Short story The Teacher's Boots

Khanh will never forget that moment. The first parent-teacher meeting at Na Kheu school with the flickering oil lamp emitting a dim light. While Khanh was talking about the new semester's program, his eyes accidentally glanced out the window, making him stop. Em Lu - a skinny first grade girl, was sitting huddled on the porch waiting for her mother. The winter sunlight shone down on her bare feet, purple, cracked in long lines mixed with dirt.

Khanh will never forget that moment. The first parent-teacher meeting at Na Kheu school with the flickering oil lamp emitting a dim light. While Khanh was talking about the new semester's program, his eyes accidentally glanced out the window, making him stop. Em Lu - a skinny first grade girl, was sitting huddled on the porch waiting for her mother. The winter sunlight shone down on her bare feet, purple, cracked in long lines mixed with dirt.

Illustration: AI

At that moment, Khanh’s father’s image suddenly appeared in his mind. Khanh’s father was also a teacher in the highlands, with a pair of old black rubber boots, worn out in some places because of hitting the rocks in the forest. Khanh still remembered his father’s words when he asked about the boots, seeing that he always wore them.

“Without boots, I can’t walk on the mountain road, son.” When Khanh was 12 years old, his father passed away, leaving behind a pair of worn-out boots and his love for teaching. Now, standing before Lu’s bruised feet, Khanh truly understood his father.

The frost that year came very early, covering the entire forest in white. Every morning, Khanh stood at the school gate counting each step of the students. 28 students. Most of them were barefoot or made of sandals made from motorcycle tires. 28 students were 28 different circumstances, but Khanh paid more attention to Vu Mi Son. Son had lost his father at a young age, and had difficulty walking with a limp on his left leg. Son's house was an hour and a half walk from school.

Son was very diligent, but one winter morning when he didn't come to class, Khanh had a feeling that something was wrong.

After school, Khanh ran straight to his sister’s house, still feeling restless and worried. When he got there, he saw Son’s mother bandaging Son’s knee, the blood stains on the white cloth were red. Son had fallen on the slippery road, luckily the abyss was shallow. Luckily, Son was still alive. If he had said something wrong, if the abyss had been a little deeper then…

That night, Khanh could not sleep. The image of Son lying in the abyss for nearly an hour haunted him. He opened the attendance book and looked at the notes: last month, Lu was bitten by a snake and missed 3 days of school, Pao fell into the stream, Giang's legs were covered in thorns, Su got an infection from stepping on a rusty nail. 15 out of 28 students had injured their legs in just one semester.

Khanh looked out the window. Frost was beginning to cover the land. Winter in the highlands had just begun, and there were still three long months of dangerously slippery roads.

3 months with 28 barefoot children crossing the mountain every day. If this time Son almost lost his life, who will it be next? He remembered his father's words: "Without boots, I can't walk the mountain road, son." Now he understood that boots are not just for walking, but for survival, for returning home safely every day.

Khanh jumped up and turned on the computer. He couldn’t sit still anymore. His hands were shaking. Not because of the cold. But because he knew that if he didn’t do anything, more of her would get hurt.

Or worse. He began to type. Word by word, sentence by sentence. About the 28 children. About the bruised bare feet. About Son—the boy who almost lost his life just to go to school.

Khanh didn’t know if anyone would read it, if anyone would care. But he had to try. Because if he didn’t do anything, he wouldn’t be able to stand in front of the school gate every morning without trembling in fear as he counted each child coming home.

Khanh started to raise funds. He asked friends, sold farm produce, and finally raised enough money to buy boots for 28 children. On the morning of the boot handover, Khanh called each child by name. Pao stepped forward, sat down in the middle of the dirt yard, and carefully slipped his feet into the pink boots. They fit perfectly.

She looked down at her feet, then up at Khanh, a smile on her face. Son walked over, hugging the green boots tightly to his chest. Khanh bent down and put Son’s tiny feet into the boots. “Now I won’t fall down on my way to school,” Khanh said, trying to hold back her tears.

