My childhood recalls my childhood. There are no red and green in front of me, only gray and yellow.
More than 70 years ago, China just overthrew the rule of the Qing Dynasty, and the land of China was in chaos and darkness. My earliest memory of politics is the word "imperial court". At that time, the villagers said that the emperor was sitting in the imperial court, so the word "imperial court" became the alias of the emperor. I always thought that the imperial court was not a person, but something with great power. Country people seem to be in awe when they mention it. Of course, I am even more so. In short, the imperial power was still there, and the old habits were not removed. It was a continuation of the Qing Empire, and there was no sign of revival.
I was born on August 6, 19 1 1 in Guanzhuang, a small village in Qingping County (now Linqing City), Shandong Province. At that time, China was rich in the south and poor in Shandong (including other northern provinces). Shandong is rich in the east and poor in the west. Our county is the poorest county in western Shandong, our village is the poorest village among the poor counties, and our family is the poorest family in the village.
It is said that our family is not always like this. Before I was born, there seemed to be a better life. But when I was born, my grandparents died. There are three brothers in my father's blood, and the youngest one (the eldest ranked eleventh, we called him uncle eleven) gave it to someone else and changed his surname. My father and another brother (uncle) are both alone, living alone, without a room and a ridge on the ground. What's it like to live with two orphans who have no parents? How hard it is to live. It is conceivable that their uncle is a juren, the most learned figure in Fiona Fang for dozens of miles, and the biggest official in any county: he once raised my father and uncle, and it is said that he treated them well-but his family is big and there are many people; On several occasions, they were so hungry that they had to go to the jujube forest to pick up thousands of dates that fell on the ground to satisfy their hunger-finally, they were forced to abandon their homes (in fact, they didn't have a home), and the two brothers fled to Jinan to make a living: during the Cultural Revolution, I "jumped out" against the notorious author of the "First Marxist-Leninist Poster", which made her angry and sent people to my hometown official village twice to investigate, with the intention of "beating me up"
After my father and uncle arrived in Jinan, they were strangers, pulling rickshaws, carrying big things, becoming policemen and selling coolies. Uncle finally stopped. So the two brothers discussed it and asked my father to go back to his hometown. My uncle stayed in Jinan alone to earn money and send money home to live with his father.
After I was born, my family was still extremely difficult: I ate white flour a limited number of times a year and could only eat red sorghum flour cakes; I have no money to buy salt, so I sweep the soil on the saline-alkali land and boil water, pickles and sesame oil in a pot. I can't see it at all. At the end of the year, I eat this pickle: Mrs. Juren, I call her grandma, and she likes me very much. When I was three years old, I woke up every day, lifted my legs and ran to the village (our family paid for it) and ran to my grandmother's house. I saw a roll of my hand rolled into my fat sleeve, and when I stretched it out again, half a white-flour steamed bread was handed to me? I taste like gentian wind pulp. I didn't know there was anything better than white steamed bread. Her two sons (each with dozens of acres of land) are especially filial to her. She likes my grandson and always leaves half for me to eat every day: for several years, this is my highest enjoyment and greatest pleasure every day.
When I was about four or five years old, Aunt Ning and Aunt Ning, who lived across the hall, always took me out to carry wheat, beans and millet in the fields cut by others every summer and autumn: after a hard day's work, I could pick a small basket of ears of wheat or grain at night and give it to my mother. It seems that she is very happy-one summer, I probably picked up more wheat, and she ground it into flour. I posted a pot of dead noodles: I probably tasted it. After eating, I stole another piece for my mother to see, urging me to fight: I was naked, so I fled to the back of the house and jumped into the puddle. Mom couldn't come down to catch me, so I stood in the water and enjoyed the rest of the white bread to my heart's content.
