times I did not know how many times turned over his wire-bound book “Romance of the Three Kingdoms” “Dream of Red Mansions.”