In the first exam, I got ten points and got only one pinyin letter right. I got 58 points in the second exam, which is a very clear memory. Later, it was slightly better. By the time I wrote my composition in the third grade, I showed a little talent for writing. It was an article describing castor. The teacher regarded it as a model essay and said it was well written. The last sentence is that castor was harvested and given to the country. I saw a model essay, which was about betraying the country. The teacher changed it, and it is still very bitter today, but it is not necessarily wrong to think about it. Some of my talented pen writing careers began.
I can still see the primary school teachers today, and I really appreciate my enlightened teachers. The closest and most important teacher is Zhang Zhixi. Teacher Zhang was very young, handsome, with a slightly thin and magnetic voice and good handwriting. Teach us Chinese, math and so on, sometimes first. For example, without the Party, there would be no new China. The rest of the teachers didn't agree.
My uncle is the headmaster of a primary school. He is very old. My father, uncle and teacher are all my uncle's students. My uncle can't teach, but it helps me a lot, that is, give me every issue of books and periodicals such as Little Sunflower and Red Bud, and cultivate the habit of reading. I remember that there was a dog named Wang Wang in Sunflower, which was simply the story of Sanmao wandering in fairy tales, and it also made me feel wandering and desolate. So it will be sad to write articles in the future.
I don't study very well. I have never been in the top three. So I don't know what it feels like to be first. But I'm usually close to the top three students. Among them are brothers and sisters of the same race.
My neighbor, a friend who grew up together, is Bao Zhong, and we have different surnames. There is only one family in the village, Zhang Li Chen Pei and Chen Jia, which can be ignored. However, the head of the Chen family has only one eye, and so does his wife, which we can't forget. Baozhong is surnamed Li and has a large population. There are twelve parents and sisters, six men and six women, which is also a long-standing story. We are very close.
In the second grade, there was a poem about a "dangerous building" and a poem about a fisherman on the river, which said: A building is 100 feet high, and you can pick stars with your hands. Standing here, I dare not speak loudly for fear of disturbing the gods in the sky. I am still from the river, but I love the beauty of perch. Look at those poor fishermen, floating up and down in the big waves and rocking in the boats. This is a very simple and excellent poem, especially a sentence in the storm, which makes people have a distant imagination. However, this simple sentence, I don't understand its meaning, and I can't explain it with it. Teacher Zhang's method is to reward whoever recites the explanation with a workbook, which I have never won. Although I have some friends in the north of the hall, in the yard, on the roof, on the pear trees and apricot trees in the yard, I can't recite them. I haven't recited it since. We carefully leaned against the tree, lying in bed, looking at the surrounding scenery, looking at the scattered homes, there is a strange feeling. Or watch sparrows and swallows shuttle between houses, perch, watch the breeze blowing willows and feel the sunset, and forget the poems recited.
Forget that there is no weekend, or there is no concept of weekend at all. Every day, I go to school, go to school and go to the fields. I go back and forth between school, home and fields every day. Working in the countryside is a compulsory course, even more important than going to school. Whose children don't work hard is regarded as doing nothing. As for learning how to say it, it is not necessary. So the situation of schoolwork can be imagined. So going to school becomes a kind of rest and happiness, not a kind of punishment and burden.
I like to listen to the teacher in class without any worries. The teacher's level is naturally poor, but ours is even worse, so we won't be picky. No matter how bad the class is, you will also hear interest that is not available in the field. Unless you are punished by the teacher for not finishing your homework. We also have naughty ways to deal with teachers, that is, stealing watermelons, eating the flesh of watermelons and putting the watermelon skins on the teacher's desk. The teacher didn't care, smiled and took it off, and didn't ask whose fault it was. However, we are happy first and then guilty, and never again.
The relationship with the teacher is very interesting, both as a mentor and a helper, and we are very willing to be this helper. For example, help the teacher pick cotton, water the teacher, help the teacher find the lost hen, and help the teacher pick up the eggs laid by the hen on the roof. Such things vary from teacher to teacher, so my uncle let me eat watermelon, so I was laughed at by my classmates. This is also a question of no choice.
School is always like this, and most of the shameful things are forgotten. I remember most of them were on the battlefield. For example, early summer, wheat harvest season. The sun is like fire. Really like fire. Before dawn, I heard my father grinding a sickle in front of the mansion, and the sound was very loud. Without breakfast, I went down to the field in the dim moonlight and slight white clouds. In the morning, the phoenix is a little cold, filled with wet and sticky feelings. The endless wheat in the field, the yellow and white wheat, and the tall and straight trees waiting for a while are all in the pale world. The wind is blowing, and the rustle is ringing in my ears.
A sickle, like the moon, curved innocent light, the sound of brushing wheat straw, and the rhythm of music. Dad, mom, sister, me, after the four sickles, the golden wheat fell into a piece. My sister couldn't hold the sickle, so she plunged a straw rope into the wheat, and her arm was punctured and red by the wheat awn.
The sun came out, anxious, sultry and sweaty. My uncle's brother was driving a donkey cart when Lamai came. A tall wheat pile, a man lying on his back, driving a clumsy donkey, slowly rushed home. Donkey does not move, car does not move, cloud does not move, cloud does not move. Comfortable feeling.
At night, the wheat was removed. When I was young, it was a spacious yard, and later it was a thresher. Although the threshing machine is fast, it is not as poetic as the stone roller. What I remember is the thresher. Everyone has their own division of labor and will not make progress. It often takes all night. In the morning, when the sky is colored, we can see each other's faces and laugh at each other. Everyone's face lost its meaning, and a layer of gray dust covered his eyes and eyebrows, like a local. Hahahaha smiled, killing fatigue. Later, the wheat was pulled to the roadside for weathering for two days, and the particles returned to the warehouse.
My primary school life is about to return to the warehouse, but it is extremely green.
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