Memories shining brightly...

On the school reunion day, my friend from Central Vietnam also managed to catch the afternoon train so he could return from Hanoi the next morning to visit his old school. Usually, it's so noisy, so full of boisterous chatter, even a bit dusty from the construction site. But this time... Just looking at him standing close to his nearly 80-year-old homeroom teacher for the photo, you could tell he was just like the little student he once was, starting high school in the district town.

Illustrative image (source: internet).

Walking past the classrooms, the students' campsite... He said, "That's our classroom building. Back then, we spent so many days mixing straw and mud to plaster the walls. The teachers' houses, built by people from Hanoi and Ha Dong, weren't much better; they were thatched huts with mud walls, and in winter, the wind blew through them. This sports field, in the past, was like a pond every time it rained." Then, with a pensive expression, he mentioned the names of his former teachers who couldn't return to visit their old school, and the names of his former football teammates who, for various reasons, hadn't come back yet. The sound of the school bell, the rows of flamboyant trees, the glances of teachers and friends played like a slow-motion film: warm, heartfelt, romantic, and deeply moving.

You said: Life is truly happy when you get to learn, when you get to be a student of respected teachers. Who wouldn't feel that way? The joy and happiness of school life are tied to the classroom environment, teachers, friends... It's a time when people easily feel insecure, self-conscious, and vulnerable if they don't receive the right care and support. It's a fragile age... easily broken?! Therefore, besides the embrace of parents and family, school is a "second home" that nurtures good things...

These past few days, the story of Mr. M, a fellow student, published in a local Party newspaper, has sparked countless online comments and discussions. Everyone shares the same sentiment: He had an absolutely wonderful teacher. During the subsidy era, studying far from home, struggling to make ends meet, he was so poor that for several years in high school he only had two sets of clothes cut from his literature teacher's old hammock. Knowing his chronic hunger, the teacher would "use the excuse" of gathering the team for a training camp on weekends. He was also the only one the teacher "made" stay for dinner with the family. Oh, it was just roasted peanuts with fish sauce, a plate of fried tofu, and a piece of fatty pork – for him, it was a "feast," because it had been so long since he'd tasted anything fresh. The teacher's children understood and chatted with him to ease his embarrassment. As for the teacher and his wife, they only organized a simple meal on weekends; they always gave him the leanest piece of meat. Knowing that he didn't have any textbooks or study materials, the teacher searched among older students to find books to help him prepare for the humanities/social sciences exam.

My teacher was so kind and affectionate in everyday life, but strict when it came to my studies. He said, "If you don't study hard, you won't even be able to save yourself from poverty and darkness, let alone help your family." Every time he returned my test papers, he pointed out the parts that looked awkward, unnatural, and unconvincing. I gradually improved with each semester. That year, I passed the university entrance exam and got into a prestigious university in Hanoi, earning praise from my teachers and friends. When I left for Hanoi to study, my teacher came to the train station to see me off.

My teacher advised me: "Try your best in your studies, don't be frivolous or frivolous. It's a new environment, but you must maintain your beautiful character." My parents were far away and couldn't be there to see me off to study far from home. If I hadn't held back, I would have burst into tears like a child in front of my father. And it's true, for the past few years, my teacher has cared for me like a father. Later, I became a well-known teacher and journalist... but my teacher's words and affection have stayed with me throughout my life. It's a gift life has given me, and I will cherish it forever...

In life, during the years of schooling, many people have such wonderful encounters, like a beautiful childhood dream, shimmering and real. Ms. H vividly remembers the image of her old kindergarten teacher from years ago. The classroom was by the stream, the chairs made of joined bamboo tubes, and the desks carved from a rice tree at the edge of the village. The teacher was old, kind, and had beautiful, flowing handwriting. She learned her first letters from him. She remembers one time, exhausted from walking through the long, hilly forest to class, around 10 o'clock, she dozed off on her tracing and writing practice book. In her fitful sleep, tired and hungry, she vaguely heard the teacher telling a student sitting next to her to take the book off her head (the teacher even helped her lift her head). After taking it off, the teacher let her sleep until the end of class. That day, on the book stained with dirt and sweat were the lines of letters the teacher had written as models for her to practice writing. The handwriting, in beautiful, soft red ink...

Later, she pursued further education, completed numerous courses, and achieved a stable life, but the classroom by the stream, along with the teacher's kind gestures and caring attention, remained etched in her memory. Indeed, later "new stories" saddened her and others who knew them, as places and individuals distorted the image of teachers and the teaching profession. For example, her daughter, returning from school with a somber expression, said: "Maybe I should transfer my child to another class. The teacher didn't speak or smile when she picked up the child; her face was cold. Even I felt uneasy, let alone the child. It's understandable that she cried. I wonder if she'll be mistreated in class. How can someone not know how to smile? If they don't know how to smile, why would they choose this profession?" Her daughter's feelings troubled her. She hoped that this was just an outward manifestation... Because the core values ​​of a teacher and the profession have been etched into the years, into the memories and hearts of countless people. They are like bright, vibrant notes that will forever resonate...

Bui Huy (According to Hoa Binh Online)

Source: https://baophutho.vn/ky-uc-xanh-ngoi-225169.htm