李娜
谈及父亲，我在感性与理性之间困惑，犹豫和艰难地重新寻找他。往事如泉涌，要说的太多，此刻，却不知道要说什么。思忖良久，最终下笔。
其实对于我来说，我更加习惯地称“父亲”为“爸爸”。但不知为何，将思绪诉诸笔端，我就不由自主地唤作了“父亲”。可能是因为我喜欢怀旧，“父亲”这个词则更具有中国传统的味道。
记得春节后的分离，父亲送我，我看着他，他的眼睛还是很亮，那样亮。在浅浅的晨光中，我竟分不清那究竟是他年轻时的锋芒余光，还是盈盈的泪光。我坐在靠窗的座位上，隔着密不透风的玻璃，竟也能够听到他的呼吸声。我想再对他说声“再见”，可车子已经缓缓开启。有点失望，正要拉上窗帘转身的那一瞬，眼角波光流动间瞥见建筑的颜色和线条渐隐渐退，那线条就像柔软的丝带，伸进黑洞里一点一点诱出深藏的记忆。我不禁停下来，凝视窗外，凝得入神......
在我看来，父亲没有什么让人看一眼就能记住的特征。唯独他的头发，一年一年的变化也串成了我的记忆锁链，一节一节环环相扣。
小时候，每当父亲抱着我，我都会用手去拉拽那黑黑的，浓密的像草一样的东西，攥在手里，想品尝一下到底是什么滋味。可他总是用大手捂住他的头说：“小孩儿，举起手来，不许动!”吓得我立马就收回了手。父亲年轻的时候是一名公安，一身警服再加上挺拔的身姿，绝对配得上潇洒帅气这四个字。那时的父亲活力饱满，就像他乌黑浓密的头发，好似梳子从未在上面光临过，岁月也从未在他身上留下任何细微的痕迹 。他最喜欢教我叠“豆腐块”被子，而我每次都弄成了“豆腐渣”。两床被子，一左一右，相形见绌。这时，父亲会故作神秘地问我说：“想比我叠得更好吗？”我悻悻地点点头。“那就长大去参军吧”！父亲说完，微微一笑，眼神就仿佛望向一片灰色的海。其实，父亲当时已经过了空军的各项招飞检查，正准备收拾行装时，却被爷爷奶奶拦下。父亲孝顺，就留了下来。这件事，成了父亲一生的遗憾，也让他对我寄予了厚望。
所以自打记事起，父亲便以军人的标准要求我。他也实实在在地将我当成了一个男孩来养。不论摔倒，受委屈甚至生病，他从不允许我在他面前哭。我只记得当我眼泪兮兮地站在他的面前，渴望他能够给我安慰时，得到的永远是一句话：“哭有什么用，在战场上，敌人不会因为你是女孩而对你有半分怜悯。生活也是这样，它不会因为你是女孩、掉几颗眼泪就会减轻你身上的苦和痛。你哭，只能证明你是弱者……”而父亲头上那一根根森立的头发，散发着威严，如一股黑色的激流向上抛溅，冲击着我身体的每条神经。从此，它们便深深印在我的脑海中，不论记忆如何叠加错绕，依旧清晰。
怎么说呢，父亲其实很宝贵自己的头发，没有了头发，他就像丢了自己的魂儿一般。可命运这种东西，不会让你轻而易举地就读懂他。那一年，父亲在一次公安的抓捕行动中受伤，被人砸中头顶。送到医院时，他已经奄奄一息。刚开始记事的我只记得母亲在听到消息后惊慌失措的样子。那段记忆很模糊，后来听父亲讲到这段经历时，我本以为他会浓墨重彩般地讲述他与死神搏斗的故事，谁知，他只是轻描淡写地指了指他的头顶，告诉我：“可能你不知道，你爸这头顶上可镶着一块钢板嘞。”他眼神平淡，却也掩盖不住眼底那一丝倔强。我知道，因为受伤，父亲不得不脱掉他最爱的警服，带着我和母亲离开老家进入城市打拼。
90年代末的城市，没有如今霓虹灯下的亦幻亦真。艰难的环境只能让我们面对残酷的现实。为了能够活下去，父母亲必须工作才能够维持生计，谁来照看我便成了问题。放眼四下，举目无亲，他们只能将我送到寄宿学校。那一年，我6岁。当学校的铁丝网状大门渐渐关闭，我分明看到了母亲的泪水。可父亲却一把拉住母亲，扭头，转身，顿足，然后头也不回地走了。我哭，我喊，都无济于事，他们走远了，再也听不到我的挽留。
