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I no longer look forward to the arrival of summer like I did when I was a child. Maybe it’s because there is no summer vacation! The summer in my impression should be lying on my grandfather’s creaking old bamboo rocking chair, chewing popsicles and blowing on the electric fan. If you hear a friend outside the door shouting: Cicada is here. . . So he stuffed the popsicle into his mouth, wiped the corners of his mouth, and rushed out with half-drags on, heading towards the place where the cicadas were chirping the loudest, regardless of whether it was a scorching sun or dark clouds outside. This kind of summer has passed away for me for many years, and now I have a 4-year-old baby at home. Look at the way his eyes shine when he looks at the popsicles. Damn it, I know he is interested in this thing! I always want to follow in his footsteps and go back to my childhood, picking up some fragments of time in order to bring back fragments of my fragmented childhood. So I don’t want to miss a single bit of his growth. . . Even a tiny popsicle. In his eyes, it is also a vast and wonderful world
