The childhood memories of the Smurfs

I am fortunate that I was born in the 80s, so that I can tell my daughter: My mother’s favorite comics when she was a child was the Smurfs. At least she can understand that, unlike my mom and dad who was born in the 1950s, she could only tell me: My parents’ favorite comics when they were young were Little Sisters of the Prairie Heroes. The daughter is unheard of. How good is the existence of universal values.

The Americans are really harsh, and the Smurfs only scored 4.8 on IMDB. I don’t think this cartoon is worse than the silly animations like "Gulliver's Travels" or "Adventures of the Nanda" that Americans have always liked. At least the little girl sitting in a small skirt in the theater can see it. Glittering joy. It can only be said that this is a cartoon suitable for children around 5 years old, or parents of children around 5 years old. The smurfs are always so cute, the blue sisters are always so gentle, and the life of the smurfs living in the mushroom house in the remote forest is still so desirable. Their fairy tale world is the best dream of each of us in childhood.

I remember when a classmate in elementary school brought a Smurf model, about the size of a bubble gum, but it fully attracted my attention and made me love it, even begging that classmate to give it to me. The Smurf was probably given to him by his relatives in Shanghai, which is really rare in our small city. He thought for a while and agreed to give it to me. My mood was that some people would not get a diamond ring for me now. As soon as get out of class was over, the two of us ran to the balcony outside the classroom to play with the Smurfs, and our joy continued-er, three classes. Before the last class, my Smurf finally aroused the jealousy of a certain villain. She pretended to accidentally touch this little doll from the balcony on the third floor, and I never found him ever since. My mood fell from the peak to the bottom in the morning, and the whole semester after that I felt heartache when thinking about it. The Smurfs seemed to fall from my eyes in slow motion, and then slowly, slowly, disappear. I don't know where the Smurf is still, buried in the deep mud. Passing by the toy store a few days ago, I found that there was an exact same Smurf model inside, the one I had forever lost in my childhood memory. Blue father, blue sister, everything, 4.98 dollars a piece, childish and not deceived. I stood in front of them and thought for a moment, nothing else, my daughter has so many toys, so there is no shortage of such a one.

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