劳動光荣 Mark black Chinese characters above a small wooden door of a shaggy old house where my father lived as a child,  And where his parents lived when they were young,  Back when the couplets along the door were not so faded and decayed,  The walls not so stained and cracked,  The weeds in front not so overgrown,  The trees behind not so bare.  My young father stood straight in front of the front door,  Hands tucked in his new Mizuno winter coat He had bought with money he ha