Essay on Love Thought in Rural Schools

All the schools in the village are closed now, and only the school buildings are still dying quietly in the shade.

Back home, when the sun sets, Uncle Wu sits alone under the ginkgo tree in front of the door, staring at the village school not far away. I called him, and he looked up, ignored me and continued to stare at the distance.

This rural school was built brick by brick in Wu Shu. Uncle Wu's home is not far from the school in the village. Later, the school in the village closed, leaving an empty house, and the school playground was soon changed into farmland to grow crops. Uncle Wu's son planted a "playground" for several years, and later planted it for others. Uncle Wu has been a mason all his life. He never goes to the fields to grow grain and cotton to do farm work. Sometimes I am so busy that Aunt Wu shouts from a distance in the field: You can't help in the field! Uncle Wu ignored him as usual. Uncle Wu's occupation is building houses. Many people say that he is more expert than an expert. There is no house in the small village without Uncle Wu's participation.

Rural schools once had my happy childhood. In retrospect, when I was in grade one or grade two in the village school, I was afraid I was just playing. Every semester classes are not long, and Chinese and arithmetic books are broken. By the end of the term, I had no books. Although the teacher named Xia Qiwang is very strict, many students are not afraid of him. We either push the hoop far away on the road outside the playground, or play with the gyro and whistle several times in class, and some students will not return to class. Once Mr. Xia came up from behind me and shouted, "Give me the bachelor (gyro)!" On New Year's Day of 196 1, the weather was extremely cold. I joined the Young Pioneers. I only remember that I broke my nose and bled in order to go to the playground. Later, Mr. Xia praised me and said that although I lost in playing books, I always insisted on wearing a red scarf. Until the third grade, a new teacher, Alvin Wong, told me to pack my Chinese books and arithmetic bags with newspapers, and asked me to take good care of my textbooks. He always encourages me to read the text aloud. Finally, when did I get started in the third grade?

The village school once had my 19-year-old romantic poems and dreams. 1973 After the Spring Festival, I couldn't stand the tiredness and hardship of farm work, so I fled the production team and went to the village school as a private teacher. At that time, in my heart, the village was the place where I flew my dreams, and the blackboard was the stage where I showed my personality and talent. By the time I went to school, the production team had sent someone to pump some seedlings.

Used buckets were carried to school as desks, and more than 50 students brought their own small benches to class. They are all together, and the Chinese arithmetic is full of sounds and feelings. I taught a class myself. Uncle Wu sent his two sons to my class and said to me, "If you teach well, you can become a full member." This makes me very moved. Li Yun, the old headmaster, listens to my class outside the classroom every week and gives me great encouragement when evaluating the class. Li Yuanxiang, a cultural member of the commune, personally came to see me in class and arranged for me to go to the county teacher training school for training in the summer vacation. From cold to summer, the laughter of students and the praise of parents are my greatest happiness.

Rural schools, for small villages in the 1970s, have always been at the forefront of the times. It can be said that the village school is the cultural center of the small village, and the teachers are the cultural elite of the small village. Now, the rural school may have completed her historical mission. The house of the village school is still there, the road is still there, and the trees are still growing. All the cultural elites left there. Most of my students, including my uncle's two sons, left the small village, and even my uncle's grandson went to town.

Everything is changing. Everything is in a hurry. An era has a reason to change. Excessive nostalgia can only make us sad for no reason.