"'Memories' That Gray Sky..."

Memory takes me back to the time when I didn't have to wear underwear… My mother said that shortly after I was born, my whole body shed a layer of skin, turning red and swollen. She thought I wouldn't make it, and my mother shed many tears because of it. When she talks about it, tears constantly stream down her cheeks. One can imagine her feelings at the time, and as a listener, I can't help but feel tears welling up in my own eyes… I survived the ordeal, but I did not receive any so-called blessings afterward; instead, I was met with a bleak childhood… The fragments of memory I can recall are days without sunlight. I can't remember how old I was, but every day I would sit under the eaves, watching the adults playing poker under the lychee tree, laughing and chatting. Almost everyone ignored the lonely me sitting by the side… However, I had already gotten used to loneliness. Children my age didn't play with me. I was small and frail, afraid to climb trees, and prone to crying. Even the girls bullied me. A child two or three years younger than me would chase and hit me. In a childhood longing for friendship, what I gained was loneliness.In the blink of an eye, I reached the age to start school. On the first day of school, I sat on the ground crying, unwilling to register. At that time, I had a feeling that going to school meant being bullied because I had heard from my cousins about being beaten at school, which made me harbor a deep fear of school. School felt like hell... Everyone found it strange because almost all children looked forward to going to school, except for me. Some even doubted whether there was something wrong with my mind. Because I cried so violently, my parents did not force me to go, so I spent another year at home. In the following autumn, I had lost the right to choose whether to go to school, and with great reluctance, I finally stepped into the school gate... As expected, I was still bullied at school—tears flowed again and again, I choked on my sobs time and time again, and only when I returned home did I feel warmth. From Monday onwards, I looked forward to Saturday. My childish heart already found the days hard to endure... Shortly after I started school, my parents went to Guangdong to work, leaving my sister and me all alone. Every day after school, I felt like crying, every day hoping that my parents would appear at home after school. Every day I would look back along the road from the small slope at the village entrance, hoping my parents would appear at the corner in the next second. Every day I hoped, every day I was disappointed... During the Spring Festival in 1994, my parents came back, and I felt immense happiness. A rare smile often appeared on my face during that year. Unfortunately, the good times did not last long. A few days after the Spring Festival, my parents had to leave for work again. On the day they went to Guangdong, I secretly cried many times alone in the bathroom. Finally, at the moment they were about to set off, the four of us cried together in the room. The reluctance to part, the pain of separation, even thinking about it today brings tears to my eyes... In the month following their departure, I don't know how many times I held back my tears at night, how many times I cried aloud in front of the photo frame... The love of a father and mother was my greatest longing during those years... Perhaps all my primary school teachers who taught me remember that there was once such a student: he was not lively, not active, did not like to talk, did not like to do homework, yet always ranked at the top in every exam. Yes, that child was me—a boy who kept long hair at a young age, a boy who was forced to do homework only on Sunday nights, a boy who endured countless doubtful glances on the podium, yet remained steadfast in his ways... With the tip of the pen, I recall again.An unforgettable event from when I started school: In first grade, our homeroom teacher really disliked me because I didn't do my homework. I was punished several times by having to copy the math textbook, and I could endure that because it was my own fault for not doing the homework. But there was one thing I will never forgive her for. It was during a math class; the homeroom teacher taught a problem incorrectly, which led to a result different from the textbook. Later, I honestly pointed out the mistake! But she said it was the textbook that was wrong, and even claimed I had no right to speak, saying that all my grades were obtained through cheating. I felt very wronged and said she couldn't teach. As a result, she exploded, scolding and hitting me, saying I wasn't her student, telling me if I was capable I could learn by myself without her teaching, and also called me a ‘little teacher,' ordering me to go teach the class. Of course, I wouldn't go up, so she threw my backpack into the trash can by the podium. When I picked it up and was about to return to my seat, she took the pointer and struck me several times. Tears streamed down my face, and she looked ferocious, saying I had no seat and couldn't enter the classroom, then kicked me out of the classroom… Afterward, I felt lost and helpless. My classmates looked at me through the window with sympathetic eyes. Maybe, they thought the teacher went too far too! However, the nightmare did not end there. The next day I returned to school, thinking it was over, but the homeroom teacher came into class during the first period and went straight to my seat, threw my backpack outside the classroom. I buried my face on the desk and cried, but my tears did not extinguish the fire of humiliation that had erupted inside her. The pointer struck my back again, and she shouted a heap of words, then grabbed my ear and dragged me outside the classroom. At that moment, I swore never to enter that classroom again. I would hate her forever in my heart… The reflections of childhood, when gathered, are like a sad song; the tears of childhood, when amassed, can form a small river. Now, I am in my early twenties, and when I recall the gray sky of my childhood, it feels like having vaguely dreamed a colorless dream while awake…