Over the river

In 1994, I was 17 years old and still young like a little cabbage. In the third year of high school, a string of plain and long days was spent on a ridge called Xiao Biling in Xiaoxian County, western Yunnan.

That is the age when information is relatively occluded. A rural child has two ways to understand the university: one is the golden progression list posted on September 1st, and the distant and glorious university name is like the bright sunshine. Inevitably illuminate the dream cottage in the hearts of every student. The other is a picture of a student who is admitted to a very arrogant university in a window in front of the school’s administrative building. The lucky guys are all smug and gazing at his schoolmates with admiration. . Then we will intermittently and at the so-called "inflatable" meeting at the beginning of the third year of high school, and hear stories about the growth of these "bovine people" or true or false. Most of the students are used to the low eyebrows and listen to the spit of the people on the stage. With the galloping imagination, there is a storm in the heart, and I feel that I am very close to the ideal university. .

The curtain of the third year is quietly opened.

Because my home is 10 miles away from the county, I will get up every day. The first thing is to go to the nearby river to pick up the water and fill the two large water tanks in the house. The industrious mother has a shoulder to shoulder with family affairs and farming. This small work is the morning class I must have. Then, together with the clear morning light, the thick mother rushed to prepare the prepared food, and cleaned up the book that was last night. When I went there, the sky would be bright. The students in the same village were not far away from the house and shouted loudly. I should be able to pick up my yellow canvas bag with one hand and rush to the confluence.

This is the most beautiful day of the day, the gorgeous morning glow is exposed in the clear clouds, the air is filled with the fragrance of flowers and plants, but unfortunately we have never had time to appreciate it. In order to save time, we chose the mountain road of the python. First along an irrigation river called the “liberation canal”, trekking in the grass that is still exposed to dew. After 20 minutes, it is transferred into a small road about 3 miles long. Then we have to go up the mountain, go through a chaotic burial mound in the suburbs, enter a small village called “Zhoujiatang” in the middle of the city, drive all the way, and finally arrive at the back of the school. A special small small school for the nearby village students. The door, we are on the side of the body, it has already been placed in the crowd of people on campus.

At that time, don't expect any club activities. At the end of the year, at most, you will be drawn to a nearby movie theater. Put some "big movies" such as "Eternal Life in the Fire" to solve the problem. The leaves are yellow and green, and the swallows fly back and forth. The countdown cards at the back of the classroom are changed every day. The grades are every three to five to cheer us up, and each time the public is given a good red envelope for the outstanding students. The class guides more and more time watching outside the window. After a while, "###, come out," the guy who turned the enzyme had to move slowly to the office to accept the baptism of the conversation. Over and over the monotonous and uninteresting ringtones, a bitter teacher, a pile of papers in the pile of books, looked down on the subject of the sneak sneak, we are on the road!

The history teacher told us that there is only one key to the university hall, that is, suffering. He also said a sentence similar to the later New Oriental inspirational saying "When you are crumbling, you must believe that others have crashed down." He is like this: If there is a map of the Tang Dynasty in the test paper, you should not hesitate to identify where it is the "toilet", and the knowledge points can be called rotten. There is no shortcut to this process, and you have to calm down and "the grass is burning, the stone is too hot."

I remember the day before the second model, I was still at home and steadily "double grab". My division of labor is to step on the drum. The job is to put the cut rice straw on the fast-moving roller. Hold it with both hands and grind it several times before you can drop the rice. In this process, the foot should be pressed hard down, and if it is not, the roller will stop. The rice heap is not far behind, the feet can't stop, and the hands are stretched to get the straw. The sun is shining, the heat waves are tumbling, the sweat and cement are mixed on the body, and the grass and ash are smeared on the face. I recall the chapters on the history textbook, and use the hands and feet of the machine. It often takes a morning to go down and can also take a 300-page book. China's modern history is inseparable.

Classes are held in the evening of high school, sometimes to 10 o'clock. At this time, I dare not copy the path to go home. From the village to the county town, after 10 o'clock, the bustling and extraordinary, the swaying bicycle, the walking is also a flashlight. The voices are all the same, the joy is all the way, the blurred starry sky hides the youthful face, the roadside folks will open the lights under the eaves in good faith, the lights will open the darkness, and let the children at night feel warm.

