Material poverty, sometimes not enough to stop a person's footsteps. From the day when I picked up my schoolbag and went out to study, no matter how poor my family was, my father would try to set up a "small stove" for me, to set up the only heat for a farmer's father: sometimes, my father quietly took my schoolbag off and washed it when I fell asleep at night, and sat on the edge of the fire to dry it for me overnight I can smell my father's smell and smoke on my back; sometimes, my father will secretly put a brand-new pencil or a few fruit sweets in my schoolbag, or even plug me some old broad beans, some fresh peaches and chestnuts, which can not only quench my thirst, but also fill my stomach, so that I can walk home with enough physical strength on the way to school. On the evening of graduation preparation for the rural examination in the fifth grade, my father bought me a red, yellow and blue ballpoint pen as an exception. I couldn't help but take it out to play and show off at the graduation party, feeling the happiness my father brought me. I remember to put it back in my schoolbag, but when I opened it the next morning, this brand-new three-color ball point pen disappeared. I don't know whether it was the pen that jumped out of the schoolbag to hide or was caught by someone else and imprisoned. I haven't told my father so far.<br>
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