My first time visiting my teacher during Tet.

Traditionally, in the past, people would visit their fathers on the first day of Tet and their teachers on the third day. But that year, my class broke the tradition. On the morning of the first day, after returning home from their family outings, the neighborhood children excitedly gathered to visit their teacher's house to wish him a Happy New Year.

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Back then, I was in the fourth grade (now the second grade). This was the first time in my life I'd ever visited my teacher during Tet (Vietnamese New Year). I felt a mix of exhilarating joy and nervousness that's hard to describe. The excitement stemmed from my curiosity to see what the teacher's house looked like, and where he lived and taught us. Plus, it was the first time in my life I'd ever ridden in a horse-drawn carriage with my friends, chatting and laughing merrily – it was incredibly enjoyable. In our poor rural area, in the late 1950s, the main means of transportation was horse-drawn carriages. Owning a bicycle was considered quite a luxury. Although I was happy, when the coachman reined in the horse and stopped in front of the teacher's house so we kids could get off, my heart pounded, because I was about to face the stern teacher, whom I'd only ever seen from afar on the village road. I'd always stand at attention, take off my hat, and bow before he passed.

To prepare for the Lunar New Year celebration, before the last day of the year, my mother gave me money and told me to go to the street to buy a pair of Tie Guan Yin tea sets. It was my first time going to the street with a friend, and I was so captivated by the dazzling array of colors that I carelessly dropped my coin with the bamboo design, leaving me with only enough money to buy a smaller pair of Parrot brand tea sets. Unfortunately, I got a good scolding from my mother when I got home, but luckily it was still the old year!

Our teacher at the village school, called the "huong truong," taught us from the lowest grade, the fifth grade, then the fourth grade, and finally the third grade, which marked the end of elementary school (equivalent to grades 1, 2, and 3 today). Anyone who wanted to continue to the second or first grade (equivalent to grades 4 and 5 today) had to go to the commune school several kilometers away. Back then, the "huong truong" teachers received their salary in the form of several plots of top-quality village land allocated to them for year-round cultivation to cover their expenses. After the Geneva Accords of 1954, when the villagers returned to their homes, their children were able to return to school. The war had disrupted and destroyed education, resulting in widespread illiteracy in my village. Even within the same class, the students varied considerably in age, sometimes by as much as ten years. At that time, learning to read and write was more important than simply being in a particular grade. In my fourth grade, some students were seven years old, while others were 17 or 18 when they were sent to school. Therefore, many of my classmates, having just finished third grade at the village school and being relatively literate and able to do basic calculations, dropped out of school to stay home and participate in farming, planting, and raising livestock, then got married and had children. I was among the youngest in the class. Once, after Tet (Lunar New Year), I returned to school, having so much fun that I forgot to eat breakfast. By midday, I was starving, sweating profusely, and exhausted. The teacher sent a classmate from nearby to carry me home to my family. She slung me under her armpits and carried me across many uneven, muddy rice paddies.

Returning to the topic of visiting my teacher during Tet (Vietnamese New Year), my father gave me thorough training. He instructed me that after greeting my teacher at his house, I should borrow a tray or plate, place the tea set on it, respectfully stand with my arms folded, and say: "The old year has ended, and we are entering the new year. I offer this small gift, wishing you and your family abundant health and happiness in the new year." My father practiced this with me many times until almost midnight. On the morning of the New Year's Eve, I did exactly as my father had instructed. However, I was so nervous facing my teacher that I said it backwards: "The new year has ended, and we are entering the old year...!" Suddenly, everyone present at my teacher's house burst into laughter, making me even more flustered and trembling. Seeing this, my teacher gently guided me to correct my words and gave me a traditional New Year's cake.

On the way home, I felt guilty and self-reproachful, wondering why I had memorized the New Year's greetings for my teacher so perfectly, yet I had mispronounced them! Then I vaguely thought, if my father had told me not to look directly at the teacher but to bow my head when wishing him a Happy New Year, perhaps I wouldn't have made the mistake; because I had always bowed whenever I met a teacher, so I was always safe. To make matters worse, my friends pushed me forward to wish him first, saying, "You're young, your gifts are few, so wish the teacher a Happy New Year first. We're older, with our more elaborate gifts, so we'll wish later." What they said made sense, because some carried baskets of cakes, others had bottles of wine, some carried bags of sticky rice and sugar, some even lugged heavy bunches of ripe bananas, and some from well-off families had given the teacher a huge rooster or other expensive items... If only they had let me wish him last, I wouldn't have made the mistake.

Sixty-six years have passed since I first celebrated Tet (Lunar New Year) with my teacher during my school years. Now he has passed away. Among my classmates from that elementary school in the village, some are still alive, others have passed away; but whenever spring comes and Tet arrives, I recall those old days, and the sweet memories of my youth linger in my mind.

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