Dou Xianjun.
Friends get together to tell stories, and I have the most stories.
After reading "Liao Zhai", my story completely got rid of the word of mouth of adults. When I first came into contact with the book, I was shocked. How could it be so interesting. Moreover, many of the stories I have heard are all in books. Most of the stories told by my mother through hearsay are from "Liao Zhai", but they are quite different from books. I proved to my mother that it was like that, and not like this. Mother said that it was all storytelling, so what did it matter? I think there is a relationship that 1 plus 1 equals 2 will never equal 3. My mother wouldn't explain it to me. The adults said that the child was picked up from the garbage heap and grew from the tree, and later, the Li family's maid said that she was fished out of the river, and I was a little confused.
I like to tell stories, I tell them very seriously, the stories are easy to tell, and all the stories start and end in unison, unlike the endless days. However, storytelling requires talent, and I can't do much to anyone other than scare myself. The partners who listened to the story didn't say anything, which gave me face, and I am grateful to them for being able to do some things so decently at a young age.
Of course, there are often times of discord, and there are many versions of a story, and everyone has their own words, turnips and peppers, and the competition is in full swing. I'm even more responsible, and I don't hesitate to breed suspicion for this. Everyone couldn't figure it out, so they went to the adults to judge. This is even more remarkable, adults say that it is a gourd in the morning and becomes a scoop at night, a gourd is a gourd, a scoop is a scoop, it is not the same thing at all. However, adults don't care, and they can only scold if they ask too much. I began to remind myself that I had to be an assertive child.
Gradually, I began to question the authenticity of the story and pull out of the chaos created by the adults. If the reality is really like what my grandmother said, the fish become young ladies, and the fairies walk down the painting, how should I treat them. Do they speak, do they speak bird language or fish language?Can you walk, whether you fly in the sky or on the ground?Do you know how to eat, do you eat peaches like monkeys, or do you eat pine nuts like squirrels? These questions are confusing in my mind all day long, and what worries adults is that I always look worried.
Fortunately, after going to school, things changed a little bit, but no one listened to my story, so I didn't know how to play. It takes time to get acquainted with unfamiliar classmates, and how to mingle with classmates doesn't seem to be all a matter of time. Every day, my eyes are fixed on the teacher, but my ears are unruly. I don't dare to ask the teacher to lecture like a story, and when the Xi makes the brain more and more confusing, going to school is torture.
The main classes in the school every day are mathematics and Chinese, and occasionally there are drawing classes, ** classes and physical education classes. Physical education class is not a class is a blind play, ** class is quite unusual, the teacher hangs a moving iron guy on his body, and the two arms will make a sound when they move. Although such a class is only taken once a week, at least there are. Every day, I look forward to telling stories in the classroom where the teacher doesn't teach difficult math or difficult language. But, year after year, nothing like this has ever happened. Suddenly, one day the head teacher said, "Attention students, the next lesson is a story lesson." My classmates don't believe it, and I don't believe it.
But what you don't believe is what happens.
All the teachers and students were gathered in the school's conference room, which was said to be a conference room, but it was actually a larger empty room, because it had just been cleaned, and people were choked. The students lined up to go inside, because there were too many people, and in the end, they were stuffed, and they were so full that they didn't even have a place to stay, and the smaller ones were either hanging in the crowd or falling into the crowd.
The rostrum is spacious. Several tables were set up, like a dam, keeping the flood-like students out of the dam. The leaders of the school all sat on the rostrum, and there was an old man in the middle of the leaders. The old man's hair was white, his beard was white, and even his eyebrows were white. The old man's body was straight, and his eyes were squinted, and he couldn't see whether it was open or closed. The old man's body did not move, and the principal next to him tilted his head to talk to him, but the old man still did not move. A classmate next to me whispered that the old man was the grandfather of the second donkey. I don't know who the second donkey is.
Could it be that the old man was invited to tell us a story?
