As a girl, I was "sent away" twice by my parents.
So, I don't want to mention it, as if it were a scar in my heart, and it would hurt if I touched it gently.
My father and mother really want a boy. In the 1980s and 1990s, when the concept of equality between men and women was not popular, giving birth to a boy was worth celebrating, and the equivalent of giving birth to a girl seemed to be the word "base".
But unfortunately, it seems that God doesn't understand my parents' wishes, so everyone from the boss to me is a girl. I am the fourth girl in my family, but I should be the fifth. Because I didn't know there was a sister in front of me until I was older, but I died unexpectedly.
When I gave birth to my third sister, I was originally the teacher's mother, but I was fired for violating the policy. I changed from an intellectual and a public servant to an out-and-out rural person. Perhaps because of this, my mother and father seem determined to prove something. They must give birth to a boy.
So I was born after my third sister. I have no memory as a baby, but when I grow up, I can guess the scene by listening to everyone's description. I certainly didn't like my birth. Even after me, my parents finally gave birth to a boy, so I was doomed to be disliked.
With more children at home, the burden will be heavy, and parents will naturally want to send their children. Of course, they don't have to hesitate about who to send. It must be me. This girl, the so-called "losing money".
The first time I sent it, I was about one year old. I don't have this memory, but it doesn't prevent me from knowing, because when I grow up, my neighbors will always tell it over and over again in a joking tone. And probably to make me feel grateful when I grow up, my parents always take pains to mention it, as if leaving me at home was a gift from them and I needed to be grateful.
A girl was sent home but died unexpectedly, so she was anxious to have a child. The family conditions in that family are quite good. It is said that men are police station staff and women are teachers. To put it bluntly, sometimes I wish my parents could send me out.
But unfortunately, it didn't work. According to my mother, my third sister didn't let me go because she grabbed my little quilt and cried. I don't want to care about the specific reasons, because even if I'm not sent away, just thinking that I'm going to be sent away is enough to make me feel great fear.
Of course, I didn't express it at that time, so my family didn't know. On the contrary, I think Third Sister is a little hero. They chose great parents.
The experience of being sent away for the second time can be said to be much more tragic than the first time, because at that time I had already started school, had already thought about it, and had the story memory of being sent away repeatedly by people around me.
I sent it to my cousin's house for the second time, saying that she is a cousin, but she is like a sister with my mother. The reason is that his family has only one boy, so he wants a girl, and my family just has a heavy burden, which seems to be based on the original intention of helping his family tide over the difficulties, so this requirement is put forward.
At that time, I could guess what it meant without adults asking me. Therefore, throughout my childhood, my uncle, a tall man with a square face, short eyebrows and round glasses, has always been my nightmare. Every time I come home from school, as long as I see a car in front of my house, I will run away, or go to my neighbor's house, or run to the mountain behind my house to hide and look far away.
Many times I hide in the mountains alone, because my neighbor's house is not safe and my parents can easily find it. On the mountain, on the other hand, I am very small, and it is difficult to be found when I hide in the bushes. Every time I hide in the mountains and watch my mom and dad call my name at the foot of the mountain, I get scared.
But what I am most afraid of is that when the bus leaves, I will sneak down the hill and go home, because my mother will swear and my father can't talk, but he keeps a straight face. I must be careful, do more things, find a sense of existence at home, and make sure I won't be sent away.
The experience of being sent away for the second time continues to this day, and the shadow on me is still great. But my family doesn't seem to realize this. They only defined my behavior as disobedient and naughty. Now I can say hello to my uncle's house normally, but I am still scared every time I see my uncle, but I just don't say anything.
After these two experiences, I will always be careful at home. Even if I enter school and society, I will always be careful and please others. I am afraid that others don't like me, I am afraid that I will be abandoned, and I am afraid that I have no sense of existence.
My whole childhood, with sporadic memories, is gray and gloomy. I seldom remember laughing. What I remember most clearly is that I am like a long-term worker, and I never dare to ask for anything at home. I just hope I can live quietly, not be remembered by anyone, and then grow up slowly.
I don't like staying at home because it's too depressing. The first time I asked my mother in my childhood was in the fourth grade, when the teacher asked for extra-curricular counseling books.
I don't remember the beginning, but I remember the end. That day, my mother and sister came back from a distant market, and they were a little depressed because the bus broke down halfway. When I got home, the power went out again, so all the anger was concentrated.
I remember very clearly that our family sat around a round table that night. My mother and elder sister started to get angry in turn, and finally the other two sisters joined in. Of course, the responsibility lies with me, in order to help me buy books. Then they missed the early bus to help me buy books, so today is too bad.
At that time, the room was dark, and the candles could not shine clearly on their faces, but the darkness could not stop them from cursing. I stole the book with tears in my eyes. Brand-new handwriting, right in the middle, says "Grade Three (below)".
And I am in the fourth grade.