I remember the unforgettable meeting we held in this auditorium.

Probably 1942, the hard years of my career, when I was in the third grade of primary school. Teachers organized the whole school to hold many anti-Japanese speech contests here. I was on the stage, too. The speech was written by Mr. Feng, the head teacher. I remember there is a saying that "man is a knife and I am a fish".

The school is very close to the Japanese artillery tower near Yingqiao in North Street, only 200 meters. During the competition, someone stood guard at the school gate. When I saw the Japanese soldiers or translators passing by, I ran in to report, and then the speech was temporarily stopped and everyone sang together.

At that time, I was still young and didn't quite understand the possible consequences of this incident. Later, when I learned how the Japanese invaders brutally killed the patriots in China, I couldn't help but feel infinite admiration for the bravery of the teachers.

Teacher Feng not only teaches music, but also teaches Mandarin. She loves to wear cheongsam made of bamboo cloth, and sometimes she wears a black vest, which is very energetic. She teaches school songs in primary schools. The lyrics and tones of the school song are beautiful. The first few words are: "Zhushan is in the east, and the cycle of the lake is endless." The students are very happy. Technology is not vanity, but application. ...... "Probably in order to let students really learn the skills of' practical application', the teachers are very strict with us, so strict that it is almost harsh. At that time, corporal punishment had not been abolished, otherwise the teacher would hit your palm with a ruler

I went to school when I was six. I was young and always sat in the front row in class. Teachers like me very much. They undoubtedly said many compliments to me, but I can't remember them; But I was inevitably criticized and even punished. I have never forgotten this scene.

In my class, composition and writing big-character posters are my "strengths", but even in these two classes, I have been reprimanded. I once wrote a composition on the topic of recalling an autumn outing. The article begins: On Sunday morning, I was playing on the grass outside West Street with several classmates, and suddenly I smelled the fragrance of osmanthus, so we went to Tangxia Village to pick osmanthus. After reading it, Mr. Chen recognized the words "smell specialty" at the end. I didn't understand the meaning of this comment, so I asked. My husband said to me with a straight face: Tangxia is three miles away from here, and you can smell the sweet-scented osmanthus there. Is your nose this long? This words hurt my heart a little, but I still feel ashamed, because I really didn't smell osmanthus fragrance, and the first few words were made up by imagination. Once in a Chinese character class, the teacher called me to the podium when handing out notebooks, and said to me seriously: Your score this time is C, which means you passed, but for you, this is a failure, because you should have got an A. If you do this again in the future, you will be slapped. I feel a little embarrassed to say it in front of the whole class, but I am still convinced, because I tried my best to whisper to my classmates in the first half of that big class, and my handwriting was really sloppy.

There is only one course in my impression that the teacher is particularly tolerant, and that is translating Japanese. Teachers don't care even if they skip classes. From this combination of leniency and severity, we primary school students seem to understand some truths that teachers have not made clear.

I graduated from primary school the year I won the Anti-Japanese War. Grandparents died one after another, and my father was still in the home front, so I followed my aunt to Shanghai. The English level of private middle schools in Shanghai is very high. In grade one, they learned the fifth book of Flexible English by Ming Kai Bookstore. There is no English class in the primary school in my hometown, so I naturally can't keep up with my work. A rural child was easily looked down upon in Shanghai at that time, not to mention some homework! The following year, when my father came back from the home front, I transferred to Pengcheng Middle School in Xiao He, Yixing, where I became a resident student. Father is a poet, living in his own world and seldom caring about children. It was Xue Shungan, a teacher from Pengcheng Middle School, who gave me fatherly love that I had never enjoyed before. I remember that my husband is from Jiangyin, tall and thin, and loves to wear a gray gown and a pair of black-rimmed glasses. He liked watching me do my homework when I was studying by myself last night. When invigilating, he stood behind me for a long time, looking at my answer sheet; He often takes me back to his own dormitory, cares about my warmth and asks me to eat his green beans. His kind, cordial and trusting eyes warmed my lonely heart and inspired my courage and strength to make progress. This year, among nearly 100 students in the whole grade, I unexpectedly won the first place. Since then, I have re-established my confidence in myself and swept away my eternal inferiority in Shanghai.