学校生活并不如我想得那般简单。因为我所在的是一所私立的寄宿学校，所有的物品还有家长给的零花钱都要交给老师保管，大门也有保安看守，想要拿上钱跑出去简直就是异想天开。我只能静静地等每个月家长探视的时间。父亲第一次来看我，我并不想与他说话，我恨他当初头也不回地走掉丢下我一个人在这里。可到临走之时，我终于忍不住自己内心的恐惧和孤独，拽着他的衣角，希望他把我一起带走。眼泪犹如决堤之水，一发不可收拾。但无论我怎样恳求，结果还是一样，我被老师拉了回来。那一天，他走时，微风掠过他的头发，但却再也不是我记忆中的那么干净利落，反而像一堆枯草，无精打采地贴在头皮上。而他的头顶，只剩下一块凸起的头皮。我注视着那远去的背影，手掌抓住铁丝网，就这么看着他变小，模糊，消失……
年华终将老去，而我站在青春的尾尖静静眺望，盼着风的微笑，看那时光在指尖流过，流过我的18岁。我整理凌乱的思绪，已然明白，我与父亲，不止是相遇。那天，我为父亲斟了一杯酒。酒微醺，父亲突然对我说：“闺女啊，其实你不知道。你小时候我每次去学校看你啊，走出大门，我一扭头，那泪啊，就止不住地往下流。爸也不知道怎么了，你知道的，不管遇到再难的事，爸也不会掉一滴眼泪。那是因为爸要给你做榜样，要让你学会坚强。可那几次，爸真的是忍不住啊……”我看着父亲的脸庞，听他娓娓道来。此时的父亲已然没有了当初年轻时的戾气。天花板垂下来的风扇微微吹着，发出清风的声音。这房间，仍旧一派岁月绵长、人间静好的气氛。
嘴角微微上扬，我不禁觉得，父亲刚强，但也有柔情。高考后，我没有参军，父亲没有质问我原因，只是告诉我：“自己选的路，跪着也要走完。我还是那句话，眼泪解决不了任何问题。”我把这句话带到了大学里，一年春来，一年秋去，我沉浸在自己的世界里急切地寻找着未来的人生方向，却没有意识到时间在变，人也在变。直到今年寒假回家，父亲从百忙之中抽出时间来接我。我在人群中寻找他的身影，渴望与他目光的交会。当他缓缓走到我的面前时，却着实让我感到触目惊心。
父亲老了，岁月的坎坷使他过早地衰老，稀疏的头发已经花白，就像被霜染的枯草。这个清白了一生，坚强了一生的男人老了。我想抓住时光的尾巴，让它慢点，慢点，给我的父亲一丝喘息的机会。以前都是我在他面前哭，而现在父亲的眼泪在我面前无需刻意的掩饰。他对爷爷奶奶的思念以及对我的不舍也会让他在谈话时不由自主地湿了眼眶。我不知道某一天，当我的手被另一个男人牵走时，他会不会在我面前流泪，但我知道他一定会在我离开的时候在心里默念千遍万遍：“丫头，一定要幸福。”
龙应台在《目送》里说道：“我慢慢地，慢慢地了解到，所谓父女母子一场，只不过意味着，你和他的缘分就是今生今世不断地在目送他的背影渐行渐远。你站在小路的这一段端，看着他逐渐消失在小路转弯的地方，而且，他用背影告诉你：不必追。”
“哗”的一声横过，我被惊起。恍惚间，就像穿越了一世。我突然害怕了，害怕父亲的离开。眼角的酸涩让我真真切切地明白，目送，不是为了看着他消失，而是为了要牢牢记住他的身影，让我能够在下世的渺茫中，一眼便认出他，然后轻轻地唤一声：“父亲！”
我摸摸手掌，仿佛还残存着大手牵小手的温热。心中的不舍，愧疚一点点渗透，升华。此刻，眼泪已经打湿桌上的纸笺，我眼含热泪，将这份爱糅进笔尖，来向我们这一世的父女情致敬！
父亲！愿您一世安好，轮回之间，生死相续，一定要为我把这份爱密藏！■
Father's hair
Li Na
Talking about my father, I am confused between sensibility and reason, hesitating and struggling to find him again. The past, such as spring, I want to say too much, at the moment, but do not know what to say. Thinking for a long time, I write down finally.
