That year, when I was only six years old, my mother began to teach me to write numbers by hand. Gradually, I learned to write simple numbers, and my mother taught me to write names. Somehow, my hands always don't work, and the words I write don't look like words at all So, my mother grabbed my hand and wrote one by one. I don't know if I'm too stupid to say my name clearly. My mother looked at my handwriting and frowned, but didn't scold me. On the contrary, she kindly said to me, "It doesn't matter if I can't write well, as long as I don't lose heart, I will always write well." I nodded, puzzled. Slowly, my name was written correctly, more clearly than before. At this time, my mother showed a gratified smile. She smiled so sweetly. Later, she asked me to write other words, but I often missed one or several, and sometimes I didn't want to write. My mother didn't lose her temper with me, but looked at me with bloodshot eyes. At that time, I saw my mother's eyes full of disappointment, and I felt so sorry for her. So, I wrote it again carefully, and my mother touched my head with a smile.
Although my handwriting is not very good now, there are teachers' efforts and my own efforts. The most important thing is that I can't live without the seed my mother planted in my young mind. It is a sincere and precious seed.