What's the point of writing these things now? These little things like sesame seeds and mung beans are out-and-out trivial things around me, which will benefit me for life. Sometimes it can inspire me to move forward, sometimes it can cheer me up. Until today, I have never been demanding of my daily life, and I never care about eating and drinking. Isn't it related to these experiences as a child? I see some parents of only children doting on their children like that? It is also quite disapproving. Children are the flowers of the motherland, and flowers should be taken care of. But care must be proper, otherwise it is tantamount to hurting children.
I don't remember when I started learning to read. I was always between the ages of four and six. My teacher is Mr. Ma: Now I can't remember any private schools or books with hundreds of surnames and thousands of words. There is not a book on the four walls of my house, and I have never seen a note with words. Anyway, I always know a few words, otherwise where did the teacher come from? There is no doubt about Mr. Ma's existence.
Although there is no private school, there are some friends: I remember two most clearly: one is Yang Gou. I didn't know his name until I went home a few years ago. He is still alive and doesn't know a word. The other one is called dumb boy (meaning dumb boy), and I haven't found out his last name yet. The three of us play together every day, soaking in water, playing dates, catching cicadas and touching shrimps, without stopping for a day. Later, I heard that the mute became a mountain king, and he developed an amazing ability to leap over the ridge. He can grab the rafters of the temple with his fingers and walk around the main hall. Once, he was caught in the twelfth lunar month, naked, poured with cold water, tied up and hung upside down all night, and still alive. It is said that he never committed crimes in Gongzhuang. "Rabbits don't eat grass beside their nests", which is the loyalty of the chivalrous man. He was finally caught and killed. Every time I think that such a little friend who plays naked has become such a "hero", I am quite proud.
I have only been in my hometown for six years, and I can recall many things, but I don't want to write them down any more. It's time to say goodbye to my gray hometown.
When I was six years old, it was the eve of the Spring Festival. The Gregorian calendar may be 19 17. I left my parents and hometown. My uncle took me to Jinan. Uncle, at this time, the days are probably over. I am the only boy among his two brothers. If they want to train me to be an adult, they will certainly reach the threshold in the future. The only way is to go to Jinan. This can be said to be the most critical turning point in my life, otherwise I would still be farming in my hometown today (if I could live). This is of course a good thing: but good things sometimes turn into bad things. During the "Cultural Revolution", I thought several times that if my uncle hadn't brought me from my hometown to Jinan, I would have been living a muddled but comfortable life. How can I be knocked down by a "revolutionary" and I can't turn over a thousands of feet? Alas, things change, and life grows old. Really helpless!
After arriving in Jinan, I had a sad day; It's hard to know what it's like for a six-or seven-year-old child to leave his mother. I woke up from my dream several times, although I can eat not only white-flour steamed bread, but also meat. But I'd rather eat red sorghum cake again and have a bitter pickle. This wish is of course just an illusion. I can't help it Over time, I got used to it.
My uncle is ambitious and very concerned about my education. First, arrange for me to study in a private class: the teacher is an old man with a white beard, and his expression is grim and daunting. Every day, when you enter the school, you first salute the memorial tablet of Confucius, and then "a thousand grandchildren Zhao Li". At about the same time, my uncle sent me to the primary school attached to No.1 Normal School to study. This place is inside the old city wall. This street, called Promotion Street, looks very imposing. In fact, the official is also a coffin, and the whole street is a coffin. By this time, the May 4th Movement had probably begun. The headmaster is a part-time headmaster of the first division. He is a major figure in Shandong. In the eyes of a pupil, he is a big shot and can't meet easily. Unexpectedly, ten years later, I graduated from college and went to teach in Jinan High School, and we became colleagues. He is a history teacher. I was very respectful to my disciple, but he thanked me again and again. I thought at that time, life is really unpredictable!
Because the headmaster is a reformist, our Chinese textbooks have all been changed into vernacular Chinese. There is a passage in the textbook called Camel of Arabia. Everyone is familiar with this story, but it was strange and fresh to me at that time. I read it and found it very interesting. I just couldn't put it down. However, this article caused trouble: one day, my uncle looked through my textbook and I only saw him suddenly angry. "How can a camel say that people are alive?" He was indignant: "This school can't go on, and it has to transfer!"
