回到农村老宅,沿着曾经涂抹过的足迹,寻觅过去曾经破碎的记忆。在裂痕斑斑的仓房前,我驻足停留。老仓房是我们家的骄傲,它孕育了我们的顽皮,见证了我们的成长,目睹了我们“起飞”前的心酸和痛楚。我抚摸着老仓房斑驳陆离的墙皮,静静地听他诉说一碗糙米粥背后的故事。上世纪70年代,因为家里兄弟姊妹多,温饱问题始终困扰着父母。当时家里有个当教师的远房姨姨,每到口粮青黄不接的时候,母 Back to the rural old house, along the once painted footprint, looking for the memory of the past has been broken. In the cracked warehouse before, I stop to stay. Old warehouse is the pride of our family, it gave birth to our naughty, witnessed our growth, witnessed our “take-off ” before the sad and painful. I stroked the old warehouse variegated plaster, quietly listening to him tell a bowl of brown rice porridge behind the story. In the 1970s, due to the large number of brothers and sisters at home, the problem of food and clothing has always plagued parents. At that time there was a long-aunt in the house as a teacher, when the rations were not yellow, the mother