The midterm exam was proctored, and I was assigned to the exam room in the senior year. coincided with the high incidence of colds, and I was unfortunately recruited again, wearing a mask, groggily handing out papers to students and organizing students to take exams. At the beginning of the long and short exam, I carefully suppressed the coughing in my throat from the podium, but it still leaked a few times.
One of the students in the exam room looked up at me frequently, and at first I thought that my coughing was affecting his writing papers. Later, when I saw his very familiar face, I realized that it seemed to be one of the students I had taught.
At that time, he was a little withdrawn in the class, not good at words, his grades were not outstanding, his homework was always not completed, and he was a child who seemed to be extremely tricky. But I always feel that the second-grade child is full of infinite possibilities, and there must be him behind every problem.
When the child's grandmother came to school, I asked him about the child's situation, and she said that the child's parents were divorced and were not at home. The feelings of parents have brought some indelible effects on the child's childhood, and he is whitewashing his heart with silence and loneliness.
Since that day, I have paid attention to him in every class, paid attention to the eye contact with him, and spared no effort to praise and praise him every time I completed my homework and every time my grades improved. Slowly, his eyes began to brighten, and Chinese class became his most active and favorite class, and the color seemed to grow on the former gray person. I am glad that these small changes in him, that a small sapling is thriving, and that there are infinite possibilities in the child.
The memories slowly pulled back to my eyes, and I looked at the child who frequently looked at me, and he slowly overlapped with the figure in my memory, as if returning to the gray color of the old days.
At the end of the morning exam, I packed up the test papers, closed the windows and lights, and was about to leave the class, as soon as I turned around, he was waiting for me at the door, he looked at me fixedly, his eyes seemed to be overflowing with what he wanted to say, a thousand words, and finally there was a sentence left, "Teacher, you have a cold?".It's okay." I was stunned for a moment, then quickly hugged him and said, "It's okay, it's okay." He lowered his head, with a smile on his lips, and walked away with a smile on his face.
My heart seemed to be kneaded hard, and this sentence may have consumed all the courage of this child, and it also ironed my body that was drained by the cold.
At this time, I seemed to understand the lag and long-term nature of education, and after the precipitation and washing of time, what can still remain in my heart is the meaning and background of education.
After more than 20 years of teaching, I have always asked myself what the meaning of education is, and I am full of uncertainty and doubts about this profession. How does what I do help these children's growth, and does it really have any positive impact on the minds of these children?In this voice, "Teacher, are you okay?".I seem to have found the answers to these questions.
I will still wait on the "black soil" and work hard for years with a three-inch-long "white plough". The years are long, and the decay only reaches the skin;Enthusiasm is abandoned, and decadence must reach the soul. (Liang Shuang).