My past 13 years

Thirteen years ago, in the summer, from the beginning of my life, I went through a toddler’s childhood, a happy and dreamy childhood, and a youngster with high spirits. Along the way, how many ravines have been crossed, but I found that the left hand is clasped by father’s warm and broad palm, the right hand is clasped by mother’s slender soft fingertips.
Over the past 13 years, I have been holding my parents’hands tightly in order to bravely go to this day, let go of their hands, do I dare to go down?
When I was 5 years old, I was still working in kindergarten. That summer, I had to go to the hospital to hang water because of my first high fever. Faced with the nurse aunt with a mask and a syringe in hand, I felt inexplicable fear. I pushed the nurse aside as hard as I could and swayed out. Mother followed me and patted me on the shoulder. As I turned around with tears on my face, my mother wiped the tears off my face with her soft hand and smiled and stretched out the other hand to me. I stared at my mother’s palm and my little hand. The two injured fingerprints were so similar. I did not hesitate to put my little hand on my mother’s hand. She held it tightly, but I felt a sense of security. I know that as long as I hold my mother’s hand, I won’t be afraid of anything. When the needle entered my vein, I trembled, but Dad came forward and held my other hand tightly and hugged me in his arms. At that moment, I felt satisfied.
Since then, I have tried my best to grasp the hands of my parents, never let go for a moment, so I walk on the path of life, gathering colorful flowers along the way, and went through five summers.
It was still a hot summer, and as I walked from the bus platform opposite the school to the school, a speeding truck flashed past me for only a second, but it seemed to have passed decades. My mind was blank for a moment, and the water cup in my hand had fallen on the asphalt road. The temperature was unusually high, and the ground gave off a pungent smell. There was a dull pain in my chest, as if something was tearing my body, and a thick liquid permeated my clothes. I forced myself to calm down, picked up the water cup on the ground and went to school step by step. I staggered into the school clinic, which was quiet and empty. I sat down powerlessly. Gradually the pain stopped, and I carefully wiped the blood with medical cotton, so I had to go back to the classroom. Sitting in my seat, I suddenly remembered my mother’s hands, those gentle hands. I don’t know how I got through that afternoon. I just remember my mother’s anxious and happy eyes.
From then on, I knew that if I let go of my parents’hands, I could go on.
In the past 13 years, it was my parents who propped up a blue sky with their hands and helped me through thirteen years of spring, summer, autumn and winter. But at the age of fourteen, I finally realized that the eagle’s wings were hard and full, and should fly into the clouds by itself. When I am hurt, I will calm my frightened heart bravely; when I fall, I will pat the dust off my body with my hands and stand up tenaciously. Let go of my parents’hands, I will walk all the way to the vast sea and sky. Then, like my parents holding my hand, I will hold their hands and walk into the beautiful spring together.