致我的老汉儿：做自己，最安逸｜父亲节快乐

作者Author：秦小杰 Xiaojie Qin

编辑/翻译Editor and Translator：Deepseek

中翻英Chinese to English

时间Date： 2025年6月15日

持之以恒的童心未眠

他很喜欢玩具。有一年春节，我回到家，爸妈神秘兮兮地让我进房间，说有惊喜。我按他们的指令数"一二三"走出客厅，只见一排玩具正在欢迎我回家——有的咚咚打鼓，有的欢快跳舞，还有小汽车嗖嗖地往前跑，热闹极了。老爸站在旁边，脸上挂着得意的笑容。

还有一次回老家，我已经睡下了，屋里黑漆漆的。他突然推门进来，手里举着会发光的电子棒，还递给我一根。我们就在黑暗中比划起来，虽然没看过《星球大战》，但那种你来我往的感觉，倒像是场君子之间的较量。

平时和妈妈视频时，他总爱凑到镜头前炫耀新玩具。记得有次是把手枪玩具，一按就会闪光发声，如果是在80年代，绝对是高级货！直到现在，他还是会被路边的小玩具吸引。

他的这份忠于快乐的心，被我继承了，在探索这个世界和人生的过程中，我也发现了自己的‘小玩具’，无论是瑜伽冥想、还是柔术、舞蹈、潜水或是唱歌，还有因为时间不够不得不放弃的即兴话剧。

我老汉儿还有一个习惯，饭后百步。每天他晚饭后都要出去走一圈，我就记得，我老爸总是嫌我妈出门慢，经常催她，有时候等的烦了，他就自己先走了，我妈再赶紧跟上。几十年如一日。

直到此刻，我才惊奇的发现，我在很多爱好上的不费意志的持之以恒，跟老汉儿饭后转路习惯一样，都很好的融入在我日常中，我知道对一些人来讲，这个特别难，每当被人问道我是怎么做到的，我其实没发回答，因为非常顺其自然的，难道有持之以恒的这么一个基因？！

The term 'laohan'er' (老汉儿) means 'father' in Sichuan dialect. Like 'old man' but endearing, it reflects Sichuan's blunt yet warm familial humor.

An Everlasting Childlike Heart

He’s always loved toys. One Lunar New Year, I came home, and my parents mysteriously ushered me into my room, saying they had a surprise. Counting to three as instructed, I stepped into the living room to find a row of toys welcoming me home—some drumming away, others dancing cheerfully, and little cars zooming forward. The scene was lively, and Dad stood by the side, wearing a triumphant grin.

Another time back in my hometown, I had already gone to bed, and the room was pitch black. Suddenly, he pushed the door open, holding a glowing lightsaber—and handed me one too. We dueled in the dark, and though I’d never seen Star Wars, the back-and-forth felt like a gentleman’s duel.

Even during video calls with Mom, he’d always squeeze into the frame to show off his newest toy. I remember one time it was a toy gun that lit up and made noise with every press—in the '80s, that would’ve been top-tier! To this day, he still gets drawn in by little trinkets on the street.

That same devotion to joy lives on in me. Along my journey of exploring the world and life, I’ve found my own "toys"—whether it’s yoga, meditation, jiu-jitsu, dancing, diving, singing, or even improv theater (which I had to drop for lack of time).

My laohan’er also has this habit: a hundred steps after meals. Every evening, without fail, he’d take a walk after dinner. I remember how he’d always complain about Mom being too slow to get ready, sometimes growing impatient and setting off alone, leaving her to hurry after him. Decades passed like this.

Only now do I realize with surprise that my effortless persistence in so many hobbies mirrors his daily post-dinner walks—seamlessly woven into my life. I know for some, this kind of discipline is hard. When people ask how I manage it, I never know what to say, because it just comes naturally. Could there really be a "perseverance gene"?

