I haven't pronounced this word in more than ten years. Its pronunciation made my tongue dry, and I was no longer familiar with its intonation. I often force myself to ignore the word in order to forget my obligation to use it.
Who is the father?
To us, he is the father; to the family, he is dominance and power; as we grow up, he is the representative of the adult world, a symbol of strength, revered for being able to do things beyond our ability. He is the outline of our old days, his words and deeds are what we will become, he is the person we are most like, the person we must obey. He is also our source. He sheds more blood of our ancestors than we do. From the depths of his eyes, we see the sorrow of our ancestors a hundred years ago.
We love Dad, no matter how contrary his appearance is to our ideals, no matter how indescribable his existence. Unlike the love for the mother, the love for the father is sad and low, and we love the father like an abstract image. Nor can we ever deny our affiliation with him, just as we cannot deny the world.
One day he came back to be our dad. We don't know him. He was so tall, like a giant. He gave orders in silence, and we looked up with admiration and jealousy at his strong, lush arms. We were also a bit overwhelmed because we didn't know what to do with him. Is it because he hugged us twelve years ago that he should be called Daddy?
I thought we all didn't need dad. Yes, we can have no father, only half of the father belongs to the family, and the other half belongs to the outside world. No one said he was redundant. But how can we admit that we have been living in an incomplete family?
He's back, domineering and domineering. We finally got a chance to get along, but while Dad was so intent on instilling his own experience, he forgot that his two sons were both little men and little children. As he returns to the role of father, the sons go further and further in the opposite direction. Dad's world is a world of violence, just like mother's is tenderness and love, when the same sex is alone, the attributes of this world are fully exerted.
Dad is dead, and his body is too heavy for us to drag. But he never got up again. We feel abandoned in the air, we are suddenly so small, and then, the world. We helped him into the boat, and we escorted the dead like ferrymen on the Spirit River.
Children always fail for no apparent reason. Dad left. Everything is bad. A new age has begun, and we must say goodbye to the old, so the son still cries out to the lonely waters. And at that moment, he returned. It was a return after returning to freedom, a return to the need for paternal love, a return to the need for patriarchy and the need for autocracy. They are confused now and have no doubts later.
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