The memory of the guest is as beautiful as summer flowers. Its rich and warm love is so perfect and beautiful. The ticking clock has taken away my old innocence and simplicity. The passing years have gone with the pink dress and the sky-blue curtain has replaced Winnie the Pooh..     Gradually, I grew up. When I grew up, I didn’t have the sensible person that adults expected. Instead, I was replaced by a few silks of rebellion..     At the age of 18, I grew up, but I was not mature and sensible. Eighteen – year – old I learned to decorate and pack. At the age of 18, I stopped telling my father what was on my mind as before and replaced it with a thick password notebook.     I don’t know what estranged me from him, nor what prevented me from talking to him as usual..     Every time I go home and see his happy and expectant eyes, I laugh again. In fact, in my heart, I want to speak with him in my heart. I don’t know why, the words were swallowed in my mouth again. I think I’m not a good boy in his heart, am I! I think, he has no hope for me any more!     However, I was wrong! No matter how rebellious I am and how capricious I am, he always embraces me and loves me deeply..     On my 18th birthday, I thought it would be another plain day. I thought there would be no more things that touched me.. When I walked home in the rain with reluctant steps and passed a small bookstore nearby, I suddenly saw a familiar figure standing in front of me. The dark skin did not hide his soft eyes, and the wrinkles on his face witnessed his vicissitudes of life, but still could not obliterate his tall and strong character..     Here, your mother said you didn’t have an umbrella. Said, handing me my favorite light blue rain umbrella.     I took the umbrella in surprise, but a warm current gushed out from my heart. I thought with a smile: It was my mother who gave the umbrella to me, my silly dad!     Along the way, father and daughter walked side by side in the rain like this, and I seemed to hear his even breathing. And in that casual look up, I saw so many white hairs hidden in the originally black hair.. Heart suddenly hurt between.     I don’t know how many times I haven’t spoken to him seriously, and I don’t know how many times I haven’t studied him carefully.. I regard his love for me as a profligate capital, and what capital do I have to make him love me so much??     His love is pure and heavy, his love is ordinary but great, and his love makes me unable to repay it.     Thank God for giving me a beating soul and for giving me a safe life. I will repay his kindness in a lifetime..     He, who has been the oarsman in my life, is willing to spend his whole life for me. And I, very much hope, he can give me an oar and let me ferry with him!