甩手掌柜？不，是全能管家

有一次，老汉儿因为‘投资’失误，好多年被取消了家里的财政管理权。从那以后，他的收入都上交给了以我妈为核心的"中央财政"，连个小金库都没留下。这倒很符合我们四川"老子数到三"的家庭特色。在我们家，确实有点"女权社会"的意思。我妈在管家和教我这两件事上，既有主见又很民主。老汉儿聪明地选择了当甩手掌柜，乐得清闲，每天吃好睡好，还能腾出精力买玩具玩。

不过，这可不代表老汉儿在家没地位。他可是撑起了家里大半边天——饭都是他做的，因为我妈确实不擅长；扫地拖地也是他的活儿，每天雷打不动，这习惯是从我爷爷奶奶那儿传下来的。  

说到老汉儿做饭，那可真是门技术活。我们家两个女人——我妈和我，一个比一个挑嘴。我妈一点葱蒜都不沾，要知道这在川菜里可是标配！所以老汉儿经常得做两种版本。而我从小不吃肥肉，小时候他们总是把肥肉咬掉再喂我。记得高中时，我和闺蜜在学校吃包子，我觉得馅太肥，就把馅给她，自己啃皮子。后来长大了，当然不肯吃爸妈咬过的东西，老汉儿就更费心了——切瘦肉、灌香肠，我家的香肠瘦得都不流油，就为让我多吃两口。 

不过，"餐厅总监"也有特权，比如他爱的稀饭。以前我以为全国人民晚饭都喝稀饭，离家上学才知道，这是咱老秦家的特色。就靠着老汉儿日复一日的耐心张罗，硬是把挑嘴的我养到了18岁。如今他们老两口的饭还是他做，还经常拍照向我炫耀他的厨艺呢。

感谢老汉儿几十年如一日的细心照料。咱们中国家长不像西方人，把"我爱你"挂在嘴边。每次在机场告别时，我抱抱他，他还会有点不好意思地僵着身子。但老汉儿的爱啊，都藏在行动里——这样的爱，反而更深更实在。

Hands-Off Manager? No, the Ultimate Housekeeper

There was that time when Laohan’er lost his household financial privileges for years due to an "investment misstep." From then on, his income went straight to the "Central Treasury" under Mom’s command—no secret stash allowed. Classic Sichuan-style family dynamics, where mom runs the show. Ours was practically a matriarchy: Mom ruled over domestic affairs and parenting with a mix of authority and democracy, while Laohan’er wisely embraced his role as the hands-off manager. Free of decision-making responsibilities, he ate well, slept soundly, and channeled his energy into having a good time.

But don’t mistake his laid-back title for irrelevance—he held up half the sky at home. Cooking was his domain (Mom couldn’t boil water properly), and sweeping/mopping were his sacred daily rituals, a tradition passed down from my grandparents.

His culinary skills were nothing short of heroic. With two picky women in the house—Mom, who boycotted all garlic and scallions (staples of Sichuan cuisine!), and me, the monstrous fat-hater—he juggled two versions of every dish. As a kid, I’d only eat lean meat, so my parents would bite off the fatty bits before feeding me. In high school, I’d give the fatty baozi fillings to friends while nibbling the skins. Later, refusing "pre-chewed" food, I unwittingly escalated Laohan’er’s mission: custom-cut lean meat, ultra-dry sausages (no oily drips!), all to coax a few extra bites from me.

Yet the "Kitchen Director" had perks too—like his beloved congee. I grew up thinking the whole nation ate congee for dinner until college revealed it was a Qin-family quirk. Day after day, his patience turned our finicky tastes into meals, sustaining me until adulthood. Even now, he cooks for their empty nest, proudly texting me food photos.

Thank you, Laohan’er, for decades of meticulous care. Chinese parents don’t say "I love you" like Westerners do. At airport goodbyes, he’d stiffen awkwardly when I hugged him. But his love? Woven into every action—deeper and truer than words.

喷嚏就得大声，做自己不如超越自己

老汉儿是个特别懂得自得的人，这种自在是从骨子里透出来的，再加上他天生的表演型人格，整个人都活得很带劲。  

就拿打喷嚏这事来说吧，直到现在，我的喷嚏声都远超社交场合的得体范围——算了，不装了，简直就是扰民级别。这都得从老汉儿的神奇育儿经说起。记得他总爱把我拉到阳台上，推开窗户，自己先大吼一声，然后让我跟着吼。要是我的声音不够大，他就会说："要有底气！吼到能听见回音才算数！"我就铆足劲再吼，等到声音撞到对面楼又弹回来，老汉儿就竖起大拇指连声夸："要得要得！"  

在家打喷嚏也是这个路数。他打得那叫一个尽兴——胸腔猛地收缩，全身跟着抖，脸皱成个包子，再"阿嚏"一声完全释放，从不憋着。打完还要得意地瞅着我们笑，活像刚打了场胜仗。我从小耳濡目染，把这套学了个十成十。等到长大才反应过来：这么自由的喷嚏，在外头是不是不太合适？可惜为时已晚。现在每次憋喷嚏都难受得要命，顶多能用胳膊肘挡挡，其他啥也改不了——包括那个打完喷嚏后不自觉露出的胜利笑容。

Loud Sneezes & Living Louder: Why Be Yourself When You Can Outdo Yourself?

