Life story: My Teacher
I was a student … unable to teach. All the teachers who taught me commented like this to my parents. No class has accepted me more than a month. My mother cried. Dad sighed: this guy was considered to be finished …
I was transfered to a new school then. Looking at the transcript, the principal wanted to chase me away but respected my foreign language as the former director of the education company, he accepted it. “I will put you in teacher Tien’s class.” He teaches the entire school’s unique student body. On the first day of class, my father personally took me to “hand in hand with him”. I secretly observed my “opponent”. He was skinny, wearing heavy black-rimmed glasses, eyes looking up to me. “Ah, son, let’s see if you can do anything for me, pretty here.” He arranged me to sit with a brat with a quick nose. It nudged my shoulder into a wider seat. I can’t help it, I’ve never hit a girl. He won me 1-0 already. “I know why you put ink on your shirt,” he told me when Tu gossiped. How does he know? I did not declare anything. Previously, each time I inked most of the students in the class, they asked why, the teachers immediately enforced the punishment. I always make up things that I am a victim of. I dressed up no matter what no one believed. I don’t care what the punishment is and whether anyone believes it or not. Yet today he said that he knows. More surprisingly, the teacher didn’t punish me at all. The teacher just told me softly: “Next time, you remember more carefully.” A few days later, I sprayed ink on the clothes of 3 more victims. The teacher still knows and does not punish. I’m tired of this unimpressive old ink spill. At that time, we all embanked the board and pieces of chalk. Out to play, I gathered all the chalk thrown into the girls jumping rope in the yard. At the end of the class, I rushed my friends and fell to the front gate. Any ill-fated person who passed by me would have all their confiscated chalk confiscated. The next day he called me to the meeting room. He opened the cupboard and pressed my big chalk box without saying anything. I shyly turned away to avoid his gaze. I remember how I had stuck my face out when the old teacher scolded me, the next day I took even more chalk. Yet when I held the box of chalk teachers in my hand, I felt so embarrassed. Holding the chalk box up and returning it to him, I muttered: “I won’t do it again next time.” He smiled and said, “You are good boy!” For the first time, I was praised by the adults. I lay thinking all night. From now on, I’ll be good, forever, so no one will scold me. But good is not necessarily good. I am right with that case. I can shoot marbles and play eagle all day. But whenever I sat at the desk, I got bored. Parents have beaten, have scolded as well. The math was even better, so I had nothing to do with literature. After studying for a month, I saw him cycling through his house. His car, which had not previously been known what color to paint, now only stood out with ugly rust. When the teacher came in, my parents were away. Looking over my shabby home, he promised to come back tomorrow. I take care of an entire day. Do not know what I did wrong. The next day the teacher came. He stood in the yard “talking” with my father. He said he needed someone to read and write down documents to help him. Necessarily childish words. The master is studying something. My parents were happy because I did not have to run my neck half day without school. I struggled to go to his house forever. He is alone. Besides the bookshelf, there is nothing worthwhile. One session a day, I have my back recorded what I read. He made me write short comments after each work. Then I read it aloud and he corrected the things I thought were wrong, adding some ideas. Sometimes he asked me to stop recording, turning to help him with some calculations. I went home to try my best to calculate how to calculate so as not to lose face in front of the teacher. Gradually, “natural” knowledge came to me unknowingly. The first time I held my certificate in my hand, my mother cried and cried louder when I was expelled from school. My father said nothing, just nodded and smiled. The school year passes quickly. I did not forget to recess during the summer vacation and record a pile of books that my teacher had delivered before leaving school. On the first day of school, I still couldn’t find him. Unforeseen, I missed the whole ceremony to the teacher’s home. The house is empty. The neighbor heard the dog barking and running to look. “Are you Phong?” “Yes”. “Teacher Tiến sent this to you. He said he moved to the South to live with his son. ” I quickly opened it, the letter was very short. “I expect you to try to study well. You are always a good pupil of the teacher ”. After ten years, I have fully understood what he wanted to say. There are bad things, but they cannot be changed by anger. Love and creativity are the things that help you change yourself, change people. Thank you, teacher, for the special teaching method that helped me grow up. Thank you my teacher!