Miss chalk
Qin Yong
Chalk is very ordinary, packed in very ordinary small cardboard boxes, in pieces of black land, disappearing one by one, turning into ashes and returning to dust. Although I have been away from the education industry for more than ten years, I always think of it every Teacher's Day.
When I was 7 years old, I was studying at a rural primary school, and fortunately, in that remote poor ravine, I was assigned a teacher who had just graduated from normal school for the first time. The teacher's surname was Tao, he wore glasses, he looked very learned, he was wearing leather shoes, shiny, and his shirt was as white as chalk. Unlike the other 3 grade private teachers, who always hold the leg of their pants with mud and are covered in dust... Later, I learned that after class, those private teachers had to go home to plant rice and pick up dung and vegetables, and their lives were very difficult.
At that time, the small blackboard of the village, four or five thick wooden boards were tied together, painted with black paint, very simple, the blackboard in the memory was always mottled, like the clothes that Grandpa had mended and mended, and the gaps in the wooden boards were stained with black paint. But it could not hide Teacher Tao's neat and beautiful chalk words, looking at his strong right hand, holding the chalk rustling on the blackboard, it was so dashing and light, the falling chalk gray white his sleeves, with his body of the painting lecture, like a dancer dancing on the three-foot podium.
Once, I carried my classmates' homework to Mr. Tao's bedroom, and there was a copy of "Sanchuan Pen Calligraphy Tutorial" on the desk, and when I picked it up, I was instantly attracted by the beautiful calligraphy inside.
Teacher Tao actually gave it to me, saying that I had a talent for practicing calligraphy, and left me to teach me to practice calligraphy after school. Let me go to the blackboard in front of the podium to stage arithmetic exercises, copy the problems on the blackboard for the students to do, and set up a piece of blackboard newspaper in the village small... A rural child, in this way, had the privilege of having a relationship with chalk.
Twenty years ago, I also became a teacher, standing on the podium, like Teacher Tao, I left the exquisite board books on the blackboard, using white chalk to build a bridge between students and Chinese textbooks, wordless chalk conveyed a thousand words of knowledge. The Tang poems and Song poems in the book flow out from between the chalks, and the sour, sweet, bitter and spicy floats in the ashes of the pen...
A piece of chalk, in a 45-minute class, it is so short, a few words, a few arithmetic, a few figures, fragile chalk is so nirvana. It disappears in the fingers, falls to the podium, a dust "snowflake", falls into the hearts of students, gathers into the spark of knowledge, discards the chalk heads one by one, and insists on the whiteness of a lifetime in the forgotten corner.
I have taught a class of students, and I don't know how much chalk I have written. Many teachers without complaint and regret are also like this silent chalk, dedicating their youth to the three-foot podium, teaching children to read and write, swimming in the ocean of knowledge, reading books, cracking endless confusion, falling and getting up, and raising the sails of life. Tapping the years with a whip, decorating life with a chalk, just like the spring silkworm spitting silk, not asking for returns, just like the wax torch into ashes, not asking for the destination, can be described as "not seeking rewards like flowers, but there is a fragrant soul".
One evening, I was walking on the Yangtze River Bridge and met Teacher Tao from the primary school. His thin cheeks still hid the familiar smile, a pair of kind eyes were so warm, a few white hair was gently blown up by the river breeze, and his dashing chalk words and love for children suddenly appeared in front of his eyes. He was old, he was also rated high, still fighting in the front line of primary school language education, and from him, he seemed to smell the long-lost chalk smell again.
Once, I went to a poor primary school to carry out condolence activities, found that the children's classrooms, has been completely removed from the old-fashioned "blackboard", replaced by a new intelligent electronic blackboard, the middle of the blackboard is a 50-inch TV with touch function, a little light, vivid stories, colorful pictures, clear board books vividly, bringing a new learning environment to the children. Five-color magnetic chalkboard pen, light and dexterous wireless mouse, sound and color multimedia resources, will gradually replace the chalkboard and chalk... Children's childhoods may no longer have that desire and love for chalk, and urban children may learn to doodle on Apple iPads from an early age. But the little chalk has also been like a spring rain, the moisturizer is silent, and it has also been like a star, illuminating the road of our childhood.
The chalk, like the specks of ashes of a dandelion, seemed to have long since flowed from my blood. Chalk hides in my heart, no matter the wind, frost, snow and rain, the bucket turns to the stars, the chalk in the dream is fluttering, just like a peach and plum fragrance!
(The author works in the Propaganda Department of The Zhongxian County Party Committee)
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