The Grand Chancellor said, everyone is quiet, quiet. The conference room fell silent.
The president went on to say that this old comrade and old revolutionary around me was specially invited to remember the bittersweet memories for the students, and the students must listen carefully.
I was happy, inside and out. I hope the old man will speak sooner. It's easy for adults to tell stories, but if you have a mouth, you won't necessarily release any monsters. I'm not afraid of anything, so many people. Moreover, it may be strange that the old man is not going to tell it, the old man is an old revolutionary who was invited, and the story told by the old revolution must be the story of the revolution. What is revolution, I have never heard of.
My eyes stared at the old man without blinking, and the more I stared, the more I felt that the old man was a story, from head to toe, to every strand of hair was a story. The old man slowly opened his eyes, his eyes were a little cloudy, as if he had just woken up. The old man straightened his body, cleared his throat vigorously, and then cleared his throat again, as if waking himself up. The sound of the old man clearing his throat was extraordinary, like heavy thunder, thunder rumbled, and everyone waited for the rain to fall quickly. However, it seems that on a hot and muggy summer day, dry thunder does not rain. The principal came every once in a while, quiet, everyone is quiet, don't move. Needless to say, the venue was absolutely quiet, and the students were crowded one by one, even if there was movement, they were squeezed out.
The old man finally spoke, the stone was shattered, and the socialist situation was very good!With this voice, the venue suddenly exploded like a hornet's nest. The Grand Chancellor stood up like an electric shock, and I had never seen the Grand Chancellor so excited. The headmaster let out a sigh of relief, and pressed down with both hands, everyone is quiet, everyone is quiet, quiet, no laughing, no laughing. Everyone stopped laughing, didn't dare to laugh. However, I can't help but laugh if I don't laugh, my body can't move, but my head can. The head moved a lot, like a black wave of wheat.
Fortunately, the old man was unmoved, and began to keep a straight face, and then he still kept a straight face, except that after shouting "the socialist situation is very good", the expressionless face was a little redder and more vivid than just now, and there was not much change. The rest of the story is very interesting. The old man spoke like a bell, looking at the dry and thin old man, the explosive power was really amazing, and the beams of the house buzzed.
The old man talked more and more energetically, out of control, beating gongs and drums, sesame seeds blooming, emotional, rolling up his arms and sleeves, changing the previous rigidity, not the table blocked, really jumped up. The students standing at the front began to lean forward and back together, and some students raised their hands above their heads as if in defense. The old man's voice was so imposing, with a gun and a stick, and I knew afterwards that it was the power of the spitting star.
However, as he spoke, the old man's momentum collapsed first, his voice fell, his arms fell, his face also fell, his face fell red, he gradually lost blood, and his sonorous words evolved into a buzz. The old man buzzed, and the classmates also buzzed, and slowly, the venue seemed to have countless flies flying. The president is still on the rostrum, and there are two presidents, three presidents, directors, deputy directors, how many presidents and how many directors are useless, and there is a buzz on and off the stage. Of course, this should not be blamed on the old man, it is all the fault of the Grand Headmaster. It's not that the principal always pinched the old man's words, the old man would not collapse, and would continue to speak passionately along with his emotions. Every time the old man was forced to stop, he would turn his head and stare at the principal, and I was not wrong, it was staring, not looking.
The Grand Chancellor hurriedly said, come on, come on. This sentence continues, just like pouring cold water into a boiling soup, and any kind of good soup tastes out of taste. So repeatedly, the old man's eyes turned from glaring to anger when he looked at the headmaster again.
