Explore "China's Son" by Da Chen on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Every morning I rose with the sun. Then I shuffled to my brother's room and woke him up. I went through our backyard, opened the squeaky door, trotted down the steps to the river, and squatted by the clear, cool water to check my reflection. I splashed my face with water and wiped it with my sleeves. Six hours of sleep every day. I needed a lot of cold water to keep my eyes open.
It was already late April. The smell of summer was pungent everywhere. Our backyard was a colorful garden with red roses, yellow gagai blossoms, and white lilies. Mom had planted some lima beans, which had flourished in the most imaginative way and now crawled overhead along the wood frames of the doors and windows. I found a spot beneath the thick leaves, away from the scorching sun, placed my favorite bamboo chair there, and munched on some bean pods as the gentle breeze ruffled my hair.