My Son Took Me Traveling

A few days ago at the dinner table, my son suddenly said that after his TOEFL course ended he would have a few free days and wanted to get away for a couple. We told him: then go on your own, or team up with a few classmates. He said he had not kept in touch with most classmates, and mentioned he gets altitude reaction every time he climbs a mountain; if it acted up while he was away with no one to look after him, that would be a problem.

In that moment I understood: in a tactful way he wanted to take me out to relax. Because every time altitude sickness hit him on a climb, I was the one who carried him lying on my back and looked after him. That an eighteen-year-old should have this thought and this emotional intelligence truly moved me.

I was depressed a while back; perhaps to the family I am not yet fully back to normal. My son has grown up, knows how to care for his father, and used such a tactful method. Though I know I have already weathered the depressive episode, I must accept this gesture. This is the child growing up; we must give him the chance to grow, and it is important that he learn to care for the family.

Besides my son, many around me are taking action to help me out of depression; though the methods are amateurish, the intentions are sincere. My brother sat me down and opened by saying he had read on Zhihu how many people say the world is truly bitter and they will not be born human again in the next life, and then prepared to deliver a long discourse.

I stopped him at once: the moment you open your mouth I know you have been looking up material on depression. You are my brother, and I know you care about me. But don't bother; the monographs I have read on this are more than you can imagine. You have only just learned only a smattering of it; it means nothing to me.

Among the patients I treat, there are far too many with comorbid depression, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia and various personality disorders; I have abundant experience in handling such illnesses. My family's help, however well-meant, does not actually do anything for me. I do not really need travel to relax, but I want to give the child a chance to grow, to learn to care for his family.

We finally went to Beidaihe. Along the way the child scrambled to carry the luggage, and at the restaurant ordered by himself, as if I, his father, really could no longer look after myself. I too enjoyed the warmth of being cared for by my son. These days at home he often washes fruit and brings it to my desk; before, I had always been the one caring for him.

After going through my child's adolescent rebellion, I thought this boy no longer cared about his parents; who would have thought that at a time of trouble his true feelings would show at once. I remember once when my son was small I pretended to fall into a river; he was so alarmed he burst into tears, grabbing my hand and saying, Daddy can't fall in, it's too dangerous. At this moment, that innocent child of long ago is back.

The emotional bond between my son and me is very strong. Before he went to kindergarten, he slept every day clinging to my neck and made me tell him stories. I made them up on the spot and told thousands of them. Each time I urged him to sleep, he would still be full of zest, crying, "Daddy one more, just the last one"; then I would start snoring while telling it, and he would know his father had fallen asleep.

Every emotional bond in which true feeling has been invested is never truly forgotten; I have not forgotten my parents' love, and it has filled my life with strength. My mother's love, in particular, has kept me from ever collapsing for long under any blow. So for me there is really no such thing as a lasting collapse; my mother gave me my inoculation long ago.

When I was small I was very naughty. Transplanting rice seedlings, when my parents nagged a little, I would fling down the seedlings, wash my feet and climb the bank, shouting at them: "I quit being your son!" Then I ran off. A neighbor was alarmed and told my mother to hurry after me,

My mother laughed heartily and told the neighbor to set his mind at rest; she guaranteed I would not get far. "If he won't be my son, does that mean he can fly up to heaven?"

In the evening my mother came home and saw me playing behind the house. Smiling, she asked: "Son, didn't you quit being my son? Why are you still hanging around the house?" I answered her crossly: "Does catching cicadas mean I can't? Who says I've come home? I'm just catching cicadas here."

I know now that only a mother confident in her own parent-child bond has such composure; anxious parents would already have been in a fluster. My mother must have known her child's attachment to her was utterly unshakable, and so was not afraid of her son running away.

While she was alive my mother often told these childhood stories as jokes to tease me, and I listened warmly. In my hardest times I did think of giving up on myself, but the moment I imagined how grieved my mother would be, I gritted my teeth and carried on. So-called strength is probably just this: someone truly cares for us, and so we dare not lightly give up on ourselves.

I once worried whether my son could cope with this complex world; now I worry no longer, because I have seen the parent-child bond between us working powerfully. He has many such bonds; they will protect him firmly, and he will have, like me, a very ample sense of security all his life. Even if he meets a setback for a time, he will not collapse.

On the shore at Beidaihe, we wandered aimlessly and talked. We spoke of old family matters and of our hopes for the future. In the course of conversation I taught my son many principles of how to be and how to act; he listened attentively. He was no longer that rebellious youth.

He loves his parents and his home; he understands how hard his parents' lot is, knows to take up his responsibilities, and knows how to think independently. We father and son each have our own ideals; I encourage him to realize his own, to be a long-termist and not to care about momentary gains and losses.

This was the deepest long talk the two of us have ever had, an exchange reaching to the depths of the soul. I asked him whether he was satisfied with how he had grown up, whether his childhood had left any shadows, and whether he had any trouble making friends away from home. He told me he was very satisfied with his upbringing; his parents' openness and democracy had kept him happy, left no shadows, and he had no trouble at all getting along with others. With such an answer I am well satisfied; he has a healthy and full heart, and his future life will surely be brilliant. I have nothing to worry about.

The sea is boundless; so should a person's breast be. Tolerance and love can heal any wound of the heart; temporary pain does not torment a person forever. I am grateful to this world: it has been gentle to me, it has filled everyone around me with love for me, and it has made many friends I have never met care for me; all this keeps me from sliding into the abyss. I am thankful to everyone who cares for me.

And I, in fact, am no longer a wounded child and do not need everyone's excessive worry. In the storms of life I have long since grown into a sturdy tree, with deep roots. Though occasional gales make me sway, they are not enough to fell me. I no longer need a support to lean on; as a strong, in-their-prime middle-aged person, I am more often the support for others.

I still run on the road toward my life's ideal; I will keep striving to become an outstanding writer and physician. I believe that through daily accumulation my ideal will be realized. I will also keep adjusting myself for my own happiness—for my own sake, and for the sake of those who love me and wish me happy.