In fact, for me, I am more accustomed to saying "father" as "father". But I do not know why, when the thoughts to the pen, I can help to calling the "father". Probably because I’m nostalgic, "father" this word is more traditional in Chinese notion.
Remembered the separation after the Spring Festival, my father sent me, I looked at him , his eyes are still very bright, so bright. In the shallow dawn, I can’t tell whether it is the edge of the light when he was young , or glittering and translucent tears. I sat in the window seat , separated by airtight glass, I even could hear his breath. I would like to say to him again, "goodbye", but the car has been slowly opened. A bit disappointed, was about to pull the curtains turned the moment, eye wave flow between the glimpse of the building's color and lines gradually fade away, that line like a soft ribbon, into the black hole little bit of deep memory .Then I couldn’t help but stop, stared out the window, condensate into the image ... ...
In my opinion , father hasn’t obvious feature . Only his hair, year after year’s change is also string into my memory chain, a section interlocking.
As a child, whenever my father hugged me, I would use the hand to pull the black, thick grass like something, clutched in the hand, would like to taste what the taste in the end. But he always covered his head with his hand, said: "child, raised your hand, do not move!" His words scared me immediately and I recovered the hand. Father is a police when he was young , a police uniform coupled with tall and straight posture, absolutely deserved handsome . At that time the father was full of vitality, like his dark hair, like the comb never touched his hair, the years have never left any subtle traces of him. He liked to teach me stack "tofu block" quilt, and every time I have become a "bean curd." Two quilts were contrasted very obviously . At this time, the father will ask me mysteriously: "Do you want to do it better than me?" I bitterly nodded, "then when you grow up you can join the army !" Father finished, smiled, eyes seemed to look to a gray sea. In fact, the father had been passed the Air Force's flight inspection , when he was preparing to pack up, but was grandparents stopped. Father didn’t left finally . This thing, became a father life’s regret, let him put high hopes for me.
So since I have memory , the father will be the standard of the military requirements of me. He also treated to me as a boy to support. He didn’t allow me to cry when I faced him, regardless of his fall, grievance or even illness. I only remembered when I was standing in front of his and cry , eager to be able to give me comfort, I always got the sentence: "It is not useful when you cry , on the battlefield, the enemy will not sympathize you because you are a girl . Life is the same, it will not because you are a girl will shed a few tears will reduce your body bitter and pain . You cry, can only prove that you are weak ... ... "And the father’s hair ,such as a black torrent up the splash, the impact of my body every nerve. Since then, they were deeply printed in my mind, no matter how the memory overlaps the wrong, still clear.
How to say , the father is actually very valuable of their own hair, for hair, he is like throwing their own soul in general. The fate will not let you easily read him. That year, my father was injured in a public security arrest, was hit in the head. When he got to the hospital, he was dying. I just remembered that my mother was frightened after hearing the news. The memory was very vague, and I was just listening to my father's story, and I thought he would tell him about the story of his struggle with death. But , he just casually pointed to his head, told me: "Maybe you do not know, your dad has a steel plate overhead ." His eyes dull, but also can’t conceal the stubborn in his eyes. I know that because of the injury, he had to take off his favorite police uniform, with my mother and I left home into the city hard work.