The Grand Chancellor can't be blamed for this. The old man not only told the story of the revolution, but also mentioned the pickles of Wotou. It's nothing to mention pickles in Tiwotou, and it shouldn't be, and then I mentioned steamed buns. Everyone in Wotou pickles is not interested, and when it comes to steamed buns, there has been a dramatic change. Wotou pickles are not rare, and steamed buns are different;The new society can't eat steamed buns, how can the old society eat them?What is the bittersweet memory of making the new not new, the old not the old?What do you say that the landlord wants to let the long-term workers work more, eat their own nests, and give the steamed buns to the long-term workers, isn't it the other way around?How much work can not be done to give steamed buns to long-term workers to eat, such a landlord ** or a bully landlord, it is clearly a living Bodhisattva, how can you still allow the landlord to divide the land. Where did such an old society come from, and where did the new society come from sweet. Obviously, everyone is here to listen to the bittersweet memories, which makes everyone's saliva come out, do you think the principal can not be in a hurry. This inadvertently tells the story in reverse, and this is a big problem, a matter of principle, a problem of possible mistakes.
The old man's face became whiter and whiter in the intermittent speech, and the headmaster's face became redder and redder. Through tactful and unremitting efforts, the Grand Principal finally led the old grandfather to his old revolutionary path.
When it comes to the revolution, the gongs and drums sound again, and the fiery passion returns to the old man. The old man said that the revolutionary martyrs threw their heads and spilled their blood, and there was only one purpose, that is, to let the children and grandchildren live a good life. The old man mentioned the steamed buns again, and when he mentioned the steamed buns, everyone had the feeling of drooling again. The classmates can't hold it anymore, the steamed buns are delicious, they can't eat it, they are tired of standing, they are going to squeeze to death, they are so crowded that they can't breathe, everyone is like a bullet in the chamber of the gun, and if you don't pull the trigger, you will explode.
The Grand Chancellor began to knock on his head and rub his hands. The old man also clearly realized that the spearhead was wrong, and began to look at the principal instead of glaring at the principal. I stared at the headmaster rubbing his hands, hoping that he would not just rub his hands and slap better. Slap and the story ends. Moreover, as soon as the slap is slapped, everyone will follow the shot, on and off the stage, all with crazy idle hands, the lightning and thunder, the mountains and the sea, just like the toiling masses finally turned over and were liberated, and truly felt the two heavens of the old and new society.
However, in addition to rubbing his hands, the Grand Chancellor is rubbing his hands. Rubbing hands doesn't mean anything, rubbing hands is not clapping, and how long you rub your hands doesn't signal the end, so the story has to be told. My eyelids started to fight, the buzz in the room was suitable for hypnosis, and everyone felt drowsy.
The venue gradually quieted down, it was still buzzing just now, but now it is not, everyone stared at the old man, looking at his white hair, white beard, and white eyebrows. It turns out that when people get old, everything will turn white, it turns out to be black and black, and it will slowly become white, and it may not be slow, it will become white all of a sudden. The old man was white all of a sudden, and when it was dark, everyone didn't see it, and the old man everyone saw was already white. How white. I don't look at the old man's mouth, what that mouth is talking about, I don't care anymore, and I don't care how many times I mention steamed buns. Everyone is struggling, and I seem to feel that the big president is going to become a white man, and the second president, the director, and the deputy director have all become white, and I have become a white man.
Suddenly, the bell rang, and like a bolt of lightning, it suddenly tore a hole in the cloudy sky.
The students' eyes were wide open, their eyes were blazing, the old man grabbed a life-saving straw like a drowning man at once, everyone focused their eyes on the face of the principal, just waiting for him to give an order, the house would explode like a balloon, and all the people in the room would turn into air and fly out of the window.
This is the bell for the end of class. The bell rings every day after class, and today it rings late, it should have been ringed a long time ago, and I don't know why it doesn't ring all the time. Even if it's a story class, even if it's a once-in-a-century story class, it has to be dismissed. However, it is very strange that the Grand Principal did not move, and all the Principals did not move, and it could be seen that they also had the desire to stand up, and then stabilized. They were all in one motion, listening to the bells with their ears turned to the sound as if they had never heard the bells before.
