Brian Carter's father is a very reasonable man. Perhaps because of his work, he really dislikes hitting or scolding children. He always hopes to use reason to help his child understand what is right and what is wrong, believing that only this way will be more effective and long-lasting. But people all have tempers, especially given his father's current situation—it's impossible to always maintain a calm mindset. So, in Brian Carter's memory, he still got beaten a few times, even as late as just before graduating from middle school.

Every time his father hit Brian Carter, it was a denial of his own beliefs, a kind of despair. When he couldn't see his son being reasonable or thinking like a normal person, he felt hopeless about his own way of educating. But after hitting him, he would slowly adjust himself and rekindle even greater hope, always wishing that one day his son would understand everything, hoping he himself would succeed.

Brian Carter never really understood or felt these things before he turned thirty. He always thought his father wanted him to follow the path he had laid out, so the more his father wanted him to do something, the less he wanted to do it. It wasn't until the day he got married, when he had a wife and a family, that he suddenly realized one day that his father wasn't restricting his freedom—the old man just wanted to find him a smoother, easier road to walk.

On this road, there might be fewer bumps and potholes, because his father had already spent the first half of his life exploring many of those bumps and potholes and carefully marking them out, just hoping that the next generation could walk more easily and go further. This isn't unique to Brian Carter's father; almost every father in the world does this, just in different ways—some use words, some use their hands, some use their own actions...

“Brian Carter, what are you doing here?” Brian Carter was watching ants, thinking about how he could persuade his father to let him avoid going to that place that torments adults' minds—the kindergarten—when a middle-aged man walked in through the courtyard gate. He was wearing a Zhongshan suit with four pockets, and underneath was a snow-white undershirt, with a white edge showing at the collar. On his feet were a pair of three-piece leather shoes, polished very clean but no longer shiny, with some spots where the leather had faded.

The man was quite tall, over 1.7 meters. That height would be common in later generations, but in the 1970s, it was considered tall. Back then, girls who cared about appearances would look for height first in a partner—anyone under 1.7 meters was called a second-class cripple. He was also very spirited, with thick eyebrows and big eyes, a thin but angular face, and a chin and cheeks covered with a bluish stubble from a close shave.

“...Dad... you're back!” Brian Carter was stunned for several seconds before he managed to call out the word "Dad."

“What are you doing here? Did you get into trouble again?” Brian Carter's father also sensed something was off with his child, so, as usual, he worriedly glanced toward the house, afraid a parent had come to complain. He didn't have Brian Carter's grandfather's skills—able to turn black into white, or even get physical if things got heated. Every time another parent came, he had to smile and apologize, and listen to a few sarcastic remarks.

“Samuel Long, you're home early today. I tell you, you're just too timid. Luckily, little Tao didn't take after you. So what if he gets into trouble? He didn't steal or rob anyone. What kid isn't naughty? Boys are supposed to be naughty—if they're not, they're fools!” Before Brian Carter could answer, another person walked in through the courtyard gate, wearing a white front-buttoned shirt and blue pants, with black cloth shoes with thick soles. He looked to be in his fifties, with thinning hair and a missing front tooth, but a broad chest and sturdy arms and legs—clearly in good health.

“Oh, Dad, you're back.” This was Brian Carter's maternal grandfather, Old Mr. Brooks. Brian Carter's father didn't bother to lecture Brian Carter anymore and reached out to take the lunchbox from the old man's hand.

“Little Tao, come see what Grandpa brought you—sugar twists!” The old man ignored Brian Carter's father, pulled a small paper packet from his shirt pocket, and inside was something about the size of a palm.

Chapter 6: The Little Rascal

“Thank you, Grandpa. Dad, let me dust you off.” Brian Carter had always called his maternal grandfather "Grandpa" since he was little. At first, he got it wrong, but after a few years it became a habit, and even if he wanted to change, he couldn't. Everyone just let it be. Grandpa had a habit when coming home: he would pick up a duster made from a horse's tail hanging outside the door and brush off his clothes and pants to avoid bringing dust inside. This time, Brian Carter took the initiative, grabbed the duster, brushed off Grandpa's pants first, then started helping his father.

“Hehehe... What more do you want from a son? Edward Brooks is already this old and has never dusted me off even once. Be content.” Although Brian Carter only waved the duster around a few times and missed a lot of spots, the old man was very happy. To him, being served by the younger generation even a day earlier meant his life hadn't been lived in vain.