By LING LIN
You are not the one they describe in books.
You don’t help me up when I fall,
You just stand there, watching me cry
Until I stand up by myself.
You don’t drive me to school,
You just give me a bike one summer
And tell me it is my transportation,
Forcing me to swallow my reluctance.
At home, you don’t make my favorite foods,
You just teach me how to cook, so one day
I can proudly announce that
I can feed myself in your absence.
Unlike the one they describe in books,
You do the opposite for your kid –
But I won’t blame you.
I know you are waiting for the moment
When we will part ways on a forked path,
When I will gaze back with tears at your receding figure
Yet still be able to turn away the next second
To continue forward on the endless road.