The bell does sound a little weird, it's not the same as usual. The usual bell rings steadily, three times, three times, three times, three times, three times, and three times, and the end, no more, no less, and it is customary. This time it's different, it keeps ringing, there is no regularity, like a naughty child, swaying, rolling, and somersaulting, but there is no intention of stopping. There was no sound in the room, only the bell ringing.
The Grand Chancellor said that the story was not finished, and everyone continued to listen.
The Grand Headmaster really couldn't understand what a good opportunity the bell was for everyone to take advantage of this step to get down, especially the old man. The old man is very hard, and the big principal is also very hard, the big head is not considerate of others, at least he has to be considerate of himself. The principal didn't, motioned for everyone to be quiet, and motioned for the old man to continue. Everyone understood that the bell was not ringing for the end of class, but someone had struck the school bell indiscriminately. Who would be so bold.
The old man didn't speak, and cleared his throat again, and cleared his throat like thunder. Everyone no longer cares if the old man can't clear his throat, whether he will speak after clearing his throat, bells, bells, cover everything.
The Grand Chancellor finally stood up and announced the end of class. The old man was supported by the president and left slowly amid the thunderous applause of the students. The mood of the students to see off the old man is the same as the Chinese New Year. For the first time, I felt how majestic the Grand Rector was, and as soon as he said it, he released thousands of troops. The suffocated students flew out like popping beans and bloomed everywhere.
The next day I went to school, and the time for the exercise was changed to a criticism meeting.
Like a chicken, the headmaster pulled out a frightened crying child from the first-grade queue and pulled him to the front.
It turned out that it was this little boy who had the audacity to ring the school bell. He came back late from going to the bathroom between classes, and because he didn't dare to knock on the door of the conference room, he wandered outside and started the idea of ringing the bell. Speaking of the school clock, it is a railroad track, drill a hole at one end, wear a wire, and hang it to be a bell. The railroad tracks are bells, and the sound is loud and the echoes are crisp. At that time, many children were willing to go to the train track to play, knock stones on the tracks, and then pick up on the tracks to listen. The sound goes out, and it comes back. It is said that some people's inspiration for ** comes from the railroad tracks. When the little boy was caught and revealed, he was very forgetful, intoxicated, obsessed, and carried away. Knock for a while, put your ears on the rails, and then knock again.
The little boy stood in front and cried and staggered. The headmaster ignored it, but spoke eloquently, and demonstratively held up the stone that had struck the railroad tracks, accusing the little boy of how serious his mistake was. He also emphasized that Zhong is the law of the school, and no one can easily violate it, otherwise it will ......Otherwise....... The students standing in the front row subconsciously hugged their heads, and the atmosphere was unprecedentedly tense, all afraid that if the principal missed, the stones would turn into bullets and fly out.
It's okay, it's okay, it's not dangerous. It can be regarded as an example of killing chickens and monkeys, and there has been no such thing as ringing the bell in the school. It's just that after that, everyone never saw the little boy again, and I heard that he was scared and sick, and after he recovered from his illness, he transferred to another school.
The aftermath of the story class has not yet passed, and the students are asked to write their experiences, which is the instruction of the principal, and the teacher does not discount the implementation.
The teacher said that you should write whether you can write or not, and if you can't write, you must write. If you can't write it, you have to write it, so how do you write it? The teacher didn't say anything. The teacher said that you can ask the parents when you go home. Although the teacher did not explicitly ask the parents to write, it was a reminder. As a result, all the students in the school, from the first grade to the fifth grade, successfully completed the task. The principal also selected a few of them and copied them to the school's blackboard newspaper.
I want to beg my father to write it, my father is fully capable of writing a good essay for primary school students, my father used to teach primary school students, no matter how rough his hands have become because of his perennial work, no matter how many years that rightist hat has been pressed on his head, a primary school student essay will never be difficult for him. However, Dad didn't agree, he said he would do it himself.
Documenting my romantic life
The first prose journal "Years").