It took me three years before I dared to write the story of our family.
My father has always regarded himself as his mother's good son and brother's good brother; my mother endured thirty years of "widowed parenting", and in the end she only asked, "Why do we still have to mention things during the confinement period after so many years?"; And I once blamed all the problems in my character on this messy family.
It wasn't until I personally attended the funeral of an important relative that I discovered——
The "original family" we keep blaming never really existed.
There are just people who are struggling in the tide of the times, but no one has taught them how to be parents.
It turns out that their skins are getting older, but in fact their souls may still be the same high-spirited people in their twenties, but time seems not to stop because of this, so most aging people can only pretend to be older.
This is not a book of indictment. This is a non-fiction note on a thirty-year-overdue reconciliation.
Intention: The outcome of an event is already buried at the beginning.