This year, my second child, Nhat Minh, is taking the high school graduation exam. Last year, my eldest daughter also took this exam and got into the school of her dreams. If you count the two times I took my children to the 10th grade entrance exam and the two times they took the high school graduation exam, today is the fourth time I've stood outside the school gate waiting for them to finish their exams.
On the morning of Nhật Minh's first exam, I woke up earlier than usual. I say "woke up early," but in reality, I barely slept at all the night. Every time I closed my eyes for a moment, I'd open them again to check the clock. I felt strangely anxious and worried.
Last night, after dinner, I saw my child still sitting at their study desk. Books were open in front of them, but their eyes looked tired. I walked over, placed my hand on their shoulder, and said:
"Okay, son, don't study anymore today. You've worked hard all year. Now, rest, relax, and go to bed early so you'll have the energy for tomorrow's test. Don't worry about anything." The boy smiled and nodded.
But as a mother, I understand that my son is also nervous. Around 11 p.m., I walked past his room and still saw him tossing and turning. The lights were off, but he wasn't asleep. The carefree boy he once was was now worried about these important exams in his life. Seeing him so restless, my heart ached even more.
I spread out my yoga mat in the middle of the living room, intending to do a few exercises to relax my mind. Normally, just a few minutes of breathing exercises would make me feel much better. But tonight, I couldn't concentrate. I sat on the mat, closed my eyes, but my mind kept wandering to my child. Thinking about the grueling months of studying. Thinking about the pressure my child is carrying. Thinking about tomorrow. Finally, I rolled up the mat.
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| Students in Bac Ninh arrive at school to take the 2026 high school graduation exam. |
Around 4 a.m., I woke up to prepare a small offering to place on the ancestral altar, sincerely praying that my ancestors would bless my son with a calm mind, good health, and enough confidence to complete the exam to the best of his ability.
Then I went down to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. The familiar dishes were laid out on the table. I kept pacing back and forth, checking the clock. At exactly 5:30, I knocked on the door:
Minh, wake up!
My child woke up very quickly. Perhaps they didn't sleep any better last night than I did. After breakfast, checking our papers, pens, and other necessary items, we set off.
I drove my child on my familiar electric motorbike. While driving, I gave all sorts of instructions: Read the questions carefully; do the easy ones first; think calmly about the difficult ones; remember to check your answers after you're done. Hearing this, my child just smiled and said, "Yes, Mom, don't worry." To ease my child's stress, I told her about my own exams in the late 1990s.
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Parents also follow in the footsteps of their children, determined to open the door to their future. |
Back then, taking the university entrance exam was much more difficult. Now, children take their high school graduation exams locally and then register for universities based on their interests and abilities. But in our time, you had to register for whichever university you liked and go directly to the school to take the exam. Sometimes you'd take the exam in Thai Nguyen one day, then return to Hanoi a few days later, and then pack your bags and travel to Vinh Phuc or another province. The travel was incredibly arduous.
My family was going through a tough time back then. As the youngest child, I received a lot of love and care from everyone. Our most valuable possession at the time was an old Simson motorbike that my father had saved up for a long time to buy. Throughout the exam seasons, my father was my constant companion. That Simson motorbike frequently broke down on long journeys, especially the spark plug. There were days when the motorbike would stall in the middle of the road. My father would quietly get off and walk for miles, pushing it along.
I remember that exam in Thai Nguyen vividly. My father and I left two days in advance to find accommodation, complete the exam procedures, and familiarize ourselves with the roads. That morning, I took the Literature exam first.
The exam questions back then were mostly from the textbook curriculum. As long as you had a solid grasp of the material, you could do well. When the bell rang signaling the end of the exam, I submitted my paper and hurried out to the school gate. The gate wasn't open yet. It was raining outside. I stood in the schoolyard looking out and saw my father.
He stood right outside the gate. No raincoat. No shelter. His small, thin frame was gaunt from years of hard labor. His hair was streaked with gray. His dark clothes were wet from the rain. Occasionally, he would glance inside, as if hoping to find me among the hundreds of other candidates. At that moment, my heart ached.
I took entrance exams at many schools, and each time my father waited outside the gate. But I never felt his hardship, his hope, and his love for me as clearly as on that day. My father didn't know if the exam was easy or difficult. He didn't know how many points I scored. All he cared about was whether his daughter walked out of the school gate with a smile or a sad face. That image has stayed with me for over 20 years. Even now, I can't forget it.
Time passed. My father is now old and frail. His hair has turned white. His steps are no longer as nimble as before. And I, from the schoolgirl I once was, am now the mother of two children. Today, standing at the school gate waiting for Nhat Minh to finish his exam, I suddenly understand more deeply than ever the love of parents for their children.
In the past, I only felt sorry for my father for waiting in the rain. But now I understand that what's even more significant is the hope he places in me. Just like right now, as my son sits in the exam room. I stand outside the school gate, my heart racing. I keep checking my watch, then looking towards the row of exam rooms. I silently pray that he stays calm, that he's confident, and that the knowledge he's acquired over the years will help him do well on the exam.
And most importantly, I want you to understand that behind every step you take, your family is always watching over you. Just like when my father waited for me outside the school gate in the rain, accompanying me as I opened the door to my future.
I hope that one day, my children will realize that on their journey to adulthood, there are always fathers and mothers silently standing behind them. Just seeing them move forward, confidently stepping through the door to the future, makes all the waiting worthwhile.
Source: https://www.qdnd.vn/van-hoa/van-hoc-nghe-thuat/cung-con-mo-cua-tuong-lai-1043876









