The old father did write a 200-word composition at the beginning of the door.

Looking at my father, he always seems so tall; Looking at my father, his shoulders always look so safe; Looking at my father, his face always seems so kind; Looking at my father ... I don't know since when, it has become a habit for me to look up at my father.

This kind of parallelism sentence should not be used at the beginning of writing a family composition, but can be written directly from the bottom.

When I was a child, I was my father's sidekick. I was very active at that time, and I couldn't be idle for a moment. I only know playing with my father, holding his wide and warm hand tightly, feeling the warmth of his palm, and unwilling to let go. Two round eyes looked at his father's back from time to time. Although my father is not very tall and straight, even a little stout, he is tall and straight, full of confidence and strength. Looking up at my father's back, I feel full of security now. I feel that even if the sky falls, my father can carry it for me. I felt my confidence doubled and even my head was lifted unconsciously.

The calendar at home was torn off page by page and replaced with one after another. I have full confidence in my father. After several years of madness, I gradually left my father's side and made a number of friends of my own. Naturally, my friend replaced my father. I spent my time with my friend bit by bit, but I forgot my father.

Looking up, I found my father. I learned to be like a child, but suddenly I found that my father was not what he used to be-he was old! At that time, my father's body, which has always been tall and straight in my memory, has long been slightly hunched over by the burden of life, and his back, which has always been full of confidence, has also been smoothed over by trivial matters in life, making him look slightly hunched over. When he passed me, he reminded me of the fallen leaves in the autumn wind. When I took my father's hand again, was it still the hand I knew and missed? Those are a pair of hands that make me completely strange. The shocking blue veins on my hand beat my heart, and the thick cocoon on my palm shook my soul.

Yes, I am growing up and my father is getting old. My eyes are moist and my nose is sour. My father bought me everything with his love, his health and everything today, but he never complained. We had some rebellions in adolescence, which made the two generations have more generation gaps and hardly had time to talk to him. But my father is working hard for us silently, and his back is a little lonely. Maybe he didn't expect anything. Seeing my growth, he was comforted by his inexpressibility. This is his happiest thing. As a daughter, how much have I done for my father? Even if I talk to him, I always say I have no time.

Looking up at my father again, I know that my father's devotion and love to me are worth looking up to and returning with my life. In my heart, my father's figure has a height that no one can surpass.