A week later, Khanh stood at the school gate as usual. 27 pairs of colorful boots ran up. Only one student was missing. Khanh looked far away and saw Son trudging up the slope. Barefoot. Khanh ran down, angry and heartbroken:

- Why don't you wear boots? Don't you appreciate the ones I gave them to you?

Son stood still, head bowed. Tears fell into the dusty road.

- I... I sold it, teacher.

- Sell? Why are you selling?- Khanh's voice trembled.

- My mother is seriously ill, teacher. The doctor said she needs medicine. I sold my boots to buy medicine for her.- Son sobbed- I... I'm sorry, teacher!

Khanh stood still. His heart stopped beating. He had no choice but to have money to buy medicine for his mother. Khanh could not say anything. He just sat there, watching the 10-year-old student who had to choose between his legs and his mother’s life. He thought he understood the suffering of the children, but…

That evening, Khanh sat in his room and turned on his computer again. This time he did not write about boots. He wrote about Son. About the limping boy who walked an hour and a half to school every day.

About the boots that were given and then lost. About the choice no one wants to face. He wrote: “You sold the boots to buy medicine for your mother. I was angry, then I cried. Now I just want to help you have both: the boots and a healthy mother.”

After posting, Khanh turned off the phone. Not daring to wait.

The next morning, the phone rang nonstop. Hundreds of messages. People sent money not only for boots. They asked for Son’s mother’s address, the name of the illness, how much money was needed for treatment. Some were doctors, asking if they could come down to examine him for free. Some asked to send necessities and clothes. In 3 days, the account received many notifications of balance changes. Khanh sat looking at the numbers, his hands shaking.

A week later, Son’s mother was taken to the provincial hospital. Charity doctors examined her and gave her free medicine. Khanh stayed to take care of her, falling asleep on a chair in the hallway. Son sat next to his mother, not leaving her side. When the doctor said Son’s mother would be fine, the boy hugged Khanh tightly, sobbing. “Thank you, teacher. Thank you so much!”

Khanh hugged Son.

- It's not me, son. Many people have helped you.

When Khanh returned to Na Kheu, he brought 3 pairs of boots. 1 pair for Son. 2 pairs for Son’s younger sister and brother, who were also studying at the school. The next morning, Khanh stood at the school gate. 28 children were running up wearing their boots. All of them. Son ran the fastest, although he was still limping. But this time, he smiled brightly.

Five years have passed. Khanh’s “Boots for Children” project has expanded to 12 schools. Nearly 1,000 pairs of boots have been given away, dozens of families have received medical treatment and home repairs. Khanh has refused all invitations to return to the city.

On Teacher's Day that year, Son, now in 8th grade, stepped up to the podium. In his hand was a carefully wrapped cardboard box. Inside was a pair of simple black rubber boots. Son bowed his head:

- Teacher, I sold some firewood and picked bamboo shoots. It took me 5 months to save up enough money. Your boots are very old.

Khanh looked down at his old boots, torn in some places. Then he looked up at Son, the boy was now almost as tall as him, his eyes shining.

- My mom is fine now, teacher. I told her that I will become a teacher in the future to help other students like you helped me.

Khanh’s tears fell. He remembered his father’s boots, his father sitting by the fire mending them over and over again. “Without boots, I can’t walk the mountain path, son.” Now Khanh understood – boots were not just to protect his feet, but boots of love, of connection, of hope passed down from generation to generation.

Khanh slipped his feet into the new boots. They fit perfectly. It was a compliment to Son for choosing boots for his teacher. Outside the window, the fog was thick. Tomorrow morning, 28 pairs of boots would be rustling on the way to school again. Son would return to the secondary school, and he, with his new boots, would continue walking on the path his father had taken. The path of a teacher in the highlands. The path was long, but not lonely.

MAI THI TRUC

Source: https://baovinhlong.com.vn/van-hoa-giai-tri/tac-gia-tac-pham/202511/truyen-ngan-doi-ung-cua-thay-ed04c44/