The story of white shirt

A White Shirt —— Random Thoughts on Children's Day

That is a distant story, which happened on Children's Day 66 years ago. I was 9 years old that year and joined the Young Pioneers for three years.

I remember that every June 1st, I envy those children who can wear bleached white shirts: white shirts with bright red scarves are so proud! At that time, our family was still very poor, so I had to wear that cheap thick white shirt for the holidays. How I wish I could wear a white shirt!

At that time, although the elder sister had already taken part in the work, her monthly salary was only two buckets of sorghum rice, and there was no cash payment. At that time, my brother was a supplier in the army and had no extra money to send home. Therefore, although my mother knows my wish, she is really unable to make me an "expensive" bleached cloth shirt.

I was an old player until I was 9 years old and in the fourth grade. Mother finally scrimped and saved me a white shirt from the teeth of the whole family. The day before the festival, I folded my shirt flat and put it on the pillow. I was so excited that I didn't sleep well all night. I hope it will be dawn soon, so that I can wear a brand-new white shirt and a red scarf to attend the "June 1" celebration.

I will never forget Children's Day that year! Unforgettable, not only because I finally put on my dream white shirt, but because of what happened after I came back from the activity. ...

When I came home from school, I was still humming happy holiday songs. My mother told me to take off my new shirt quickly, but I really couldn't bear to take it off so soon, so I begged my mother to let me wear it for a while. Mother acquiesced. I quickly climbed onto the small table on the kang and sat down to prepare my homework. I took out my pen and found that there was no ink, so I found an ink bottle. Because I couldn't see clearly how much ink was left in the bottle, I put the ink bottle on my ear and shook it. It doesn't matter if I shake it. This is a disaster. Blue ink flows from the bottle to my white shirt, from my shoulder to my body. At that time, I was in tears with love. My mother heard the sound, and she was stunned by what she saw. She came to her senses, untied my red scarf, took off my white shirt polluted by ink and put it on quickly.

Mother was very angry and gave me a good beating. At this time, no matter how painful I am, there is no pain in my heart! I personally destroyed my beloved white shirt. My mother was right to hit me. I had to put up with it and deserved to be beaten!

In the evening, my mother's violent cough woke me up. My mother was so tired that she vomited blood ... it scared me. I knelt in front of my mother and cried, "Mom, I don't want a white shirt anymore. Don't be angry. I will be more obedient in the future! " My mother hugged me and big tears wet my hair. The scene at that moment, like a group of sculptures, was deeply engraved in my memory.

A white shirt was a luxury for me then; For today's children, it's a piece of cake, at your fingertips!

Children, grandma's childhood is not as good as yours, so cherish your happiness!