My laohan'er is a man utterly at ease with himself—a trait baked into his bones, amplified by his natural flair for the dramatic. He lives life at full volume.

Take sneezing, for instance. To this day, my sneezes violate all social norms of decorum—hell, let's be honest, they're downright seismic. I owe this entirely to laohan'er's unique parenting style. He'd drag me onto the balcony, throw open the windows, and roar at the top of his lungs—modeling the correct way to do it. "Put some soul into it!" he'd bark if I faltered. "I wanna hear that echo!" So I'd summon my mightiest yell, waiting for the sound to bounce off the apartment block across the street. Only then would he flash a thumbs-up: "Now that's how it's done!"

His sneezes followed the same philosophy. A full-body production: chest convulsing, frame shuddering, face crumpling like a steamed bun before the grand finale—an unfiltered "ACHOO!" that shook the walls. Post-sneeze, he'd beam at us like a prizefighter who'd just KO'd an opponent. I absorbed this technique wholesale. It wasn't until adulthood that I questioned whether such liberated sneezing belonged in polite society. By then, the damage was done. These days, suppressing a sneeze feels like suffocation; the best I can manage is burying it in my elbow. But one thing remains untamed—that involuntary victory grin after every explosion.

狂野派养育法则

"规矩？养孩子还要规矩？怎么开心怎么来呗！"——这大概就是我爸的育儿哲学。

作为独生女，我在我爸眼里倒不是什么贴心小棉袄，更像是个现成的小玩伴。那时候家里哪有什么育儿手册，也不讲究什么科学养育。现在回想起来，他就是很自然地把我当成个独立的小人儿相处，虽然有些操作搁现在肯定得被教育专家们说成"反面教材"。

比如喝酒这事。爸妈吃饭时偶尔会喝点啤酒白酒，我爸在厨房忙活的时候，常让我帮着摆碗筷、倒酒。记得饭桌上他总逗我："想尝尝不？就抿一小口。"这要放在国外，估计够得上"儿童福利干预"的标准了。我至今记得白酒辣嗓子、啤酒泛苦的滋味，实在想不通大人们为什么爱喝，至今我也不喝白酒、啤酒。

其实人本来就不天生爱酒味，小时候尝过了，反倒没了那种禁忌的诱惑。不光我家这样，我觉得八九十年代很多中国家庭都这样带孩子。至少我上学时，身边从没有同学有酗酒问题。后来做青少年心理咨询时，才发现这和西方青少年酗酒严重的情况形成鲜明对比。

Parenting, Unfiltered: The Wild Rules

"Rules? Who needs rules for raising kids? Just have fun with them!" That pretty much sums up my dad's unconventional parenting philosophy.

As an only daughter, I was more like a ready-made playmate than daddy's little princess in his eyes. Our household had no manuals—this was long before the days of positive discipline or evidence-based parenting. Looking back, he simply treated me as an autonomous little human, though some of his methods might give modern parenting experts a heart attack.

Take alcohol, for instance. My parents would occasionally enjoy beer or baijiu with meals. While busy cooking, Dad would have me set the table or pour drinks. I vividly remember him asking at dinner, "Wanna try a sip? Just a tiny one." In Western countries, this kind of "parenting hack" might land you in hot water. To me, baijiu burned like fire and beer tasted foul—I couldn't fathom why adults enjoyed this stuff.

Here's the thing: by taking away the forbidden fruit allure early on, he removed the mystique around alcohol. This wasn't just my family's approach—I'd argue most Chinese parents in the 80s operated similarly. None of my school friends grew up with drinking problems, whereas teenage alcoholism remains a serious issue in the West. The contrast became especially clear during my work with teens from both east and west.

今天是父亲节，我特别庆幸自己有个这么实在、幽默又真性情的老汉儿。他那些朴实的特质，在不知不觉中就成了我生命里最宝贵的财富。感谢老汉儿几十年如一日的付出，祝全世界最巴适的老汉儿节日快乐。

Today on Father's Day, I feel incredibly lucky to have a dad who's so genuine, humorous, and unapologetically real. Those simple yet profound qualities of his have quietly become the most treasured gifts in my life. Thank you, Laohan'er, for your decades of steadfast devotion. To the most bay shir (comfortably awesome) dad in the whole world - Happy Father's Day!