From Grade Three to Grade Two, I returned to my hometown of Zhoutieqiao and studied in Zhuxi Middle School. Most of the teachers here are teaching backbones and administrative leaders of the famous Suzhou High School in Jiangsu Province. They were dismissed because they offended the Kuomintang authorities and lost the case in court, so they decided to go back to their hometowns collectively to rebuild Zhuxi Middle School. Their teaching is not only high-level, but also distinctive. For example, Mr. Cheng Ximin did not talk about the party's righteousness in the civics class, but told us that the world is material and the exploitation system will eventually be eliminated. Teacher Feng's lectures are also very attractive. He loves to write on the blackboard. He always starts from the upper left corner and demonstrates everything on the blackboard so that students can see it at a glance. After a class, there is a full hall and a neat blackboard. Mr. Bi Fuzhen teaches English. He used the original English Complete Book as a grammar textbook to guide us to illustrate English sentences according to the requirements in the book. We are not allowed to make any mistakes in understanding the meaning and function of any word in the sentence. They are upright, honest and have a sense of justice; At the same time, I have a deep academic ability and a strong sense of responsibility. Young people in our countryside are really lucky to work under their doors. They are not only our teachers who teach and solve problems, but also our role models.

In the second year after liberation, I left school and went to Beijing to take part in revolutionary work. Since then, long years have passed and many experiences have been forgotten; It's just a scene of primary school and middle school life in my youth. The voice and smile of the new teacher still appear in my memory from time to time, causing my thinking and reverie. I went to Wuxi to attend an academic seminar the year before last, and finally had the opportunity to return to my hometown after many years' absence. It's a pity that most primary school teachers are dead, and I can't even find their graves. Give them a student gift. There are not many teachers still alive in the middle school. Thankfully, I still met Mr. Bi Fuzhen and Mr. Feng, who both live at home. They happily recalled the situation in our class, praised me for being considerate, and made fun of me for being naughty, just like in those days.

Mr. Bi is over 90 years old and still in good health. Mr. Feng Xiaobi is five years old, but he has been in bed for many years. I found two things on Mr Feng's pillow. A Wuxi celebrity dictionary and a stack of letters. Some annotated pages in the dictionary record the resumes of some of his famous students; Most of the letters were sent by students, and some of them were sent by a student who is the best academically in our class and now works as the chief engineer in a large enterprise in Xiamen. Looking through this dictionary and these letters is probably a great pleasure in his later years.

People often say that teachers are candles, which burn themselves and illuminate others. However, I think they actually didn't just give, but got nothing. Isn't it a great enjoyment and lofty joy to watch your own saplings grow into big trees? Take our class for example, there are indeed many talents among the students. Among them are honest ordinary workers, rural cadres, primary and secondary school teachers, as well as university professors, researchers, senior engineers and senior officers and cadres. If the first teacher hadn't laid a solid ideological and academic foundation for us, it would be hard for us rural teenagers to imagine the subsequent development. It is true that the teachers themselves live in obscurity and poverty, and even in the county annals, few can leave their names. However, the seeds of knowledge and truth they sowed did germinate, grow, blossom and bear fruit on us students, and their life creed and noble character have been printed in our minds and melted into our blood. Therefore, teachers are immortal, which is true. Because their hasty life has been infinitely extended by students.

From the end of 1950s, I followed the path of my first teacher and became a teacher. I made this choice willingly. I love the profession of teaching. Even in the years when I was in charge of school administration, I still completed all the teaching workload that an ordinary teacher should complete; Even in those years when I was transferred from school to be an official, I still stuck to my teaching post as a part-time teacher. When I stand on the pulpit and preach my faith to young people, I will think of my first teacher. It suddenly occurred to me that people's hard work in ordinary teaching posts will not be in vain. Since the seeds sown by our teachers have blossomed and borne fruit on their students, why can't the seeds sown by us blossom and bear fruit on their students?