A 450-word composition entitled "Dad has a pair of kind and amiable hands"

Dad's hands are not beautiful, rough and rough, and have a deep bronze color, much like chocolate, but they don't have that sweet and attractive taste, and some are just mixed with the bittersweet taste of life, but every time I see them, I want to cry.

Once, my father was a farmer. When I was a child, I never understood why my father always liked to stand in the sun. I always have a strange feeling when I look at that rough bronze hand with scars. I can't say what it is, but I always smile and ask my father, "Dad, Dad, why are your hands different from Chien's?" Dad, dad, why do you always like to play in the sun? I don't like it. " And my father always touches my head gently with those hands that have weathered the storm and supported the livelihood of the whole family. "Qian Xian is lovely, you see," his big hand wrapped around my little hand, feeling a little stinging. In the sun, it is a pair of white and tender hands, a pair of brand-new hands. "Dad, it is because you always play in the sun that your hands will become like this. Do you like your hands to be like this in the future? " I pouted and shook my head. "Well, tell you what, Qian Xian, you go back to your house and play with your teachers and classmates at school, okay?" The hoarse voice rang in my ear in the sun, like a nursery rhyme, singing and ferrying for my life. "Then Qian Xian will hurry back to the house, and Dad will stay in the sun, okay?" I nodded with a smile and ran into the house, while my father behind me continued to work with his rough hands, day after day and year after year. ...

Dad's hands are very strong, and there are many thick cocoons on them, which are hard and warm and warm to our family's heart.

When I was a child, no matter how busy my father was, he always sent me to school and after school. In the hazy memory, those powerful big hands full of cocoons are always full of my memory. In the cold winter, the wind whistling like a strong father. With a wave of his powerful hands, all the cold was driven away by him. "Dad ..." I pulled my dad's thin coat and looked at him hopefully. He glanced at the steaming food on the stall and bowed his head and asked me, "Qianxian wants to eat." I nodded with a smile. "hmm." Dad's hand, which has become rough because of doing farm work all the year round, reached into his trouser pocket and touched it for a long time. Finally, he took out a crumpled fifty-cent bill. But the paper money seems to weigh a thousand pounds, and my father's hand is hesitant. The bronze hand swings up and down in a small range, but my father's hand is always strong. Finally, he handed it to the smiling stall owner, and the money gently entered the stall owner's trouser pocket. Holding hot food in both hands, I was put on my bike by my father as soon as I parachuted, like playing a roller coaster, and I was amused. "Dad, do you eat?" I smiled and asked my father. Dad touched my face with a hand with many cocoons. "I don't eat, you sit still, dad is going to drive." "I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid of fiber. My dad has such a strong hand that I won't throw the fiber out of the car." In the hazy fog, there is always a pair of strong hands to block all the wind and rain for the little girl. ...

Now, my father is old, and a few silver threads have appeared in his thick black hair, but his strong hands are still tanned, as before. ...

Father's hand

Out of Luo Zhongli's father, fixed in the background of Zhu Ziqing.

Every time I see my father's big hand, I feel warm. I remember when I was a child, every time I walked with my father, my father would hold my little hand tightly, while I was jumping happily. We are like two birds. I am a bird, and my father is a big bird. Big birds protect and take care of birds.

Whenever my father explains a question to me, his big hand will open in my notebook. He pointed and circled, and his big hand kept moving and turning. Is so kind.

Whenever I fail in the exam, my mother always blames me, while my father helps me. His hand is the savior, touching my head, patting my shoulder and saying, "Never mind, just try harder next time!" "

Whenever I walk in the ice and snow, holding my father's big hand is a happy feeling, a happy feeling, a beautiful feeling, a warm feeling, which is a kind of dependence.

People say that my father loves silence, and so does my father. He is not so eloquent, but his hands can make me understand my father's hard work.

As the days passed, my father became old. When he was a child, his hands were big, white and fat. Now, his skin is slack. He bid farewell to youth and entered middle age for me.

Father's love is a mountain, guarding the fire of life; Father's love is fire, which lights the lamp of hope; Father's love is a lamp that illuminates the way forward; Fatherly love is the way to lead your life. My father turned his hands into a mountain, a fire, a lamp, a road and a little fatherly love, which accompanied me every minute.