在我们家里,存封着一杆银铸烟斗,烟斗很精致,留着斑驳的痕迹,那是父亲给我的遗物。每每抚摸它,仿佛父亲就在我们身边吞云吐雾,那段历史好像发生在昨天。在我的记忆里,我们家很穷,父亲是一身青色灯心绒的上衣,嘴里叼着一杆他永远离不开身的银铸烟斗。那是他祖爷爷的祖爷爷留下的。父亲对它情有独 In our house, kept a silver-cast pipe, the pipe is very delicate, with mottled traces, it is my father’s relics. Often touch it, as if his father was puffing around us, that history seems to have happened yesterday. My memory is very poor in my memory. My father is a jacket of a blue corduroy. There is a silver pipe in his mouth that he can never leave. It was left by his grandpa’s grandpa. My father has a unique feeling about it