Since she was four years old, her daughter Anna has been learning badminton at a nearby gym.
The road leading from my home to the gymnasium was an ordinary path at first. Suddenly, bulldozers came, moving mountains and seas, and the sky was filled with gray sand, leaving footprints one step at a time.
The disappearance of the bulldozer was as sudden as its appearance. There was a bright six-lane road in front of us. The sidewalk was paved with bricks, and holes were dug sporadically to plant trees and lawns, but it was all a small matter. And Anna is over nine years old.
I said, “Anna, the road is ready. I don’t want my mother to send me to play ball in the future.” Anna was very frightened and shouted, “No, no, no, no.” After pulling the saw back and forth for a few times, we finally agreed, and I sent her to the entrance of the medical school. There are very few vehicles inside and the pedestrians are all college students. It is very safe. After she finished class, I went to pick her up at the door.
When it was time, I hesitated for a while. When I got downstairs, she had already entered the yard and was very happy to see me: “Mom, didn’t you say you would wait for me at the door? There is no one at the entrance of the medical school or the entrance of the community. It turns out you are downstairs. The door.”
The trip was uneventful. Next time, I simply suggest that she go back and forth alone. Listening to her thumping downstairs, the mother’s map in my mind automatically started to navigate for her: Turn right out of the gate, go straight for fifty meters, wait for the green light to cross the road—ah, what if she runs through the red light? Once she forgets to look left and right… Of course she has said this a thousand times, but what if she forgets?
He hurriedly threw on his clothes and chased downstairs. As soon as she got out of the yard, she looked anxiously from a distance: She had just reached the intersection, and the light happened to be green, so she walked over with swagger. There are not many vehicles on the new road, and the tall buildings on both sides are far apart. She is a little person, walking with arrogance, and she has the momentum of “I walk alone through thousands of mountains”.
I walked back and thought to myself: Remember to remind her that even if there are no cars on the road, you can’t go through the red light; also, don’t take the green light lightly and pay attention to the turning car…
When get out of class was about to end, I heard the wind blowing outside the window. It was the new green leaves of the camphor tree, happily soaked in the spring rain. When I opened the window, I heard the sound of rain mixed with the sound of wind. Someone in the yard did not hold an umbrella, but just lowered his head and quickened his pace slightly.
I endured it, but couldn’t help myself, so I took out my umbrella and went out. Anna saw me in the gym and looked disapproving: “Didn’t I agree that I would go back by myself? Why are you here?” I was short of breath: “It’s raining, I’ll give you an umbrella.”
She walked into the rain in two or two steps, raised her face to catch the fine spring raindrops, and shouted happily: “I like this kind of rain best, I don’t want to hold an umbrella.”
She walked boldly and vigorously. I also closed my umbrella and followed behind.
Passing through every overripe intersection, past blooming winter jasmine flowers, past groves with deep green shade, past traffic lights still flashing in the rain… Her pigtails swayed with her steps, and I followed suit. Thinking optimistically: It seems that we no longer need to pick up and drop off the badminton class. What’s the next training class she goes to alone? Take a calligraphy class 20 minutes away from home. What about the next one?
One day, every time she sets out, she packs all her bags, decides her itinerary, and embarks on a long road by herself, surrounded by fellow travelers who love her and like her.
And I would stop smiling and say to her: I can only accompany you so far.