Dad had always told me about his experiences as a youth picking fruits fruit in villages, and I listened with envy. I thought that it would be glorious to climb on up a tree and, with my own hands, pluck the fruits fruit that could be eaten by humans.
My chance finally came. In the plum-ripening season, our South Korean neighbor invited a few families to her backyard to pick plums. I was overjoyed at this news. The South Korean neighbor's house was very close to ours, on the side of the road near where I'd pass to retrieve mail every day. The week before I had seen some ripe plums lying on the ground and thought to myself: what a waste. The South Koreans there ran a very successful restaurant, busy the entire day, and had not the time to pick the fruit. But this opportunity was great; not only would I be able to experience fruit picking, but I could also feast on the sweetness!
Dads brought ladders from home; the other children and I ran out front; moms brought plastic bags and smiles, trailing behind us. We opened the fence door to our neighbor's backyard and look! Deep purple plums the size of small tennis balls were scattered everywhere, on the grass, laying in the dirt, hanging in trees. I picked first the ones that were most royal in color, then those that were ripe and soft, pinching them lightly with my fingers. We ignored the very light or pink plums, or those that were hard to the touch. Initially, I had found a perfectly ripe plum: instead of putting it in the bag, I scratched off a small peel and sucked sweet plum juice down my throat. I hurriedly put the rest of it into my mouth, spitting the seed into the grass. I found out that the seed and skin of plums were sour, and avoided further of such kinds. All about me other people began eating plums too.
The moms finally arrived with the bags, and with everyone's help, we quickly furnished six or seven bags. On each tree we left a few unripe plums to wait for our South Korean neighbor.
In the end the parents instructed us to throw overripe fruits in the trashcan and to wash our hands with the hose. Before leaving, we gave a large bag of plums to our dear South Korean neighbor, thanking them for their generosity.
At home, Dad tried to use this opportunity to teach me Chinese. He said that I couldn't just eat the plum, but should learn a bit about it. “There's a Chinese saying that goes, 'Even though plums and peaches can't talk, there is still a beaten path below them, 'which means that despite not selling themselves, these fruits still attract many people to their location. We should be like these fruits fruit. ”
I picked up a fresh plum and chewed on it.“That makes sense, but, especially in America, doesn't direct advertising work as well? ”
Dad stared at me. “Yeah, I suppose you're right too. ”