Translated…
Ever since my father was fifteen, he’d been working at the printing press factory, later on, after the printing press factory went out of business, he’d started a printing press factory of his own, and took the orders himself, and raised the four of us with his business. Over forty years had come and gone, with the computer printers developing, the traditional printing press with the lead tablets slowly got replaced, and, almost to the point of extinction now.
My impressions of my father as a child was one of him standing by the machines, working. He and my mother took charge of a machine each, and, the business cards came out one by one, sometimes, they’d received an order of over a hundred boxes of business cards, and had to work all night long. There was also, another machine with the bumps, every time when mom got too busy, or needed to make the meals, us kids would always help out too, placed the newly printed out business cards, sprayed a solution on it, then, placed them into the machines to bake dry, then, the end result would be the words would feel bumpy, we all sat on the chairs, together, felt the heat from the machine running, and there was, a small fan close to our feet down below, like we’re in a sauna, and there would always be a towel on my mother’s shoulders, she’d kept her guards up, because once the ink dried up, then, the powders won’t stick, and every time this process started, it’d needed to be supervised from start to finish.
From before, I’d always used the lead blocks as dominoes, the boxes for the business cards as blocks to build my houses with. As I was in a club in school, my dad had printed out my own personal business card too, and, it’d become proud for me, to have a father who owned and operated a printing factory.
And now, the industry had paled, my father didn’t keep the business up, the machines, as well as that whole wall of characters got sold out too, and every time as I recalled, it’s, as if, it were, a dream, and I’d, waken from it, with the memories that time can’t take away.
So, this, is a vivid memory of your childhood year, and, your father’s printing factory has a special place in your mind, because it’s, a major part of your childhood years, and, there’s no way that those memories of your childhood days will ever be gone, and so, the printing factory, how it operated, and what it’d brought to your family (not just the money!!!), will always stay in your mind, alive as ever!