So I transferred to another school: the transfer procedure is much simpler than it is now, and only one oral exam is needed. And the oral exam is very simple, only a few words are given for us to recognize. I remember there is a word "mule" in the middle of this word. I recognized it, so I decided to be a freshman. Another relative who is two years older than me didn't recognize it, so it was designated as Grade Three. In a word, I took advantage of a year, which is also an anecdote!
This school is close to the south wall. The campus is wide and there are many trees. The flowers are dense and the scenery is beautiful. On a Chai Men supported by a wooden frame, there is a wooden plaque engraved with four characters: "Obey the rules and discipline". I didn't understand the meaning of these four words at that time, but I thought there were many strokes for fun. I go in and out from under this wooden plaque every day, go to school and play games. The intention of the person who set up the plaque at that time came to me later. I don't think he is my race.
Although I am not interested in regular classes, there is one thing I am interested in, and that is reading novels. My uncle is a square, calling novels "casual books" and forbidding me to read them. At home, there is a big bucket of white flour under my desk, covered with a "mat" woven with sorghum stalks (Jinan dialect): I sit at the desk with four books on it, but I am reading old novels such as Gong Peng Case, Biography of Duke Ji, The Journey to the West and Romance of the Three Kingdoms. "Dreaming of red rolls for grain" is probably because I am too deep to understand. King Dai cries all day. I don't like it, so I can't stand it. The rest of the books were read with relish. My uncle came in unexpectedly, so I quickly lifted the quilt, threw the idle books in, and read Confucius and Poems in my mouth.
When you get to school, you don't have to guard against anything. After school, it is my world. I often hide behind rockeries, or on construction sites, take out idle books and devour them. Often forget the time, forget to eat, and sometimes touch home after dark. I am very familiar with the outlaw in the novel. They know their names by heart, and even use countless weapons, which is much more familiar than textbooks. Of course, I also want to be such a hero. Once, a friend told me that he poked five fingers of his right hand into the rice jar again and again until hundreds or thousands of times. After practicing for a while, put sand on it and poke it with your hand. Finally, you can practice the iron sand palm, and you can poke the tree with one finger. I really want to have an iron sand palm, which I take for granted. As a result, I pricked my finger in the factory and bleeding profusely. Knowing that I have no chance to have an iron sand palm, I will not practice.
Learning English also began in this primary school: at that time, a foreign language was a very magical thing for me. I think it's natural to use square characters, and they can make sounds as interesting as earthworms crawling over their tracks. It's incredible. The more mysterious things are, the more attractive they are. English appeals to me: I never expected it to be a mirage.
Look at my childhood, from a grayish yellow, to Zhengyi, I reached a dense green state-I made progress. But this is only on the surface, and from the perspective of life content, it is still gray and yellow. Even in Jinan, it is hard to find anything colorful in my life. I never had any toys. I made a thin iron bar into a circle myself, and then I got a hook to push it. I was very happy. Poverty, monotony, rigidity and stubbornness are the portrayal of my life at that time. Accepting information from the outside world can only rely on five senses. What TV, tape recorder, not even a movie. I haven't even seen a movie when I was a child, and the rest can be imagined.
Blessed are the children today. How many beautiful toys they have! How many children's parks and children's activity centers they have! They eat bread when they are hungry, and drink this coke and that coke when they are thirsty, and ice milk. Tired of watching movies and TV. Tired of listening to the radio, tired of listening to the tape recorder information is pouring in from the sky, overseas and across the mountains and rivers: they are really "children who know what's going on in the world without going out." But they just don't understand the old society. Take me for example. If you don't remember carefully, you will gradually become indifferent to the old society, and sometimes it will be as light as a cloud.
Today, I try to describe my childhood as truly as possible, no matter how incomplete it is, no matter how sloppy it is, no matter how clumsy my pen and ink are, can't our children today get some inspiration and learn something useful after reading it? Agree 1| Comment