In the late third year of high school, the time went by, and the school began to ask us to stay in school temporarily. I especially missed the classroom after the evening self-study. The lights went out and the whole school was brushed into a darkness. I saw that the classroom in the third year was a red light here, and there was a piece of light that quickly became a candlelight ocean. A candle can generally be used for one hour. In order to save money, the students often sit in groups, so that the candle can be shared in the range of one meter. The beating flame lining the face of a youthful youth, with a childish focus and a deep yearning. In the classroom, there is only the sound of flipping pages, and everyone is secretly insisting that the game will take more time each day. When you are tired, stand at the railing outside the classroom. Looking back at the classroom, the candlelight swayed and fainted, as if to see a young dream growing, and books and candlelight were holding the wings of these children.

Later, I went to college, graduated from school, and met the teacher Lin Lin, but I still feel that the teachers in high school are more lovely, more amiable, and more dedicated.

industry. My class guide and language teacher lived in class and often laughed at us. I couldn't help but laugh at myself. But I looked up to somewhere on the ceiling. The flesh and blood were not shocked. This kind of effort is very admirable. The political teacher may be a half-way monk. He often has some "wrong A, B is wrong, c can't be chosen, so the answer is D", but he has won a good popularity with his affinity. The math teacher is addicted to alcohol, often drinking noodles such as peach blossoms into the classroom for our duty to answer questions, but often holding the podium, saying that his Chen's famous saying "drunken hero, rice swollen puff", then crashed Next, the students were prepared, swarmed and raised their hands and sent him back to the dormitory. The history teacher is a kindly old man. The topic is "One mountain releases a mountain barrier", which is layered, like a few treasures. There is also the only female teacher who teaches English and is glamorous. Her nirvana is the "chalk dart". The head is very good, and it means that we can love and fear. It is such a teacher who always extends a warm hand to us from a distance, to accompany our youth, and to lead a group of ignorant teenagers to a distant future.

If there is regret in the third year of high school, I regret that I can't always look too far when I am young. Just like today's children, even if the hardship of the joint exam is imminent, and facing the expectations of parents and their own efforts for more than ten years, It is also inevitable, but some people have always thought about the meaning of the so-called joint test, the value of life and other metaphysical things at both ends of the first mouse, so they suddenly attacked the spirit and suddenly collapsed. I have also had such a misunderstanding: When I was in the third year of high school, I was a literary enthusiast. I would climb up in the middle of the night to write poetry, and I would run a literary society with my classmates. I would also write a manuscript for the county radio station every day, and I would like to go to the newspapers every three and a half times. Magazines are submitted, and occasionally they are complacent. Looking back now, "Insane, it’s crazy." The final result is not only that they have not been able to enter a favorite university, so that they have gone through a decade of detours to make up for this shortcoming. More importantly, the impetuousness of high school can not be calmly pursued. The habit of doing things around the squad directly affects my character, and thus is destined to stumble along the way...

I often think that if the third year can come back, I will abandon all the impetuousness, confusion, and work hard for youth. Don't hang around on the road, don't care too much about the spring blossoms, and won't love the gentleness of the stacking bed. I will like the male lion on the African savanna, leaping to the shallow morning dawn, no longer hiding the novel under the textbook, deceiving people and deceiving themselves, no longer listening to the teacher's teachings. despise……

The significance of the third year of high school is that, in this turning point of youth, we are alone for the first time to face the turbulent crowd on the “single bridge”. Although thousands of people also go, the first time for their own dream puzzle, For the first time, I seriously believe that the distance is not far away. We have learned to be responsible for ourselves. We understand the true meaning of the deep water. We are quenching and nirvana in the sea and the flames. We sip laughter and tears. We live in a room. We are low in the dust, only for the three days of grand appearance.

Years of rotation, the 2010 classmates are on the road that all the teachers have traveled. Tiredness and confusion are woven into thousands of knots, and the confusion in layers is still about to rest. The wind is roaring around, but I don’t know which direction to blow, but still believe that everything will pass, and those sufferings will open. Gorgeous flowers become the aftertaste of the coming day. You are on your voyage, you are still in our sight, just make a knot, bless everyone!