my eyes gradually became moist, and the picture gradually blurred. The dry heart was like thunder from the sky, and it was flashed through cracks. Like a volcano, hot magma erupts. Like a dry and cracked field, it was flooded by the sudden torrential rain outside the window.
Memories flooded into my brain like waves, and flooded me with one wave after another.
The Chinese teacher in my elementary school is a hot-tempered Chongqing woman. I will never forget what she looked like when she stood on the podium speaking about Gorky's article and asked us angrily where the swallows have gone. She rammed like a hairy cow, roared like a wounded lion, and pounced like a tiger like us. Just because we dare not answer where the swallows have gone.
The classroom was silent that day, looking at the sunlight outside the window, shattered shadows scattered across the glass window diagonally. I felt my tight blood vessels, like they were about to rupture. I held my breath, as if breathing too loudly would be carried away by the waves, torn apart by an angry lion, or eaten by a tiger.
My deskmate is a mentally retarded child with white skin (so-called mental retardation). A pair of shiny black eyes opened. The eyes are big, seeming helpless, but also hollow and numb. Her right hand was bitten off by the snake and only half of her index finger remained, round like the snake leaving its own body shape on her forever. People always see her index finger as if they see the head of a snake, looking at you with round eyes. When she was in class, she often stared blankly at the blackboard, biting through pencil ends after another. He just bit the end of a pencil for 6 years and got 0 points in 6 years.
After 6 years, she left our sight. She no longer listened to the teacher calling him a fool or an idiot. She no longer needed to face the sneers of her classmates every day.
She spent only 6 years in school all her life, which was ignored and ridiculed by others. The 6 years she spent by others was all her school days. Today, she is already a wife and mother, and I don't know if she is doing well. When I recalled her childhood as a student, there should be sweet times too, but how much did we bring to her?
She never met the teacher who danced in costumes in art class, nor the teacher who was observant and caring for her. I didn't meet the teacher who visited home from a thousand miles away.
The teacher in reality is the peeling old wall, and the bright white paint has already fallen off. Gradually reveal the dark gray stone. The teacher in the composition is a candle, which burns itself and illuminates others. I wonder if you have seen it before?
Teachers will only like children with good grades, and the teacher's attention is on those good students who are both good in character and learning. The teacher will want to transform a naughty child with poor grades into a good three-good student, who are all children whose parents have good looks. They will not put their minds on a so-called unpleasant fool.
How many so-called intellectual disabilities are being ignored in this world.
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