The city of the late 90s, there is no now under the neon lights are also true. The hard environment can only make us faced the brutal reality. In order to be able to live, parents must work to be able to make a living. Who will take care of me becomes a problem, look around, unaccompanied, they can only send me to boarding school. That year, I am 6 years old. When the school's wire mesh door gradually closed, I clearly see the mother's tears. But father pulled the mother, turned, stopped his foot , and then his head didn’t back and to go. I cry , I shout, but it wasn’t useful , they went far, no longer hear my retention.
School life is not as simple as I thought. Because I am a private boarding school, all the items and parents to the pocket money to the custody of the teacher, the door also has a security guard, want to take the money ran out is simply whimsical. I can only wait for a month to visit the parents of the time. Father for the first time to see me, I do not want to talk to him, I hate his head did not go back to leave me a person here. Can come to the time, I finally could not help but his inner fear and loneliness, pulling his clothes, I hope he took me away. Tears like a burst of water, out of control, no matter how I pleaded, the result is the same, I was pulled back by the teacher. That day, he walked, the breeze passing his hair, but it was not my memory so full of energy, clean and neat. But like a pile of hay, listlessly attached to the scalp. And his head, no longer find that discredited, leaving only a raised scalp. I watched the back of the back, palm grabbed the barbed wire, so he looked at him smaller, blurred, disappeared ... ...
Years will eventually grow old, and I stood at the tip of the youth quietly overlooking, looking forward to the wind smile, watching that time at the fingertips flow, flowing through my 18th birthday. I sort of messy thoughts, already understand that my father and I, not only meet. On that day , I poured a glass of wine for my father and a little wine. My father suddenly said to me: "daughter , in fact, you do not know when you were a child , every time I went to school to see you, out of the door, I turned, that tears, it can’t stop down. Dad do not know the reason . You know, no matter how difficult it is to meet, dad will not drop a tears. It is because the dad want to give you an example, let you learn strong. But that time, dad really could not help ... ... "I looked at his father's face, listened to him. At this time the father already has not the young hostility. Ceiling down the fan slightly blowing, issued a breeze sound. This room is still a long time to build, the atmosphere of the world quiet.
Mouth slightly up, I can’t help but feel that his father is strong, but also tenderness. After the college entrance examination, I did not join the army, the father did not ask me the reason , he just told me: "You choose the road, kneeling to finish . I have the same sentence, tears can’t solve any problems." I put this sentence to the university, a year of spring, a year to fall, I am immersed in their own world eager to find the future direction of life, but did not realize that time is changing, people are changing. Until this winter vacation home, father from the busy time to take time to pick me up. I am looking for his figure in the crowd, eager to meet with his eyes. When he slowly came to my front, but really makes me feel shocking.
Father is old, the ups and downs of the years make him prematurely aging , sparse hair has been gray, like frosty hay. This old man’s life is full of innocence . I want to seize the time of the tail, let it slowly , slowly , and gives my father a chance to breathe. I used to cry in front of him, and now my father's tears in front of me without deliberately disguised. His grandmother's thoughts and my reluctance to let him in the conversation involuntarily wet eyes. I do not know one day, when my hand is taken away by another man, whether he will not cry in front of me, but I know he will be in my heart when the meditation in thousands of times: "my daughter , must be happy."
Long Yingtai write some sentences in the "watched" and said: "I slowly, slowly learned that the so-called father and mother a mother and child, but that means that you and his fate is this life in the endless presence of his back walk away . You stood on the end of the path, watching him gradually disappear in the path of the place, and he told you back: do not have to chase.
"Hua" heard across. I was startled. In trance, like through the world. I was afraid, afraid of his father's departure. The eyes of the sour so that I really understand, watched, not to see him disappear, but to keep in mind his shadow, so that I can find him easily in the next world, one will recognize him, and then gently call: "Father"!
I touched the palm of the hand, as if still remnants of the big hand holding the warm hands. My heart was full of sadness , guilty , a little penetration, sublimation. At the moment, the tears have been wet paper on the table, my eyes with tears, the love into the pen tip!
Father! I wish you a good day, between the reincarnation, life and death continued, we must love for this love!■
（父女俩 油画 梁彩川 ）
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