When I was 8 or 9 years old, I remembered that my mother would still bake her baked bread occasionally. One night, my mother came home after a long working day and she made dinner for my father and son. She set a few slices of toast on fire, not burned normal but burned like black coal. I watched the slices of bread and waited to see whether anyone recognized their irregularity and spoke up.
But my dad just ate his bread and asked me about my homework as well as my schoolwork. I do not remember what I said to him that day, but I remember hearing my mother apologize to him for burning the bread.
And I never forget what my father said to my mother: "Baby, you like to bake bread."
That night, I went to my father to sleep well and asked if he really liked the buns. My father put his arm around my shoulder and said,
"My mother worked very hard all day and she was very tired.A bit of burnt bread can not hurt anyone but you know what really hurts others? harshly. "
Then he continued, "You know, life is full of imperfections and inadequate people. Father is bad in so many things, such as father can not remember birthdays or anniversaries. like some others.
